Bloglander

This week we have a story on how the friends, family and teachers of refugees are standing up in defense of their neighbors, survivors of war and devastation who Donald Trump's son has compared to poisonous Skittles.

And sure enough, just a few hours after we'd sent the story to print Tuesday, Trump decided to share some more of his early morning thoughts on refugees.

But in this week's story, I didn't want to focus on outrage over Trump or even on debunking misconceptions about American refugee policy. I wanted to focus on what Spokane was doing to show the people already here — many who'd gone through hell before ever getting here — they were loved.

A lot of these were relatively small acts that nevertheless can matter a lot.

Like the notes that three churches — Branches, Salem Lutheran and The Porch — wrote to local refugees.

Brent Hendricks, head of the refugee employment and assistance organization Global Neighborhood, says he got the idea from a former volunteer who'd moved to Nebraska. The volunteer was teaching English as a Second Language to refugee woman, noticed some of them were really freaked out after Trump's election, and so asked some of his colleagues to write little notes of support.

He decided to steal the idea and emailed a few churches he'd partnered with.

"Here’s this small act you can do: 'Hey, we’re glad you’re here." Things like that," Hendricks says.  "We’re just collecting as many of those we can get."

He estimates he's been able to get about 500 notes, which he'll hang up at the Global Neighborhood offices.

"It's interesting. When we started this, refugee work was not polarizing at all. At worst people are apathetic ... Now it has become a politicized issue," Hendricks says. "We don’t want to get hyper-political. At the same time, the people we’re working with are pretty anxious right now."

Obviously, a small organization in Spokane can't do much to change the direction of the country. But it can — and it has — changed the direction of individual lives.

 "It’s not like we can influence whatever the federal policy is on refugees," Hendricks says. "We can keep supporting and helping the people who are here."

We've posted a bunch of the notes below, but first let me share one more story. It's not about another churchgoer writing a letter. It's about a guy who probably voted for Trump.

Erin Mauer teaches classes full of refugees how to speak English. But she also teaches a skilled-trades course to a mix of refugee and non-refugee students. And some of them, she's pretty sure, voted for Trump, the guy who's floated the idea of kicking out refugees.

She's thinking of one student in particular. He's a pretty tough-seeming guy. He has a face tattoo. He's been in and out of prison, Mauer says. And, at least judging by all the "build the wall" and "get out" Trumpian rhetoric on his Facebook page, he's a huge Donald Trump fan.

But for an assignment on what he was grateful for in the class, Mauer says, the student chose to focus on his gratefulness for one of his classmates: A Muslim, Arabic-speaking Sudanese refugee.

“He wrote a story about how meeting a refugee has changed his life,” Mauer says. “He gave it to the refugee to read.”

And that, generally speaking, is one of the most effective ways to chip away at prejudice. It's one thing to fear or loathe a group as a vague, nebulous concept. It's another thing when he's sitting beside you in class.

"You don’t really understand the whole until you meet the individuals of the group," Mauer says. “We really can’t generalize. We can’t put people into categories.”

And now for the notes: