So much is happening here in Tucson.
We are, at least to some degree, at the epicenter of all things immigration
related.
And while so much has happened
in the last few months, I’d like to tell you all more about my last trip.
I had a delegation a week ago; it was a group
of law students from the University of the District of Columbia.
There were eight of them.
Many of them are not planning on working at
large law firms, but rather at places where they can become involved in social
justice issues in their communities.
I
enjoyed hearing about the good work they have done or are planning on doing
once they graduate.
We had a full trip;
in five days, we spent two in Mexico, one in Tucson, and the other two in
Florence and Phoenix.
They were motivated and inspired the whole delegation which was great
to be a part of as their trip leader.
They told me something in one of the group reflections that really hadn’t
hit me until then. “Tucson is the new
Selma.” I’ve heard it before, but I didn’t know it until I really felt it on this
trip. There is a movement, a social
justice movement, happening right here and right now.
The trip began in Mexico where we spent time at a community center
called HEPAC, Home of Hope and Peace.
This is where we stay when we go into Nogales, Sonora. I’m starting to feel like it’s a second home
for me when I’m not at the MVS house. It’s
located on a hill in a colonia or neighborhood called Bellavista (beautiful
view). As a community center, they focus
on community grassroots organizing in creative ways with programs specifically
for women and children. With all of the
maquiladoras (factories-mostly U.S. owned) on the Mexican side of the border,
mostly a result of the 1994 NAFTA, children need a safe place to be when their
mothers work 8-12 hour shifts. HEPAC is
one of those places.
Among the many things that we did in Mexico, including speaking with
migrants who have been recently deported, we ate lunch in someone’s home. I can remember as a child the first time I
saw poverty. I was seven; it was when my
parents took me with them on their sabbatical to Central America. I remember seeing people sleeping on the
ground in parks and on sidewalks. Alive
lumps. I’ve seen poverty since then too
on my various travels in the world, but there was something about this
particular woman’s home that really struck me.
She welcomed us so graciously into her dark cardboard tin home. The floor was rocky – it was uneven
dirt. Without any shyness she said she
knew it was a little small but to come in anyway. There was an element of great pride and
respect in her demeanor that made such an impression on me. This short, beautiful Oaxacan woman from
Southern Mexico has forever changed and touched my heart.
We crossed back into the U.S. the next day. My Mexican co-leader asked that I drive the
van through the border itself and the checkpoint that we later have to pass
through. Of course I said yes. We waited in line for more than an hour. They let me through without much hassle, and
I picked everyone up at the McDonalds on the other side. As I was driving through the checkpoint, a
border patrol agent was letting cars go through without question but as soon as
he peered in the car and saw that we were not all white, he yelled at me and
started hitting the van, “stop, stop, STOP!
First time going through a checkpoint?” he asked.
“No” I told him.
“Drive over into secondary and they’ll do an immigration check on you.” It’s always the same going through the
checkpoints. When I have a group of all
white people we pass through easily.
When we’re not all white, things are different.
The next day the law students did legal consultations at a local
community organization. I spent the day
observing and interpreting for the consultations and the Know Your Rights
Presentation. Most of the consultations
delivered sad news. “So your brother
applied for a visa in 2001? I’m sorry but they are currently processing family
sponsored F4 visas from 1996 for Mexico.
Wait maybe another five years and then check.” One older woman told me, “Well I guess I’ll
just tell my brother to come over without papers since I’ll probably be dead by
the time this gets processed.”
That evening we met with youth from Tucson. Three of them are undocumented; all are
trying to go to college. Those who are
undocumented do not get in-state tuition because they don’t have a social
security number. Although their
presentation always stirs me up emotionally, this night was particularly
moving. They are good students; they
want to be at their best. They have
dreams. The U.S. is their home. It is so hard to hear about the fear that they
live with everyday…but then they talk about what they are doing together – how
they look out for each other, how they are a family. They are fighting this fight for generations
after them and for their parents who had no other choice but to come here to
survive. These 17, 18, 19 year olds are
the future and they are not giving up; they are the change.
The next morning we drove to Florence and saw the barbed wire keeping
people inside private detention centers and county jails. Florence is literally a prison town – there
are five of them in this small town. The
county jail that rents out beds for detainees was named one of the ten worst in
the nation. The food in inedible, there
is no place for recreation. Somehow
windows count as running in the fresh air.
People take turns standing in front of the windows every day so they can
feel the sun. Many say their skin starts
to turn a yellow color. Visitations are
done over an old monitor with a phone that has a bad connection. Thirty minutes and your time is up. Click.
Adios.
Later that day we drove to Phoenix.
We spoke with lawyers and community organizers. There is so much to be done, but there are
good people trying to create change.
Later we ate dinner with a group of queer undocumented youth. Like the first group of undocumented
students, this group shared their stories.
Not only are they fighting for rights as undocumented people, but they
also face additional challenges as queer people in the Latino community, a community
that doesn’t accept and/or views LGBTQ identity as taboo. These young people pushed me to further
believe in their passion and desire to create change. They are inspiring, remarkable, brave and
alive. We left exhausted, physically and
emotionally.
Our last delegation day included a visit to the ACLU and Tent City Jail. I guess you’re never really prepared to see
that sort of thing…you don’t want to believe it’s happening, that it has been
happening for the last 20 years. We
walked up to the vine covered chain-linked fence to see what was inside. It was as if someone had taken a snapshot
photo of a concentration camp. There are
watch towers and warning signs posted everywhere. The worst was looking inside at the
conditions that people live in. The
detainees were walking around in their stripped uniforms. Only women were visible from where we were
standing. They sleep in dark green army
looking tents with rusty bunk beds. It
doesn’t look like there is air conditioning or heat. They started shouting out for help when they
saw us.
Overall, the trip was painfully brilliant. There was deep sadness, grief and despair,
but there were also times of great laughter and inspiration. This is what I get to do once a month. I get to hear, see, and learn. I am a witness. A few days after it was over, I found myself sobbing
without being able to articulate why but knowing that I was holding in what I
had seen on the delegation. I was a
chaotic mess. That’s the beauty of what’s
going on down here. There is love, there
is pain, there is conflict. All the
while, I’m trying to find God in all of this.
I’m trying to find God’s promise-God’s hope and love…and I finally found
some of it on this trip. I found it in
the house that we ate lunch in in Mexico, I found it in the purse that someone
left in the desert as they were crossing, I found it in the desperation of
those seeking legal advice, I found it in the undocumented youth’s stories, and
I found it in me. I find God’s hope and
promise in the relationships and the interactions that I have with the people
here – my delegation participants, the migrants who are crossing again in the
morning, the border patrol, the children at the community center and the women
going to work in the maquilas for their 6pm shift.
The movement is here. It begins
inside each of us and spreads as we connect with those around us. It cannot end.
