It's been truly exhausting, so far two days of near-constant phone calls, emails and calling/faxing the government when not otherwise occupied. If you want to know what you can do, that's really it. Call the State Department, call your Congressional Delegation and call the White House, ask for them to demand he be released immediately. This is a list of phone numbers, This is a press release a group I am working with generated today and This is the Hotel Rwanda Rusesabagina Foundation Press Release.
Anyway, I wrote my dad a letter today, trying to work on some of the feelings that I haven't really been feeling because I've been running constantly. I'll put it here because this remains my space, for doing things like writing weepy letters. I'll give it to him when he comes home. Right after a great big hug and possibly a proverbial punch in the nose (possibly also literal punch in the nose.)
Dear Dad,
It’s late afternoon on Saturday here in Arizona. I’ve spent the last two days emailing, faxing, calling and answering calls from what feels like everyone in the world. I’ve talked to your colleagues from all kinds of work you’ve done. Work in Africa, Minnesota, Amsterdam… really everywhere. We had two conference calls yesterday and it was so heartwarming to hear the voices of these friends you’ve made all over the place. This has become the hardest part for me, personally, so much of this action and organizing, you would love to see. I keep wanting to tell you about something that happened, some amazing connection people have made and demonstration of the power of all of these people working together. You would love to see it.
There has been an unbelievable outpouring—people from all parts of both of our lives have come out of the woodwork and showed their support. All of the parts of our family, the National Lawyers Guild, the Law School, long-lost friends and colleagues. When your brother spoke to the State Department yesterday, the woman said, “It seems like you all were ready for this to happen.” He said he just laughed and said, “No, we’re all just really motivated and stubborn as hell.” You would be so proud.
I’ve realized some things over the past two days. One is that we have taken far too few pictures together recently. I saw that when I had to send one to a Minneapolis TV station. We need to fix that when you get back. I’ve also realized how much your work means to the people who benefit from it. I’ve received dozens of facebook messages and emails from Rwandans thanking me for your work, for standing up for them and for now bringing light to their situation. They love you. I can’t tell them how I really feel in my heart of hearts, though, that selfishly I hope when you get out, you’ll open up a solo practice doing Wills or something. That when I stop moving, as I only have a couple of times since we got news of your arrest yesterday morning, I am so, so paralyzingly and blindingly scared and my heart is so heavy. I know that theirs are too and that you have been someone to lighten theirs… but I want you to be here to make me feel better. Because you’re my dad and that’s what you’ve always done. I stop and I am so angry at you for putting yourself in this situation, I want you to come back so I can scream and yell at you about how angry and scared you’ve made me.
Someone else told me to remember a righteous wind is at our backs. And I know this. From all the messages and all the support, I have been reminded of how proud I am of you and your work. All joking aside about the fact that I’ve become an attorney, too, so much of the person and lawyer I have become is due to the person and kind of lawyer you are. I’ve learned to work like hell from you and I’ve learned that all people deserve respect from you. I’ve thought about some of the things you’ve told me over (and over and over!) all my life—to figure out who you want to benefit from you work and the rest comes easily. That a society is best judged by how they treat their weakest members. Not to believe everything you read. That history is written by the victors. I would like to remind you now about the MLK quote, the arc of the universe is long, but it bends toward justice. I miss you terribly, I love you so much and I look forward to writing this history with you, as victors, on the side of justice.
Sarah
