I was born in South Florida, of Guatemalan descent. I grew up in West Palm Beach, in a neighborhood known as Broadway, where many other Guatemalans lived. Local police often stopped cars driven by our neighbors for no other reason than to check people’s documents. It was an act of racial profiling; the offense they were guilty of was known as “driving while brown.” One day it was my father who was stopped.

He had been in the U.S. 22 years, had committed no crimes, had worked hard, now had a job as a driver transporting landscapers and had five U.S.-born children. My mother was a legal permanent resident and my father  had applied for the same status. He was still trying to get it.

The local police who stopped him on the street discovered a 17-year-old deportation order from immigration authorities, issued only due to his lack of immigration documents. They had no reason to believe my father was a danger to anyone given his long, peaceful residence in West Palm Beach, but they reported him to ICE agents anyway. My father was deported, forced to leave his wife and five children behind. He promised to come back to us.

He never made it. Four years later the Guatemalan Consulate in Texas examined the teeth in a skull found in the desert and identified those remains as my father’s. He had died trying to reunite with us. The day we heard he was dead was the saddest of our lives. He was the backbone of our family.

What did local police achieve through this act of racial profiling? Did they protect anyone from anything? No, they didn’t. They left five U.S. citizen children without a father and my mother, a legal resident, widowed. An American-owned company lost a trusted employee. All they achieved was that they created suffering; it was all so unnecessary. Here’s hoping the case of my family leads local city officials to help protect their immigrant residents and leads local law enforcement to think twice before they act in ways that can bring tragedy to people’s lives.

I am 27 years old, the mother of two children and came to the U.S. from Honduras in 2012. In that year, plagued by criminal gangs, Honduras had the highest murder rate of any country in the world. My father and two of my uncles, who resisted the gangs in our town, had been killed, and the rest of my family faced grave risk. I and other relatives fled for our lives, finally settling in Key West, where we lived quietly.

In 2017, I was stopped by a local policeman, accused of driving without a license and taken to jail. When family members tried to post bail, they were told I could not be released because federal authorities had placed a “detainer” on me while my immigration status was investigated. For almost four months I was jailed in various detention centers in South Florida  and my children and other loved ones were not allowed to see me. My daughter was five at the time; my son was two. I was then transferred to a detention facility in Pompano Beach, 200 miles from my family. When they were able to make the trip to visit me, they were only allowed to stay for a short time. My children did not understand and cried when they had to leave without me. For a mother, it was extremely hard.

Due to my attorney’s efforts, I was finally released after seven and half months. I learned that the police in Key West had reported me to immigration authorities and that I had been held based on an illegal detainer. I was told that the U.S. Constitution prohibits the continued detention of a person with no warrant issued against them, whose case is simply being investigated, even if that person is not a citizen.

Due to the viciousness of the gangs in Honduras, I and my family are currently in the U.S. under the protection of the Convention Against Torture and we have filed for asylum here. I am very grateful to the people of this country for saving me and my loved ones from the terror we faced in our homeland. The action taken against me by local law enforcement and immigration authorities was painful for me and my children and unnecessary. We pose no danger to our fellow residents. I sincerely hope local officials throughout Florida will ensure that law enforcement agents follow the law and that other immigrant families do not have to suffer what we did.

Texas plans to execute John H. Ramirez, but state officials are not satisfied with merely taking his life. They are also intent on denying him the right to practice his faith when it matters most—in his final moments. Mr. Ramirez, a Christian, has asked that his longtime pastor be able to touch him and pray aloud over him as he dies. When the state refused this modest religious accommodation, the Supreme Court stepped in, delaying the execution and agreeing to hear Mr. Ramirez’s case. Oral argument is set for November 9.

In Mr. Ramirez’s Baptist tradition, the practice of spiritual touch by a pastor is often referred to as “laying hands on” the congregant. Laying hands on a person, along with audible prayer, is not only a matter of spiritual comfort, but, in the context of dying, it’s also intended to guide the individual into the afterlife and provide a final opportunity for them to engage with their faith at the most critical time.

During the oral argument, Texas will no doubt contend that granting Mr. Ramirez’s religious request would threaten to disrupt the execution and present a safety and security risk. However, as the ACLU explained in an amicus brief filed on behalf of spiritual advisors who have been present in the death chamber during executions and former prison officials who have overseen executions, the state’s claim is hard to square with its own history. Allowing spiritual advisors to deliver audible prayers during executions and place their hands on individuals during their final moments has been common practice in Texas. It’s well-documented that chaplains present in the death chamber in Texas have been permitted to touch the leg or ankle of individuals being executed and pray aloud with them to offer spiritual comfort. None of these instances caused a disruption to the proceedings.

Texas’s past embrace of this practice is not surprising; spiritual touch and praying aloud over people have been adopted by various faiths and denominations. For example, the ACLU’s amicus brief notes that Catholic priests who visit hospitals are trained to touch the patient (with permission) while praying aloud because it establishes a sacred bond and provides religious support. Indeed, many Catholics believe that last rites are not valid without touch. For that reason, during the federal government’s execution of Dustin Honken last year, Father Mark O’Keefe was permitted to administer last rites to Mr. Honken in the death chamber. He placed a host on Mr. Honken’s tongue, put holy oil on Mr. Honken’s head and hands, and delivered several prayers out loud. During other federal executions held last year and earlier this year, spiritual advisors of various faiths were likewise permitted to pray out loud or — in the case of one Buddhist individual who was executed — chant throughout the entire proceeding.

Former prison officials who have been responsible for overseeing executions agree that any concerns Texas has with his request can be addressed through the implementation of basic protocols. As discussed in the ACLU’s amicus brief, the state could limit Mr. Ramirez’s pastor to touching his shoulder, ankle, or foot, where there are no intravenous lines present and any disruption thus unlikely. In advance of the execution, officials could also conduct a thorough background check and provide an orientation and training. In addition, officials could assign an escort to stand by the pastor at all times to further reduce any risk.

Federal law — the Religious Land Use and Institutionalized Persons Act — provides heightened protections for incarcerated individuals’ religious exercise, recognizing that prison officials’ reasons for interfering with or prohibiting religious practices are often arbitrary and unsupported by evidence. Texas must meet a very high legal threshold for justifying its refusal to accommodate Mr. Ramirez’s religious beliefs. It simply has not met this standard here.

The ACLU has long worked to end the death penalty. But until that day arrives, the legal ability to execute people does not mean that states can trample other fundamental rights in the process. Every person is entitled to religious liberty—even those who will die at the hands of the government. Especially those who will die at the hands of the government.