Mamady Camara, a 20-year-old caregiver and asylum seeker in Michigan, is currently being held in detention by U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement. On Jan. 28, a routine check-in turned into his detainment at North Lake Detention Center in northern Michigan. Last month, he was denied bond after being labeled a “flight risk,” despite extensive documentation and community support. The decision came without much explanation — part of a common pattern in our justice system, where detention stretches on and due process feels out of reach. In the meantime, his community has been doing what they can: raising money for legal fees, writing letters, organizing and showing up. One of those efforts took the form of a mutual aid concert, held in solidarity for Camara.
Walking into Canterbury House didn’t feel like entering a typical concert venue. I stepped past people lined along the walls, others sitting cross-legged on pillow seats or on sofas with cups of tea in their hands. I arrived mid-set, during a performance by an eclectic five-man jazz ensemble. Their performance was masterfully backdropped by the house’s large glass planes and the storm of blowing leaves outside. There was no chatter. In its place was a quiet, focused awe. People leaned forward, watching and listening. I took a seat on the carpet and tried to settle into it as crashing cymbals, thunder sticks and slightly discordant yet dovetailing notes filled the room.
By the door, a table displayed prints for sale. Most were block prints, hand-carved and inked — some by local artists, others by campus organizers and activist groups. It was pay-what-you-can, all proceeds going toward Camara’s cause. I picked up one print: a linocut rendering of the one-legged worm guy from Richard Scarry’s children’s books. It read, “Fear is the mind-killer.” The infamous line from “Dune” felt oddly fitting in this space — something about collective anxiety, and the effort to move through it anyway.
Between sets, the room loosened. Laughter bubbled in corners, friends checked in with performers and Sasha G, organizer and director of NeuroArts Productions, reminded everyone why we were there. She knows Camara personally and framed the evening’s mission simply: raise funds, show support, enjoy the music and make connections tangible. People picked up pens to draw pictures or write letters to Camara in French, his native language. Soundtracking these moments of a community in motion and assembly were techno and soft dance vinyls, expertly curated and spun by DJ King Sophia.
Then came a pair of performers who redefined the space. Trumpet and saxophone, electronically warped, floated and collided in ways both classical and alien. Notes breathed, ebbed, bubbled; every sound teetered on the edge of the expected. Accompanied by Sasha on flute, they built a performance that was one of the most original things I’ve heard in a long time. The entire setup was custom sound design: instrument harmonizers built using Max, a programming tool for musical signal processing that allows for real-time sound manipulation. They showcased talent and music’s expansiveness: its ability to soothe, entertain and enlighten.
Next, distortion took the main stage. Two box TVs perched on stools, an antenna wearing a bright blue wig, a corrupted digital camera on a tripod aimed at the couch and Sasha’s flute performance. Wires waterfalled from the camera and across the floor, more connected to a messy array of MIDIs, pedals and a keyboard. Every flick of the performer’s hand, change of an input, twist of a dial, warped the sound and visuals simultaneously: Pixels fractured, colors shifted, video bent in sync with the music. It was audiovisual chaos.
What stayed with me was how intentional all of it felt. Technology isn’t neutral — it can be shaped, bent, manipulated, musically, politically and institutionally. And in that moment, it felt connected to why we were all there. The systems we navigate — ICE, legal bureaucracy, the structures that control who is seen and who is silenced — can feel just as opaque and controlling. But seeing and hearing this work reminded me that collective action in uncertain times is still possible. The concert became more than a gathering under a shared goal; it provided time to reflect, to meditate on the reasons why we care. Music emerged as a way to resist, connect and act.
Camara’s case is ongoing. He is facing deportation to Guinea despite being a caregiver to an 89-year-old stroke survivor. He is local to Ann Arbor, having graduated from Ypsilanti High School and built deep ties to his local community since he immigrated here at 17. Sasha shared that Camara told her over the phone he’d rather stay in detention than risk deportation, showing how punishing this system can be.
Camara’s final immigration hearing is April 14. Efforts to support him are still active: bake sales in Mason Hall, fundraising by United Asian American Organizations, letter-writing campaigns, calls to senators and ICE officials and a GoFundMe that has already raised more than $29,000 from hundreds of donors. Every note played that night, every print sold, every handwritten letter, is part of a broader effort to help someone navigate a system stacked against them.
This evening at the Canterbury House was one of solidarity — a reminder of the many ways we can act for our neighbors, in conjunction with each other and with art. Camara’s story is one many immigrants in the U.S. are facing, but it’s one we can change together.
More information about Camara’s case and efforts of support can be found here.
Daily Arts Writer Esha Nair can be reached at eshanair@umich.edu.
