"For God, there is no border."

July 12-13, 2008

You read what Neil and the kids did. Here is what Kirsti did:

Over the weekend, I was on the dark side of the moon in many respects as I was part of a weekend delegation with an organization called Borderlinks. I included the actual itinerary a few posts back if you want the short version. If you want to read through this unpolished text, you can labor through it. This two-day experience marked one of the more profound events in my life, and I wish that I could capture it perfectly for you. However, I fear what you’ll find here is more the left over rattle based on the rough impressions I documented in a small 3X5 notebook only a few days ago. Perceptions change with time, and I may wish to revise or even erase these words entirely. I suppose, this is part of the risk in writing a blog. But, I digress….

Neil deposited me on Borderlinks’ doorstep at 7:30 AM. After meeting the 4 others on this trip, breakfast, and an orientation by the trip leader, we piled into a white van and headed south for the border. Our objective and the mission of the non-profit organization of Borderlinks, was to learn more about the migrants’ experience, and their motives for risking their lives to enter the United States. In the course of the two days, there was little to no discussion of actual policies on either side on the border. Borderlinks is simply about presenting a human face to the issues.

We left Tucson, crossed the desert, and drove through the Arizona side of Nogales, and then we were in Nogales, Mexico. Before we had a chance to get our bearings, we were driving into the parking lot of Grupos Beta. This is an agency that is funded by the government to aid migrants in Mexico. The officers who work here actually train with their counterparts in the USA. They carry similar insignias that say “BORSTAR – So that others may live.”

It was drizzling, and the red mud that I would soon learn was omnipresent, was caked on the steps and the shoes of the 5-7 migrants sitting outside the office. One of the Mexican officers, Jesus, talked to us for around 30 minutes about his job while migrants streamed in and out of the office. Grupos Beta does not detain migrants; they try to dissuade migrants from crossing the border, so they hold informational orientations every morning to explain the realities. Two posters on the wall demonstrated this – one said “Before you go, remember who you are leaving behind (with photo of elderly man)” and “Children dehydrate quickly in the desert (with photo of barely alive child).” Grupos Beta also holds search and rescues every day. They have saved individuals who have been in the Mexican desert for two days (or more, but it takes two days to cross the Mexican desert before you even get to Nogales) and have been close to death due to dehydration or over-exposure. Once, they found one family that had been walking for 8 days and was on the verge of death, as they had gotten disoriented by the desert sun and were walking in circles. These are the kind of stories they want people to know as a warning.

While we were there, a man about 20 years old, who had tried to cross the border three times, was there getting a food coupon. He said he was heading home. There was a woman there with her two children. She was limping, and while we didn’t ask, I think she might have been heading home, too. Although, the question remains: if desperation gets them to this point, then what awaits them at home?

Heading back to the border, we stopped at the spot where migrants are deported back from the USA. It was pouring now, and the red tent that covered the make-shift tables, chairs, cooker, first aid materials, and a huge cooler with the sign, AQUA, on it, was leaking in 5 different places. There were only about ten people under the tent (at around 11 AM), but the volunteers at this tent regularly give food and drink to an average of 1,200 people a day.

Every evening, migrants are rounded up in the desert by the US Border Patrol, and then, without food and water, sent back to Mexico. No More Deaths was set up in this spot in order to help those who have nothing left; worse, they have given up everything for this chance to cross the border and have replaced this dream instead with dehydration, starvation, cuts, and broken limbs. Like the Grupos Beta, No More Deaths does not actively promote the migrants’ journey, but acts instead as a temporary refuge from the elements before most migrants either head home or try again.

Before I recount the stories of the people I met at No More Deaths and elsewhere, let me stress again that we were never outwardly or verbally influenced by any political agenda during our quick immersion experience. Throughout this, I appreciated this fact, as this question of immigration – even the very language of it all is potentially volatile. I am trying to write as indifferently as possible, but…it may be unfeasible. Again, I will try. Borderlinks tries as well – if I was on a longer visit, they would have us meet with the USA Border Patrol as well.

At No More Deaths, we saw Juan first. Juan crossed the border with his family when he was young. He lived and worked in the farms in Alabama for eight years until he was deported back to Mexico last year. He now works as a bus driver in Nogales and volunteers at this tent of No More Deaths. As the bulk of his help was given this morning, he is taking a break and stroking a clean little terrier named Gillard. The cleanliness of the dog and Juan’s perfectly white sneakers were a surprising contrast to the washed up and dingy old dentist chair he sat in. I couldn’t stop looking at the shoes, and I almost asked him why they were so clean (my shoes were covered in mud), but I didn’t. I’ll have to guess…and now that I have spent these two intense days with individuals who own very little, I am going to guess that his muddy shoes have been put away and that these sneakers have something to do with the word dignity.

We then had the chance to talk to two men, Darwin and Antonio, who have been traveling for two months from Honduras. There was no steady work for them in Honduras, and their family is starving. This journey is their best chance to find work and help their families. They have walked through swamps at night, traveled the trains (Pegeen told me about a great book she read on this topic called Enrique’s Journey. I’m hoping to read it when I return home), gone days without food, water, and/or sleep, and watched people die (falling off or under the trains). Throughout this journey, they have not called home once (no money), and they have relied on luck and the help of others, in true Underground Railroad style. They have been in Nogales for four days, and last night they tried to get across the border twice. Border Patrol rounded them up and almost caught them, but they escaped by running off into the desert. So here they were trying to gain some strength for tonight’s attempt.

I’m looking into the eyes of two men, ages 20 and 27, who have risked everything for this chance, and tonight they do not even know where they will get their next meal or where they will sleep. Tonight, they may live or die. It was one of the most heartbreaking moments of realization for me: simply by virtue of where I was born, I am clothed, fed, and I have a pretty good idea where I am sleeping tonight. Darwin and Antonio have less than this.

And yet, in their eyes, I did not see jealousy or malice, I saw hope, courage, and pride.

They didn’t ask anything of us, but said simply, “Tell people we are good. We just want to work. Tell people we are good. We just want to work.”

Then Darwin said, “Maybe we will survive and maybe we won’t. We trust in God. For God, there is no border.”

We headed into the center of Nogales and passed by a street flooded with red water. All around us there was evidence that the infrastructure in this city needs help. It’s not the priority to fix this area, however. Besides being a much populated border city, Nogales has become a haven for US owned maquilas (factories). In the 1960s, there were around 40 maquilas, and now there are 99. Over 46,000 work at them – 60% women, 40% men.

We drove through the Industrial Park where many of the maquilas are located, and it looks similar to what you might see on a road off of Route 10 in New Jersey. The infrastructure is clearly different here, as there is no red mud in sight. Instead, there are streetlights, paved roads, and security stations. We drove along this uphill road for 5 minutes before reaching the top. 

One of the Maquilas

Then suddenly, at the apex of the hill, the concrete ended, and the red mud returned. We got out of the van and stood where we could see both valleys – the maquilas on one side and the homes of the people who worked in them on the other side. Until 5 years ago, there was no electricity in this seized land. This is the worker housing. There is still no plumbing or running water. You can see some of the aluminum siding and cardboard used to create homes. I guess the terminology we would use is – slums.

We were told that neither the Maquilas or the Mexican government helped out with getting the basics here. The group that has helped the most is Habitat for Humanity from the USA. Most of the structures here (concrete, not aluminum siding and cardboard) were created by volunteers from the USA.

We then drove through the colonia Kennedy. This is the richest neighborhood in Nogales.

We then went to the community house where Borderlinks has its set up in Mexico. Just after we completed our tour, the rains began. We were stuck. The monsoon hit the village and our plans of going to our home stays seemed to be on hold. We hung out in the Borderlinks office for two hours, talked, and watched the rain. I was told that the rule of thumb is to wait one hour after the rain stopped before heading out anywhere. And, that is true in Arizona as well.

So, around 7 PM, our guide, Nick, assured us that all was well and we piled into the van, in the hopes of being able to cross the village and get to our home stays. What happened next was one of the more unexpected (by everyone, including the guide) events of the weekend. The streets were still flooded, and we, along with 5 or 6 other cars, got stuck in the twisting patterns and flows of the deluge. The entire village was either on the edges of what was once a street, or in the cars trying to add weight to them, or trying to push cars out of their predicaments. We were in one of the vans, and while describing the 50 possible things that could have gone wrong and/or what amazingly went right would bore you all to tears, I will just say that it was quite the cultural experience.

This is the only photo I took. I don't know if you can see the situation...

And, when all was said and done, 45 minutes later, we were once again stuck at the Borderlinks office. Luckily, they have dorm rooms, and someone from the village made us some food, so it wasn’t as difficult and as dramatic as I could pretend it was…we slept peacefully on the high ground and just hoped that it would all dry up by the morning.

I slept well despite my concerns about scorpions and cockroaches (I saw neither).

I woke up early and sat outside. I took some photos of the homes precariously perched on the red mud all around me. The dirt was buttressed with old car tires. I listened to the roosters crowing, dogs started barking, and then, around 7 AM, the music started...

We visited the homes of the people we were supposed to stay with the evening before. I had breakfast with a 70-year-old woman named Josephine. She comes from a large family and had ten children of her own. Her youngest son died last year at a maquilla. Neither she nor his family has received any compensation. She said her outlook on life has changed drastically since her son’s death. She said, “Life is difficult. Death is easy. That is the reward you get for all of the suffering and sacrifice.”

There are so many more stories I could tell. We met with the artists who created these images on the border wall (Alberto Morakis and Guadalupe Serrano). 

A coyote

We met Maria, who told us her story of living in Mexico and not having enough to live on. When she had her first baby, her husband could only find enough work to feed the three of them for 4 days out of 7. They got by for the other 3 days by amassing huge amounts of credit at the local store. Their desperate situation, led them to crossing the border.

We met Esperanza, who works in the maquilas and tries to support her three children. Her oldest, 16, had to stop going to school so that she could help out and be at their small concrete house at noon for the daily water supply. They have no running water, just a small tank on top of the house.

We went into a Mexican store and searched for prices of items, and then we completed a market basket survey to compare the minimum wage and prices of goods with that of the USA. It made me realize how small our worries are, and how hard it is for people living on the margin just to get the basics.

We walked through the touristy part of Nogales with shopkeepers trying to get us to buy all…

I’m left with so many more questions than when I began, and I suppose this is the mark of a good experience. In a mere two days, this immersion has challenged my pre-existing perspectives.

I know there are varying political strands of thinking and dividing lines where people get edgy just mentioning the words immigrant, illegal, migrant, and borders. I’m not interested in getting in the middle of the fray here, and because I don’t live in a border town, I suppose I’ve had the advantage of avoiding that dispute head on. But, it’s also not acceptable to be an ostrich with my head in the sand. Where is the middle ground?

The best I can give you, as an answer to that question right now is how my sense of history has been heightened. In this one weekend, I witnessed age-old issues made modern: sharecropping, scapegoating, industrialization, the Underground Railroad, the Unions, squatting, and polarization. The American Dream is still very much alive, and freedom is all in how you look at it.