SB 1070 “Support Our Law Enforcement and Safe Neighborhoods Act”

I can't believe we have to laugh at something like this---it shouldn't have gotten this far. But here it is, almost to terrifying and ridiculous to laugh.....Here in Arizona we are all wearing buttons that say "No Papers".....
http://www.thedailyshow.com/watch/mon-april-26-2010/law---border

Acro-Yoga

Jess and I tried to take photos of this acro-yoga pose wherever we went!

Zapatistas

Meeting with Zapatista assembly members in Chiapas, Mexico.

Buen Pastor

This is a photo of Denis and I. Denis was from the same small village in Nicaragua where I was a volunteer for six weeks. He recognized me, even though five years have passed, and he shared stories of his life since the last time I saw him.
This is a group photo from Tapachula, Mexico when we stayed at a migrant shelter there. All 8 students, our 2 instructors, 2 Witness for Peace leaders, Padre Flor (who was the Pastor at Buen Pastor), Julio (our driver), and Xela, Marina and Cristal (3 migrant children from Guatemala on their way north) are all in the picture.

The Border Wall

This was in February, in Sasabe Mexico. My smile was momentary....feeling the size of the wall and imagining the environmental and humanitarian affects of the wall were far more moving than any positive impression of the work and money that goes into constructing these walls.

Buen Pastor

A shelter for migrants who have been injured and lost limbs from traveling on the train. Also, a place others who need medical attention can come without having to pay.

After getting a formal tour of the place, and hearing the opinions held by the two men who worked there full time, we had the chance to talk with some of the men who were staying at the shelter.

One of the elderly men who was there recovering from surgery, and not because of an accident on the train. When I introduced myself, he slipped in his false teeth and began to sing. After that we began an exchange of songs. He would sing, and then some of us would chose a song, and sing something back for him. It was that way for a number songs---a reminder of the simple joys that can sustain our minds, when our bodies fail us.

Casa Belen

Casa Belen is a migrant shelter just outside of Tapachula, a city just north of the Guatemala\Mexico border. It is part of a larger network of shelters throughout Mexico, Latin America, and the world. Padre Flor, the resident priest , has been working there for 12 years. We had the chance to meet with him a number of times, as well as eat and talk with many of the migratns who were staying there.

When asked what we could do on a human level in the United States to work towards justice for migrants, Padre Flor paused, closed his eyes for a moment and then responded. ´´ A smile, the extension of a hand can be given by everyone. Listening to someone´s story --immediately communicates to them that you are interested---bridging gaps and breaking walls.´´

This happened here at the shelter yesterday in a most unusual circumstance. One of the migrants approached Mary, and pointing towards me, asked what my name was. She responded ´´Ana,´´ which is what I have been going by during our travels. Hearing that, he turned to me, and asked if I had been to NIcaragua. I responded that yes, I had been to NIcaragua many years ago. Then he looked at me, and asked if I remembered him, Denis, from El Tule. El Tule was the small community( of a couple hundred people) in the highlands of NIcaragua where I had lived and volunteered for 6 weeks building stoves with Amigos de Las Americas 5 summers ago. The hours that followed left me with a mixture of disbelief and awe. Questions filled my mind, and I wondered how the path of one human life can be so drastically different so unbalanced, compared to another. He shared his story of trying to cross into the United States, of losing his wife to another man while working in Costa Rica , and of the uncertainty his future held. I thought of my own life during this past five years, and of all the varied and wonderful experiences I have had , the new people I have meet, and the new ideas I have been lucky enough to be exposed to.

Despite the hugely different life experiences that Denis and I have had, I tried to keep Padre Flor´s words in mind. Perhaps what I could give---a smile, the extension of a hand, and an open heart and mind were enough. At the very least, they were a beginning , a beginning of an exchange and understanding that will hoefully grow and become an exchange and understanding on a much larger level.

Crossing the border illegally

(we crossed the border legally on foot from Guatemala to Mexico. Afterwards we drove to the ilegal crossing where people transport migrants, and goods across the river on innertubs.)

I think the experiences that teach us the most are those that make us feel uncomfortable. Rather than relaxing and blending into your surroundings, you notice every movement, every word, and every feeling as if it is completely new. For the short trip from shore to shore on innertube (huge old tire tubes), I felt that way--uncomfortable.

It gave me another piece of the migrant journey, another piece that feels more real. As I looked through the spaces in the wood that covered the tube to make a raft, I wondered how migrants who do not know how to swim brave the passage. What courage it would take to make the crossing, knowing you might easily die with one misstep.

The crossing and the short time it took us to reach Guatemala (coming from Mexico) made the thought of the border itself feel false. Why and how can humans create physical borders--and this crossing a testamont to that question---there will always be a way to cross. What is a border, than a symbolic wall?

The river, and the ride (from Mexico to Guatemala, and back again), was uncomfortable, but I did my best to keep my eyes open, and feel every part of the river and the crossing.

Santa Anita, Guatemala

Marconî was his guerrila name, created during the years he fought in the mountains. That was how he introduced himself. After the years of fighting in the mountains, experiencing hunger, cold, wet, and uncomfortable conditions, and witnessing the death of companeros, it seems logical that guerrilla name would stick. He spoke directly to us all, looking around the room to include everyone in eye contact. He told his story, and through that, the story of Guatemala. The soft and calming presence of his voice was a testamont to his humbe and strong spirit. His is like the voice of many here in Santa Anita---voices having lived through a great deal, but still speaking as human beings equal to all others, and as deserving as all others. The strength of this community is inspiring. Coming together in 1998, two years after the peace accords to start anew. Bringing 37 families together to begin again--to farm and survive in a way that would bring dignity and hope to their children. The coffee they drink--not nesquick, but strong, dark cofee they cultivate, seems a metaphor for their own work---strong and good.

Poems written by our group about Guatemala

H.I.J.O.S. (HIJOS was a group that we meet with in Guatemala City. They are youth whose parents were disappeared. They are working to break the silence about all those who were disappeared, the miliary who was never brought to justice, and to continue to fight their parents were working for).

Hij@s de toda America Latina,

que se solidaricen ya!

A los padres, devuélvenles

la dignidad detrás de sus luchas

Este es un proyecto simbólico, la

única manera de tener un cambio es

destruir el sistema

para continuar la lucha en la voz de nuestros padres y

recuperar sus memorias, la justicia, y la verdad.

Es una lucha simbólica

sin armas

con palabras

y el poder de la memoria.

a powerful repetition of voices. history?

no-holds-barred nonviolence

tagging for your father

tagging for your mother

unforgettable, unforgivable, government issue assasination

"no olvidamos, no perdonamos" -- memoria historica.

tragic history, uncertain future

de cenizas salen HIJOS

not halted by the past,united in

the presence, gives hope for the future

La Casa del Migrante (This house, in Guatemala city, was a safe place for migrants on their way north, or back home after being deported. I talked with a women from El Salvador who was with her two children and husband seeking asylum. They were threatened by gangs in El Salvador. Many gang members are being deported from the U.S (like LA), and starting huge gangs in their own country. They come with the support of money and gangs in the U.S and have systematic and controlling methods in their home countries. The U.S. is not soley at fault, but we are definitely a big part of the problem.)

A safe space, a home to many

how many?

"En la iglesia catolica -- NADIE es Extranjero"

3 nights on the way there of back -- Guatemalans understand

migrants, refugees, because of the civil war.

and more -- the proceso de conscientizción in these tierras

held a gun. The giant is only invisible when you are sitting on its own eyeball.

- Hide quoted text -

What do we want? Space to dream and work on alternatives.

How can we build houses, schools, and hospitals if we are

living to pay off our country´s debt?

¿pero que paso a los 183

que nunca vinieron?

Neoliberalism in Guatemala facilita que

las grandes empresas can rob el pueblo

through tax paid contratos con el

goverment

a place for the misplaced

a refuge for the refugee

Cajolá (An atonomous community in Guatemala, who does not allow the Guatemalan police to come to their village. They are working to be self sufficient, and avoid sending more youth north to the United States---creating altervatives to migration)

Nosotros queremos una revolución, un cambio

están escogiendo la dignidad en los raíces

de la vida del pueblo

quemos crear trabajo para prevenir la migración de

nuestros niños

reunited families

Resisting Mexican eggs by producing our own

makes our community stronger are self-sufficient

Re-defining the Guatemalan Dream, in Guatemala

building a future that remembers its past

Autonomy -- authority from within, so no fear of idas

from outside.

In fact, we decide.

Hijo, cuando regreses, recuerda -- tráigame un "toaster," y los planes de este "space shuttle."

A sweet synthesis, the positive overlap of two worlds

Synthsis that speaks to hope and

a more just world.

SANTA ANITA (A small community in Guatemala, who resettled a coffee farm, with the hopes of creating a self sufficient community that is not dependent on the government).

Guatemala no es un país pobre. Es un país rico sólo que los flores, las plantas, las montañas, están en pocas manos.
La guerra se acabó pero la lucha sigue.
Necesitamos un gobierno que representa el pobre, los campesionos, no solo el sector de dinero.
No se puede seguir dando pain killers a una enfermedad seria. Se necesita una solución.
Una solución:¨Live in a way where my choices don´t hinder another, and rather support a system, a movement, and a lifestyle where others, animals, and the natural world live in a place that is just and fair.¨
Los sueños viven, y si nos unimos sí se puede cambiar...
Los murales son puentes, nuestra tierra, nuestras vidas.
´´No nos pueden sacar--si nos sacan, gritamos a los cuatros vientos.´´
Pero en realidad , no sabemos que va a pasar
Cuenots de unos entrentamiento entre un pueblo y su país, el dinero y la gente.

Guatemala

Tomorrow morning, bright and early, I'll be taking off for Guatemala City. It will be the beginning of a 5 week journey from Guatemala city, north across the Guatemala/Mexico Border into Chiapas and Oaxaca. I will end with spring break in Oaxaca, and finally Mexico City. We will be meeting with a variety of groups having to do with migration and solidarity efforts in the region. Here are some of the groups we will meet while in Guatemala (Feb 22-27^th).

- NISGUA, Network in Solidarity with the People of Guatemala

- Reunión HIJOS, Sons and Daughters for Identity and Justice and Against Forgetfulness Silence. This are youth whose parents were “disappeared” during the Guatemalan Civil war.

- Reunión DESGUA and dinner with Alvino Vásquez Ex-Representante de Asuntos Indígenas de MIGUA

- Reunión Café Conciencia, small non-profit that focus on fair trade coffee and microcredit, eco-tourism, and community development

- Taller Universidad Autónoma María Elisa, will be talking about effects of remittances on sending communities

- Viaje a Cajola: Major migrant dynamic, economic issues related to migration, and they have made the decision to not depend on migration and they are looking to develop autonomy, have visit to Oventic; member of the community who was a migrant in the US, got shot in the face and changed his life, now back to Guatemala; organic egg farming, textile cooperative; transnational connections with people in the US

Also, we will have a group bog during our travels. The eight of us (all the students) will rotate who writes the entry. I will try to continue updating my blog, but the group blog will be more reliable, and it will have a variety of perspectives, besides mine. If you are interested, here is the link: http://spring2010borderstudies.blogspot.com/

We also have a group photo site: http://picasaweb.google.com/BorderStudiesSpring2010

I have posted some more photos of Santas Muertes, and trips to the desert.

Abuse Documentation Interviews in Nogales

Today in Nogales were the first abuse documentation interviews I did, and I will continue to do them when I return from our travel seminar in April. No More Deaths, the organization where I am doing an internship, is conducting these interviews as part of a campaign to change custody standards for migrants. We send the interviews to the Department of Homeland Security, with hopes of changing these stories of abuse. Stories so commonly heard.

My eyes are wet with tears, but they seem stuck, unable to flow freely. They’ve been held there for hours now. Perhaps a result of the complete exhaustion I felt earlier, too withdrawn to cry or to express any other emotion that might have relieved all the questions (some so clear now and others still unknown) in my mind. I came back from Nogales, Sonora Mexico feeling an exhaustion that was not like that felt after a long run, or that felt after a seemingly never ending portage when you use every piece of your body to reach the next lake. This exhaustion was new. I didn’t know how to escape, so when I arrived home to South Tucson I said “Hola” to the painters and others in the front room, and lay down on my bed. In the midst of the conversation in the front hall, the music playing from the TV, and the noise of everyday life in the middle of the day, I slept. In all of my clothes, without pulling back the blanket, I slept for an hour without moving, and without waking even for a moment. I slept off my exhaustion, which was an exhaustion at the thought of how much suffering the migrants I interviewed had lived through---an exhaustion that comes from being present with someone, truly listening, in hopes of perhaps understanding their journey, and the abuses they suffered from the border patrol, with a small hope of changing these patterns.

Each story deserves many more hours than I had to listen, and many more pages than I will write, but a small understanding is a beginning at the larger problems our country faces in dealing with the border. The story of the 16 year old boy from Guatemala who while crossing into the U.S for the first time was beaten and kicked by border patrol, hit in the back of the head with a flashlight, denied water, and taunted with food----but perhaps worst of all were the words he was greeted with in this country of ours---those who found him called him a dog, and treated him like a “juguete”, as he said, tossing him around as if he were nothing more than a plastic ball. Or the 17 year old from Honduras, who had not yet crossed, but planned to later today---feet completely raw --- still needing to transport his body many miles to reach any sort of “safety.” And, the 52 year old who had lived in the U.S for over 25 years, whose children and family were all U.S citizens---he had no one to return to in Mexico, but his documents and money were taken as he was sent from California, to Texas, to New Mexico, and then to Ciudad Juarez. The U.S government has taken to sending migrants to places far from where they were found in hopes of keeping people away from family connections. It was these stories that brought about an exhaustion I couldn’t have imagined. An exhaustion at the injustice, and the brutality that human beings are capable of inflicting upon another fellow “brother”. From this exhaustion, I slept through the noise of the day, and I will sleep again, since the tears are still stuck, and I don’t know how else to escape.

Altar to Sasabe

The luxury was mine. The luxury of a seatbelt, of driver’s who were conscious of our comfort over the bumpy road, of open windows and cool air coming in, of entertainment (we listened to music), of bathroom needs, and of individual space. Still, the ride from Altar, Mexico, to Sasabe, Mexico was a rough one. By the end, I was covered in a layer of dirt, I could feel the sand grinding in my teeth, my neck was sore from the constant bumps and sudden jolts, and I was uneasy knowing that the majority of the people on that road were those tied into the transportation business---the transportation of migrants, and drugs. Still, the way I traveled was a luxury. Most migrants who travel this road, one of the most common entrance points into the US, are crammed into a van with 30 other people, sitting on plywood if they are lucky. They are at the mercy of the person transporting them, and their coyote (guide). The ride is 2 hours long on a dirt road, a private road, supposedly owned by the ranchers whose land surrounds the road, but really controlled by gangs and drug traffickers. The migrants are at the mercy of these groups too, who are all connected to the driver and coyotes, and who sometimes stop them and strip them of everything they have, or beat them if they don’t have anything to give. They are charged $70 for the ride, as a fee to “maintain” the road. Two hours of a long journey of being exploited at every turn, and this is only to get them to the border. The hardest part, crossing the desert has yet to begin for them---so mine is not only the luxury of a comfortable van from Altar to Sasabe, but also to Tucson, to a comfortable home, and welcoming family. What privilege. It took all my reason to keep from helping the 5 Guatemalans who we had talked to and stayed with at a Catholic migrant house (where migrants can eat and sleep free for 3 nights) the night before, get into the van with us. It would have ended in disaster when they were discovered, I know. Still, there is no easy way to leave a place like Altar, when you’ve heard the stories of the people traveling through. There is no easy way to accept luxury, when all those around you are suffering such hardship. Such hardship with the sole hope of working in whatever way necessary to help their families survive.

Santas Muertes

Our faces express a lot. So do those of a person in a painting, a sculpture, or figure of a saint. Even the saints of the dead, or Santas Muertes are full of expression. During our drive from Nogales, Mexico to Altar Mexico, we stopped along the road at a row of Santa Muerte shrines. No one was paying homage to the saints, so we were allowed to get out of the van and approach the figures. Since those who worship the saints are often tied up in crime and violence, especially drug violence, if there had been people at the shrine, we would have looked only through the windows of the van. Stepping out and approaching the figures, it was clear they had been visited recently. One of the figures had a lit cigarette in its mouth, the smoke spiraling up across its face in an eerily real way. There were food offerings, and candles at the feet of the saints. The drug trade has the power even to sculpt and change traditional religious beliefs that people hold within Catholicism, though from vandalism of the Santa Muertes, it is clear that many people are not supporters.

The Park, Sonoran Hotdogs, and South Tucson

Using trash cans as goals, the sidelines as our field, and teams of 4 vs. 3, I played soccer for a long time tonight. The two guys in my program, as well as three of their host brothers, and one of their dads played with me. There was a mixture of Spanish and English flying around, as we ran back and forth trying to score by hitting the trash can. It felt so good to be out playing soccer again. Thanks South Tucson for the great parks.

My first night here, I eat a Sonoran hotdog. It is a hotdog traditional to this area of the U.S. and Mexico. They give you a hotdog wrapped in bacon, and covered with a mountain of toppings and green salsa. Thanks South Tucson, for having a hotdog stand 3 blocks from my house. (They also serve quesadillas, Carmelos, burros, and other fast but delicious Mexican foods).

I bike to the University and classes easily in 15min from my house, feel surrounded and embraced by a new community (South Tucson is made up of: 81.2% Latino, 9.1% Native American, 9% White, 2.3% Black, 2000 U.S Census Data), and feel welcomed and included by my host family and their lovely home. Their house was built 10 years ago by Habitat by Humanity, and they keep it well maintained, and beautifully decorated with art and bright colors. Thank you South Tucson for the wonderful home.

Desert Hike

I try to hike on paths. Whether in the middle of a wilderness area or a city park, I do my best not to leave a mark. Friday and Saturday were no different as I hiked in the desert. The paths felt different though, knowing that they were not purposefully cleared for nature-loving white folks (like me) who come from families with long traditions of camping and environmentalism. Instead, they were paths created by migrants crossing through, enduring hardships that I can only begin to imagine. Still, in those nine hours of hiking in the sun, I felt closer to their experience. Looking out on the bold shades of orange, yellow, and brown of the desert that stretched out before me, I saw the desert for it’s profound beauty. As we walked, tripping over rocks, and brushing up against spines of cactus and other brush, my skin tore under the tug of the plants. Sounds of coyotes, the rush of the wind, and the quick-moving jack rabbits and deer startled me each time they passed. My own experience of the desert—the colors and views so new to me, the plants unlike any I have known, and the animals I had only seen in photographs, made me think of wilderness as I have always known it—A place to escape from people and the demands of busy lives, a place to preserve, and a place to be restored and refreshed.

The serene peace of the desert still existed during my hikes, but so did a nagging discomfort. A discomfort at the sight of thousands of personal items left behind by migrants.... of backpacks (we found a birth certificate in one that we will take to the Mexican Embassy), of clothing, deodorant, children’s bags, and women’s bras, of toothbrushes and deodorant, of medicine, and of bottles--empty water bottles, empty food cans, and Red Bull. "Coyotes" have taken to giving Red Bull to migrants lagging behind—unknowingly making them more dehydrated and exhausted when the effects wear off. Knowing the suffering of these migrants, traveling for days without good shoes, hiking with little food, and little water (it is impossible for them to carry as much water as they should for a hike through the desert for 1-5days), I felt an overwhelming sense of anger at the situation on our border. The Border Patrols new goal is one piece of the problem (“stemming from the 1994 strategy of establishing a ‘prevention through Deterrence’ posture. The continued expansion of this Strategy is supposed to deter smuggling and illegal entries by reducing smugglers’ ability to use existing infrastructure to facilitate their operations.”) Basically that means that migrants have to go through more and more extreme terrain to cross and evade the border fence, infrared searching towers, and other detection technology. This plan literally functions to deter migrants by causing more deaths. We need a new strategy.

Still, hiking through the desert, putting out food and water (risking arrest, because some of the land is on the Buenos Aires National Wildlife Refuge and putting out water and food cans is considered littering), I felt like I was contributing in a small way, understanding just a little bit more the journey of the migrants, and what can be done to satisfy the demands of environmentalists worried about destruction of the desert, ranchers whose land and livestock is being affected, those who think immigration is ruining our economy, and those who believe in no border at all. I know we can do better than the current state. I will use these hikes as a way to think about all of these ideas, search from within my own experience, and learn from the migrants I meet in the desert for new ways and new strategies.

The hikes were a wonderful introduction to a beautiful landscape and an equally harsh introduction to the reality migrants face as they make their journey North. I still find it hard to imagine what it will be like to meet a migrant out in the desert—to hear their story, give what little medical aid we can, provide food and water, and directions North if they want to continue, through references to mountains and landmarks around them. It is a moment I don’t have the capacity to envision, it seems so foreign and so wrong-- it makes me shiver.

Link to new Border Patrol policy:

http://74.125.155.132/search?q=cache:tfG841mrqxEJ:www.cbp.gov/linkhandler/cgov/border_security/border_patrol/border_patrol_ohs/national_bp_strategy.ctt/national_bp_strategy.pdf+border+patrol+planning+document+1994&cd=1&hl=en&ct=clnk&gl=us&client=safari)

Two Speeches at Once

I watched the State of the Union Address on TV, and heard it twice. My host mom and I sat down together to watch the speech. It was a Spanish news channel, so as Obama began each sentence I would hear English, followed shortly afterward by the newscaster’s Spanish translation. It was a bit chaotic in my mind, naturally hearing the English, as well as trying to listen to the Spanish.

That hour of listening to both languages, and feeling uncertain that I had heard anything clearly, isn’t completely untrue of my normal daily experience. My host mom is bilingual, but speaks in Spanish in the house. Her three daughters are bilingual as well, but speak in English when I am around. I reply in the language I am spoken too, often finding myself listening to and speaking the two languages practically at once. The dynamic changes when visitors come to the house. They have a cousin, who spends half his time here, and half his time in Mexico, but speaks Spanish. They have two cousins who are bilingual but prefer Spanish. There is their nephew who is a tile artist and works with youth on the Yaqui Reservation, who is also bilingual. Yesterday he brought over some books of local photographers, knowing I like photography. He switched between English and Spanish as he spoke both to me and my host mom.

So as I sat there yesterday, listening to the two speeches at once, I thought I might better understand life here on the border. Like the words in the speech, the border as I have experienced it so far is a mixture of worlds overlapping. Tomorrow I will do my first desert hike with No More Deaths, and perhaps another overlapping world will be added to that mixture---one of hot desert sun, migrant trails, rattlesnakes, border patrol, and the water stands we will be refilling.

The Drug War and the Tohono O’odahm Nation

I am only beginning to learn about all the different communities here on the border that are affected by the new border wall, militarization of the border, and the changes in migrant’s crossing patterns in the last 15 years. One group that is greatly affected is the Tohono O’odahm Nation. Here is an interesting article in the New York Times, followed by a rebuttal from a Tohono O’odahm Nation member.

New York Times Article: “In Drug War, Tribe Feels Invaded by Both Sides”: by Eric Eckholm

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/01/25/us/25border.html?pagewanted=1&hp

From Brenda Norrell’s blog: “Shame on the New York Times for Fueling Border Misery” by Brenda Norrell

http://bsnorrell.blogspot.com/2010/01/shame-on-new-york-times-for-fueling.html

Crossing into Nogales, Mexico

I watched the movie, Sin Nombre, alone one afternoon a few weeks ago. Finding the violence to be more extreme than I expected, and the fighting too real to watch, I fast forwarded through a number of parts in the movie. Having felt the terror of the migrants whose stories were told through the movie, I hoped that the movie was an extreme example of what a journey North might look like. I was wrong. On Friday, when we traveled south to Nogales, Mexico I had the chance to talk with a group of about 40 men who had just been deported. Some were deported after 20 years of living in the states (one man has a family in St. Paul and worked at Salut Bar), others were deported after their first border crossing, barely making it into the Arizona desert before being sent back. Some came from Florida, others from California. The border patrol has taken to deporting people as far from where they crossed into the US as possible in hopes of separating them from family that might be waiting right across the border on the Mexican side. The cruelty we (the US government) use is astonishing, and after looking at the faces and hearing the stories of these men, I have already been changed. I don’t think I will be able to turn back from fighting in some way for the justice of these migrants and refugees.

One of the men I met had come from Guatemala. Two young boys, 14 years old, had come alone from Honduras, traveling 14 days on foot and by train. The man coming from Guatemala described his travel, and I brought up the movie Sin Nombre. He had seen it, and went on to describe all the similarities between his own travel and the plot of the film. For each devastating moment in the movie, this man had a comparison to make to his own journey north. Like Smiley and Paulina, the main characters in Sin Nombre, this man had traveled atop trains for hundreds of miles. He had seen a man fall from the train, killed instantly caught under the fast moving cars. He had suffered with little food and water, and discussed the harsh realities of meeting gangs and racism along the way. After his story, I’m afraid Sin Nombre can’t be brushed off as overly dramatic or unlikely—he was a testament to its truth. Unfortunately the violence here can’t be avoided simply by pressing fast forward, and I know what I see and hear on the border will be much more real than the movie was as I sat alone watching it in my basement. I only hope I can learn and be open to these stories in a way that leads me to some kind of useful action for migrants and refugees from wherever they may come. Classes start tomorrow---knowledge and history of border issues will be a good place to start.

Arriving in Tucson

Hola todos,

I have begun my journey south. Last night I arrived in Tucson Arizona. This is the beginning of many journeys south. During the semester I will travel South across the Arizona/Mexico Border often, and for several weeks south to the Guatemala/Mexico Border.

From today, January 21st until, May 5th, I will be participating in a Border Studies program through Earlham College. Even though I will spend much of my time in Arizona where I can be in touch fairly easily, I imagine the experience will be much like living in a different world (at least for me who has never lived in the desert or witnessed life on the border). With this is mind, I thought I would create a blog as a way to share some of my experiences. If you would like to follow these stories, you can enter your e-mail address on the right side of the blog to get updates via e-mail to let you know when I post an entry.

As I find true when I live any new place far from Minnesota, it is always a treat to hear from friends and family at home, or wherever you may be. I hope you too will share stories and keep me updated on your lives!

My address is:
Anna Engstrom (I'm going by Anna here)
Earlham College Border Studies Program
738 N. 5th Ave., Suite 205
Tucson, AZ 85705

Take care,
Berit