D12 EZ SU THE WASHINGTON POST.THURSDAY, AUGUST 22 , 2019
definition, always on the move.
So his players are sometimes
cooks and caretakers. Is a player
missing tackles because he’s
poorly coached? Or because he’s
poorly fed?
“If they don’t have food, they
end up hitting one of us up,” says
Alameda, a senior. “Sometimes
parents have bills to pay, and
sometimes guys don’t get fed. It’s
something we take care of.”
Anthony picks up a few of his
players before dawn on some
mornings, making sure they ar-
rive on time to school, yet he
never meets the parents of most
of the players on his team. Just
last season he had a player with
college potential, and he encour-
aged him to attend camps where
he might get discovered. The
player improved significantly.
“Then it got time for scholar-
ships as a senior,” Anthony says.
“He looked me, square in the eye,
and said, ‘Coach, I’m undocu-
mented.’ ”
All the coach could think of in
response was to offer support.
Undocumented students can at-
tend college, but they are ineligi-
ble for federal student aid.
“What’s the kid doing now?”
Anthony says with a hint of
exasperation. “I don’t know.”‘We just never know’
Matias still hears stories about
life in Guatemala. “Gangs, out in
the country, everyone is scared,”
he says. Here there is much less
fear — he walks to practice by
himself, knowing his paperwork
is in order — but it’s always a
topic. “A lot,” he says. “When they
go to stores or shopping, they
have to walk [because] they don’t
have cars or licenses. They’re
scared.”
He says he’s frustrated not
about the system of laws here but
the choices ICE is making.
“They should take whoever is
doing bad things,” Matias says.
“Some [people] they’re taking
did nothing wrong. Some are
doing something wrong, and
they’re not taking them.”
“ICE prioritizes the arrest and
removal of unlawfully present
aliens who pose a threat to
national security, public safety
and border security,” an ICE
spokesperson wrote in a state-
ment. “... However, all of those
in violation of the immigration
laws may be subject to immigra-
tion arrest, detention and — if
found removable by final order
— removal from the United
States.”
Anthony hasn’t addressed his
team directly about the shadow
over the town. He knows they’re
all talking about it... but should
he talk about it? He sits in an
empty locker room after an early-
morning practice and soul
searches. There are placards all
around him with motivational
phrases used by coaches before
him, but Vince Lombardi never
had to rally a team in a commu-
nity where the fertile ground
seems to shift underneath your
feet.
“I don’t talk to them about it,”
he says, almost to himself. “And I
may have to start talking to them
about it. When that time comes
again, I’ll probably have to ad-
dress it. I just know it’s a scary
situation and I can lend some
help and comfort to the kids.”
Lately he’s especially worried
about one student in particular,
who didn’t want to be inter-
viewed for this story. The boy
hasn’t said much to anyone
about his home life lately.
“I think something is wrong,”
Anthony says with an obvious
look of concern. “I think maybe
something happened.”
Amid all this, there’s a season
to play. Immokalee lost its start-
ing quarterback to a transfer,
and its first preseason game
ended in an 18-0 loss. Anthony
addressed the team afterward,
taking all the blame. There isn’t
much time to wallow around
here. Winning teams are never
predestined but rather forged in
setbacks and worry.
“It goes in waves,” Anthony
says. “We just never know what’s
coming next.”
[email protected]cracking down on undocument-
ed workers is not new — Presi-
dent Barack Obama was some-
times referred to as the “deport-
er-in-chief ” — but the recent
Trump decree has brought a new
level of anxiety.
“Border Patrol back in the
[1980s] and ’90s wasn’t bad,”
says Gonzalez, who was once a
migrant worker. “But ICE creat-
ed something different.”
At the restaurant, the discus-
sion can be frank when it comes
to the possibility of ICE raids.
“When ICE comes here, we
just warn the people,” Gonzalez
says of the migrant population.
“That’s all we can do. Warn ’em.”
At school, though, these are
practically impossible conversa-
tions to have.
“I wouldn’t say I even know
[how many players are dealing
with immigration fears],” Antho-
ny says. “Even if I ask, they
wouldn’t tell me the truth. We do
have a relationship, but I repre-
sent a school. I represent a
government agency of sorts.”
According to federal law,
school officials are not allowed to
inquire about citizenship status
or request proof of citizenship.
That has been the case since the
Supreme Court’s 1982 ruling in
Plyler v. Doe, which held that
undocumented children are enti-
tled to public education.
So for Anthony, there’s a lot of
guesswork as to what may be on
a player’s mind. It could be
regular teenage turmoil. Or it
could be the tough living condi-
tions most of his students face. A
high percentage of those en-
rolled at Immokalee High qualify
for free or reduced lunch, which
means Anthony is never sure
how recently his players have
eaten. Migrant workers are, bypercentage of its citrus. And if
you’re a football fan, you’ve
heard of Edgerrin James, the Pro
Football Hall of Fame finalist
whose mural is up near the
bleachers, or J.C. Jackson, a for-
mer Maryland cornerback who
won last season’s Super Bowl
with the New England Patriots.
(Of the nine “Notable People”
listed on the city’s Wikipedia
page, seven are football players.)
Anthony has coached seven
seasons and made seven trips to
the playoffs, and football here is
both a cherished pastime and a
representation of the work ethic
on which the community prides
itself.
“The only way out is hard
work, dedication, and that’s pret-
ty much it,” says Pierre, the
linebacker. “You have to be will-
ing to do most things others
won’t do. It’s hard.”
Drive into the center of town
and it’s immediately clear how
far this is from the beachfront
mansions and fancy hotels of
mostly white Naples — one of the
richest areas in America.
Immokalee has Haitian stores,
Guatemalan stores, Mexican
stores. Anthony, the son of refu-
gees from Haiti, says “90 per-
cent” of his players are from
immigrant families.
Lozano’s is one of the town’s
most popular restaurants, and a
typical lunch crowd includes law
enforcement, construction work-
ers and young families. This is
one of the places where fans of
the high school team go before or
after games on Friday nights. But
when ICE vehicles are spotted in
the Winn-Dixie plaza or else-
where in town, Gonzalez says,
“It’s devastating for all the busi-
nesses.”
Concern about authoritieson whether any of its officials
were present — the concern is
clear: President Trump’s promise
of raids targeting immigrants
who are in the country illegally
has put a chill on this proud
community, and that has added a
strange feel to a normally thrill-
ing time of year. Even the high
school football players, not used
to giving much mind to politics
or current events, have taken it
upon themselves to monitor
their Facebook accounts to look
out for their teammates and
families — just in case.
“It’s something important to
check in on, 100 percent,” says
Frankie Alameda, a senior offen-
sive lineman for Immokalee.
“What if you’re out, you forget
your license, you forget your
identification?” says senior line-
backer Woudlin Pierre, 17, who
was born here but has been
carrying his Social Security card
around for the first time. “Bad
timing. Wrong place at the
wrong time. Things can happen.
My mom is always on me about
having my wallet, my license, all
that.”
The situation is even more
acute for Hispanic players such
as Diego Matias, whose family
fled Guatemala when he was 8.
He says he has his papers in
order, but the worry around him
is constant.
“A lot of people are very scared
right now that [ICE] will take
them and leave their family
here,” says Matias, 15, whose
mother works in the fields.
That is what took place in
Mississippi on Aug. 7, when near-
ly 700 arrests were made in six
towns on the first day of school.
Images of wailing children were
beamed around the world. The
first day of school in Immokalee,
about an hour’s drive northeast
from Naples, came and went as
normal. But the question lingers
in the humid air: Will it happen
here, too?
‘The only way out’
Even if you haven’t heard of
Immokalee (pronounced IM-
MOCK-AH-LEE), you almost cer-
tainly have enjoyed what it has to
offer. More than a third of the
nation’s winter tomatoes are
grown here, as well as a healthy
FLORIDA FROM D1
Football provides a respite, albeit brief, from fear of raids
PHOTOS BY EVE EDELHEIT FOR THE WASHINGTON POST
Immokalee High players, top, take a break in the library before a recent game. Coach Rodelin Anthony says he “wouldn’t even say I know”
how many players are dealing with immigration fears. “Even if I ask, they wouldn’t tell me the truth.” The team lost its preseason opener.Inbox
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