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.
Saturday, March 6, 2010
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.
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.
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.
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.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
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 22-27th).
- 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.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
