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.