Leaving Nogales

July 28

A few hours later, we left the Mexican side. We walked past the American checkpoint, where we were stopped and our passports inspected. The Customs officer, after noticing I was Canadian and with NMD people, pulled me aside and took me into the building. I told him I was with No More Deaths, because I was curious about the situation on the border and about the fact so many people are dying.

I was taken to a small office with dimly lit lights, and was told to stay there while they do a ‘background check’ on me. He took my passport and driver’s identification. My friends were told to leave, of course they refused, and stayed outside the building. I was a bit nervous, but also knew that I do not regret anything I've done with NMD and would do it again. I began praying.

After a few minutes, the officer came back and told me I can go. He noticed my cellphone, which I tried to text the volunteer co-ordinator with to let her know what was going on. He looked very angry and loudly told me to never have it on again, and that he doesn’t want to see it again. It was a bit intimidating, but nothing compared to what migrants face.


People queuing up at the US Customs, waiting to enter the United States. This is where I was briefly detained.

Separation barrier

I took these pictures from the American side. The white BP trucks standing by the fence are waiting for people who will try to come across.

La Violencia

One of the most disturbing things NMDers and people who work with deported migrants do is listen to testimonies of abuse. Many migrants who has been picked up by BP and deported has a story of mistreatment

As No More Deaths began working in Mexico, the volunteers would hear stories from migrants about how they were treated after being picked up by law enforcement on the American side of the border. Some were picked up and arrested by agents who saw them as fellow human beings, and who provided water and food. These people were performing a task that required them to send desperate people back to a country where they could not support themselves, yet tried to treat the people in their care as humanly as possible while carrying out their orders. I have spoken to migrants who have told me that while in custody they were fed and provided with water, and that no one hit them or insulted them or harmed them.

However, others have different stories, stories of abuse. A volunteer began compiling their testimonies, and in 2006, a report was released citing over 350 testimonies of mistreatment ranging from denial of food and water, to overcrowding in cells, to verbal and ‘mild’ ranging to severe physical and even sexual abuse. It can be read on the NMD website, and is quite chilling.

Between 2008 and 2011, volunteers began interviewing migrants and collecting stories of abuse and mistreatment. A report is due to come out halfway through September. I have been told it consists of 12,000 testimonies.

I spoke to Dave, one of NMDs long-term volunteers and who agreed to let me use his name. He has been working with group since it started, and has witnessed as well as heard stories of abuse of migrants by Border Patrol. A few years ago, Dave was driving down the highway on his way to Arivaca. He saw something something shameful and despicable. A BP agent arrested a family of seven people in the desert. It included an elderly woman, and three children aged 7 to 9 years of age in his estimation. The agent forced everyone to kneel on the hot asphalt, with their hands up behind their heads, like prisoners of war. No one was allowed to move. They stayed like this for at least ten minutes before a paddy wagon pulled up.

Dave has met migrants who have arrived from BP custody with broken limbs and fractured bones. This comes from a little game that some agents like to engage in. Arrested migrants are put into the back of a paddy wagon (also called ‘dog catchers’), where there are of course no seatbelts and people have to stand. Then the drivers ride their vehicles at fast speed over rocks, bumps, hills. It must be a thrill at the front for the officers wearing seatbelts and enjoying the view. Meanwhile, the terrified people in the back are thrown around like rag dolls. Fingers, arms, legs, ribs bruise and break as they are flung around. Sometimes air conditioning is turned on full blast, to a level where people are freezing. Other times hot air is released, to make the ride even more miserable and agony filled.

Migrants who are detained report agents calling them “putos” (bitches), “pendejos” (assholes), as well as racist terms. Often the agents doing this to them themselves are also Hispanic. Perhaps they are trying to prove their loyalty to their nation by showing they can be just as cruel as those who write laws targeting their brothers and sisters on the other side of the border.

I spoke to a migrant who reported being arrested with his friend. At the BP station, his friend was thrown to the ground by a white agent, who began kicking him in the stomach and yelling at him, calling him a “black shit”. That really offended his African American fellow officer- not that the man was being kicked, but that his fellow officer was using a slur that was offensive to members of his racial group. The agent stopped the racial insults but made sure to kick the man again before he left him alone. I spoke to another man who told me he was not mistreated.

Things are not much better in Mexico. Migrants are seen as a target of choice by a multitude of gangs, criminal networks, and now even the drug cartels have moved in. Nogales is a very dangerous place. Migrants are often kidnapped and held for ransom. Relatives living in Southern Mexico or Guatemala or other places where they are from get phone calls from the thugs demanding money for their loved ones’ release. Those whose families can pay are released, sometimes after suffering a beating. Those whose families cannot sometimes end up dead.

I remember hearing loud police siren wails and when I looked down the street, I saw five black police pick up trucks speeding by in a line. In the back, were black clothed officers clutching automatic weapons. I have never seen police this heavily armed anywhere in the world, except the West Bank. The drug cartels in Northern Mexico are extremely heavily armed and fight their wars against each other as well as against anyone who is opposed to them or suspected of being against them with Uzis, bombs, and the newest firearms. One young man I spoke to told me he fears for his life. Sicarios, hired killers, are known to open fire and machine gun people down on the streets for no explicable reason at times.

The few migrants I spoke to and asked what they think of the police all had low opinions. The police are corrupt, they said, and target the poor. It is far worse in Juarez, on the border with Texas. Whatever brutalities the cartels commit in Nogales, are magnified in Juarez. Thousands are murdered there every year. They include gang members and cartel members killed in crime wars, but also thousands of innocent bystanders who are gunned down in random attacks or killed in kidnappings. Drug rehab clinics have been sprayed with bullets. People are kidnapped and mutilated bodies are found days later on the streets, or they are simply buried in mass graves.

Juarez police officers have been known to take deported migrants aside, on pretext of having ‘wrong papers’ or just to conduct interviews. Then the victims were sold to extortion rings, who called up their families demanding ransom. Those whose loved ones could pay survived. The others didn’t.

August 24, 2010, saw the worst atrocity perpetrated against migrants to date. Seventy four men and women traveling from El Salvador, Ecuador, Brazil and Guatemala were stopped by members of the Zetas drug cartel in Tamaulipas, a province in northeastern Mexico. The migrants were ordered to smuggle drugs, and the younger men were told they would be paid $1,000 a day to be assassins for the cartel. What happened next is a testimony of heroism of the highest order. Every single one of the people refused. They were probably not naïve or ignorant of what the consequences would be of such a choice. But nevertheless their answer was unanimous- everyone said “no”. They were taken to a ranch and the shooting started. By the time the killers were finished, seventy two people lay dead. Two survived by pretending to be lifeless, and later escaped.

There are thousands and thousands of stories of tears and tragedy and inhumanity perpetrated against these people, whose only ‘crime’ is wanting a better life.

Some services offered in Nogales

Bus station. The migrants are sitting underneath the roof, the area is much bigger than it looks. From here, people also make phone calls to families and loved ones on phones provided by No More Deaths.


Comedora

Nogales NMDers

Some of these people volunteer in Nogales for a few weeks, and then return to their homes, like myself. Others have been doing this for years. They are fluent or near fluent in Spanish, and come by with a host of other skills as well. In addition to helping in the various projects run by Mexican NGOs, they also compile abuse testimonies and try to reclaim confiscated items from Border Patrol. They make a big difference too.


L and D.


Steve

Making a difference

This guy used to live and work in America since he was brought in when he was three years old. ICE caught him and deported him. He decided to stay in Nogales and serve people who have been deported. He helps run things in the bus station.


This man is a barber and comes to the camp to offer his services for free. He also is a great musician, and played his guitar for the people.

These guys are the real heroes. They serve their countrymen and other people from Latin and South America who have suffered through hell. They are there on a daily basis, giving their time and talents to make a difference. Both men have given permission for their pictures to be taken and displayed on here.

Nogales

July 28

We arrive in Mexico. I go with M and V. V is the volunteer co-ordinator, and agreed to give us a tour. There we meet several other volunteers who have been working there.

Nogales is a city of approximately 159,000 people, and on the border with the United States. We cross from the American side to the Mexican side. Walking through the gate, no one checks our passports. We only see the Nogales that is close to the American side but it is quite an experience. Tacquito stands are set up along the street. There is a graveyard that is so colourfully decorated sometimes it’s hard to associate with a place of death. Houses dot the surrounding hills. Mexico is a beautiful country with beautiful people, yet also one with a lot of suffering. An estimated 44.2 percent of its population live in poverty. 10.2 percent live in extreme poverty. It is also the second richest country in Latin and South America.

Nogales is also one of the cities in Mexico in which deported migrants are dropped off by the US Border Patrol. Some have been caught that very same day and deported. Others have been sitting in prison for weeks and months. The deportees come in all ages, shapes and sizes; men, women and children. I see kids who can’t be more than 6 years old clutching on to their mothers in one of the centers.

They are dropped off from large Wackenhut buses, left completely on their own. Not infrequently, their belongings are taken away in BP or ICE custody- wallets, shoelaces, id. Money often goes missing.

NMD began partnering up with Mexican NGOs to try to provide some relief for the hundreds who are dropped off here everyday. According to Steve, one of NMD’s long-term volunteers; Currently, an estimated 250 people are deported from the US to Nogales every day. Only a few years ago, it was 800 to 1200.

Some of the deportees get to go to a comedora- a soup kitchen- which was started with help of the Catholic Church. There is room for 70 people in the morning and 70 in the afternoon, about 140 people use it everyday. Then people are taken In for a few days by a program ran by the Mexican government, Grupo Beta, which provides people a few days to 2 weeks of shelter as they try to regain their bearings and decide where to go next. Many of the deportees have lived in the US for several years, and their whole lives are behind them. Others paid a lot of saved up money to get to the US so they could work to support folks back home, now they are back at square one.

What really impresses me is the fact that NMD is there only in a supporting role. The people who are co-ordinating the work and are in charge are Mexicans. So are most of the volunteers. We are supporting them, and send volunteers over to help serve food, assist people in making phone calls to their loved ones, give some medical help. But they are the ones in charge, helping their countrymen and women. They give their time willingly and without asking for any money in return for their help.

There is a bus station that offers bus rides to various parts of Mexico for those who want to go back, and the rates are low. Shockingly, for me, most of the people who were recently deported intend to try crossing the desert again. Some have survived near death but are ready and willing to enter this hell again.

One of the things that most stands out for me is the wall. It is an ugly metal structure that runs through the city and separates the Mexican side from the American side. On one side are hundreds of thousands of people who, in spite of their best efforts, have been pushed to poverty by economic forces and problems created in part by their leaders and in part by the leaders on the other side of the fence. Where they know there are jobs that pay a living wage. Where many have families.

Strung out every few hundred metres along the fence, on the other side, are Border Patrol vehicles waiting and ready to catch anyone who tries to cross. Pictures to come later.


Cars driving into the States from Mexico. You can see the street vendors at work.


Nogales street view


Just before entering Mexico

Some more NMDers (2)

R, one of the funniest people in camp and a guy who is really passionate about the human rights of the migrants and other victims of injustice in Arizona. On that day, R switched clothes with a female member. She didn't want a picture taken though.


J, one of our volunteers.

Some more NMDers

J and I at Byrd Camp, July 27


D, one of the medically trained volunteers. He also serves up great breakfasts.


Mac, one of our cooks. He is a high school teacher in Texas and doesn't go to camp with us, but prepares meals for people who are training.

Remembering Josseline

July 26

On July 26th, I have had the oppurtunity to visit the memorial of Josseline. It is in the mountains, 7 miles from the border with Mexico. It is on one of the many trails migrants walk on, one of many on which countless people have spilled blood, sweat and tears.

Her story is sadly one of thousands, and stands as a stark reminder that things have to change.


Josseline Jamileth Hernández Quinteros was a 15 year old girl from Honduras who was one of the many thousands crossing the border into the United States. A teenager just entering high school, she took her ten year old brother and traveled with him to get to their mother who was living in Los Angeles.

They survived the harrowing dangers in Mexico, where migrants are victims of exraordinary violence and cruelty from law enforcement and gangs; and began crossing the desert with a group of people in January 2008. They got to the mountains, but there, Josseline fell sick. The 7 miles of walking took their toll on her body, and she was dehydrated. She began vomiting and was unable to keep up with the group.

The group needed to move on, the coyote decided to leave her. Her younger brother wanted to stay with her, but she urged him on.

Exposed to the weather and shivering from the cold, Josseline was left alone with some water and food. On her first night, the temperature dropped below zero. It is unknown how many days and nights she lasted. One can only hope her death came quickly.

Josseline's body was found several weeks later by Dan Millis, a No More Deaths volunteer who was hiking through the area. Her mother and brother could not come to her funeral, because there was no guarantee they would not be arrested and deported. Griefstricken relatives and others who heard of what happened followed the priest into the mountains, where the memorial service was held at the site of her death.

The death of anyone is tragic, but particularly when the victim is a child. Josseline had absolutely no say regarding economic, political or immigration policies that forced her and her family into such a journey. Yet she has joined the thousands of innocents who have lost their lives in the desert.

I could not help thinking of the migrants who were in our camp- especially two of the boys who were 15 and 16 years of age. Not any different from the students I worked with as a substitute teacher at Garden City or Miles Mac or St Boniface Archdiocesan high schools. Like my former grade 8s who I taught at FAMS.

No one deserves to die like this.

I believe Josseline is with God and will never experience pain or suffering or poverty or dying again. His Kingdom come, His will be done on earth as it is in Heaven.

We need to be engaged in working for His Kingdom down here.

*Josseline's story is told also in a book written by Margaret Regan, The Death of Josseline. It is about the plight of migrants crossing through Arizona. I would highly recommend getting hold of a copy and reading it.







Josseline's mother wrote this poem for her daughter, and it can be seen by the memorial. Translation from "The Death of Josseline" by Margaret Regan.
"When you feel that the road has turned hard and difficult / Don't give yourself up as lost / Continue forward and seek God's help."
"We'll carry you always in our hearts"

Elusive Trail

July 26

On my last day in the desert, 2 volunteers and I went to make some water drops and check out a new trail. We got so lost it wasn't all funny, and were wandering around in circles. We climbed over rocks, got scraped, almost slipped... and the car was in plain sight!!! We were unable to find the trail we were looking for until there was like 30 minutes left and we noticed it was much closer to the car then where we wandered off.

It was kind of scary, because we were in an area where a mountain lion was sighted recently. We saw some bones and skulls of several animals, including a deer. We decided to beat a hasty retreat. It was not fun at all...


Deer skull.


A view from the rocks. There was rain there recently, and a small lake formed. It is very shallow and has probably dried up by now.


The trail we were actually looking for...

Attack of the javelinas

July 23

A javelina is a wild pig that lives in the deserts of Arizona. They travel in packs and go looking for food. They aren't aggressive but whatever is left lying around is fair game. You can hear them at night, and they run into the camp. Whatever edible thing is not buried or covered with a lid... that better have a really heavy rock on it...is gone the next morning.

We put our compost into holes we have dug in the ground so these buggers don't get in... but it doesn't always work. I dug the following pit on July 23 and made sure to cover all of the rotting food with plenty of soil and really large rocks... but they managed to dig it up and left a huge mess that I had to dig over again.

I haven't managed to see one of these, although other volunteers have, so I will copy a link to a site where you can see a picture of one of these slobby food-raiding barbarians. Oh yeah, I was ticked.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Javelina.jpg

They are also called peccaries, or "skunk pigs". Personally, I think that is too generous of a name for these guys. I would call them something else, but it wouldn't be appropriate for the blog.





Compost pit before I began digging.


Compost pit, after I have finished covering it up.


Te swinie!!!! If you don't understand what that means, find a friend who is Polish and have him or her translate that for you. OK, I'll do it. It means "these pigs!!!"

More desert wildlife (2)

Oh yeah... and then there was this guy.

More desert wildlife

So these cows are not wild, but the area we are in is ranchland, and they are everywhere. Usually pretty docile, although sometimes they block the road.

One of the problems that many ranchers have with migrants is that the cows do sometimes eat clothing they leave behind, and then choke. Also, there have been cases where starving people have killed them for food. I can understand the perspective of the ranchers, these animals are their property and I am sure they do cost a lot. Having said that, I don't know what they or anyone else in their position would do if they were crossing through the desert and in these people's shoes.


"I'm telling you, mate. It's not GEICO. It's gecko". TV commercials aside, I'm not sure if there are geckos out here, but these lizards can be seen everywhere in the area.


Vulture. We can see one or two circling overhead on any given moment, when there is a dead body of an animal or person they congregate and eat it. I haven't seen a vulture feeding frenzy while out here, and don't want to.

Rudy

Riley's removal from camp did not mean an end to our rattlesnake visitors; as soon as Riley left, Rudy moved in. Rudy is a baby rattlesnake, and kind of cute. The problem is he is far more dangerous- unlike adult snakes, when baby ones bite someone and release their venom, they don't know how to stop the flow, and inject all of it into their victim.

Rudy also had a very bad habit of not only being content to lie by the med tent, but he actually managed to slither his way inside. We would never really know where he is, unlike Riley he liked the indoors and to keep everyone in suspense. Unfortunately, it led to his very premature, tragic and rather grisly end.

A group of migrants we were with saw him moving by the medical tent one evening, and they also happened to be sleeping there. When he slithered out again, they asked if they could kill him. There was some division among this in our group, with some volunteers supporting the motion and others opposing. I supported it, there was no way I'd be comfortable having our guests sleep with the possibility of getting poisoned, they faced enough already. RJ was nowhere around, so we decided it would be okay to kill. The migrants and those of us who supported killing it made a large circle around it, then one of our guests smashed it over the head with a shovel. It took several blows, and Rudy was no more.

I felt kind of bad for it, but believe it was the only thing that could have been done in the situation. I have respect for God's animal creation, but when it is a matter of human life I believe there is no question where priorities are to be made.

'Violent criminals'

One of the most common refrains I hear about migrants from people who hate them is that they are criminals. They are often portrayed as being mostly drug smugglers, gang members, rapists, dealers, thieves. Doubtlessly among the hundreds of thousands who come across the border, there are some who fit into these categories and are coming not to work and provide for their families, but to commit crimes against innocent Americans and innocent fellow migrants. The same is true of any immigrant group, among any group of people coming into a new country, legally or illegally, there are always some who are criminals and who come not to build but destroy. That applies to ‘native’ Americans and Canadians as well- not only the true native First Nations peoples but also descendants of colonizers or of immigrants who arrived long ago who took it from them centuries ago who like to refer to themselves as natives of the area.

Anyways, in a conversation I had with a person who will remain nameless, I was told that the vast majority of migrants are violent criminals.

So I want to share some interesting observations.

1) When patrols go out, often 2 to 4 people are left at camp. During some days, there are 8 migrants at camp, the most we have had has been 14. So to do some math, for every NMDer left at camp on a day like that, assuming there are 4 of us, there are between 2 and 3.5 dangerous and violent criminals among us. We are out in the middle of nowhere, and though we have some very limited cellphone reception, I don’t know how long it would take the police to actually arrive… there has not been one attack or threat made against me or any other NMDer from a migrant, either this week or any other day during the last 6 years we’ve been out there.

2) Many of the volunteers leave their backpacks lying around camp. One time I have left my $250.00 camera on the table… it was really late and I was exhausted and I forgot. I came back the next morning and it was… there.

3) Manuel and Fernando were left to fend for themselves in the desert because they refused to serve as drug mules. Think about it for a second. People choosing to risk death over taking part in a crime. From what they said, it sounded very much like other people in their group were forced to carry drugs. It was either that or die of dehydration. Doesn’t seem like it was done willingly. In the past, cartels have murdered migrants who have refused to work for them.

4) This is one of the most powerful things I have seen and is testimony to the selflessness of many of the people who come across the desert. Often during patrols NMD volunteers find half drank water gallons. I have came across a few myself. For quite a while, we were trying to figure it out. Why on earth would a person travelling through 30 and over degree heat not take a full water gallon with him or her; I mean I understand not being able to chug the whole thing down at once but why not just take the rest? Some of the migrants we were with explained that little mystery for us. Many of the crossers are determined not only to stay alive, but to also make sure that others coming after them will be able to make it. So they drink half of the gallon, put the lid back on, and leave the rest for others. I don’t know if I’d be able to do that in their shoes, if I wouldn’t want to take the rest with me just in case I needed it later. 'Violent criminals' indeed…

I spent the last 8 days not only surrounded by people who are ‘violent criminals’ but I also was able to eat with them, listen to their life stories, share mine with them, play checkers with them, hear them sing songs from Mexico, play cards with them, and spend time with some of the most kind and resilient people I have ever met. Somehow I survived.

I think to call the majority of these people ‘violent criminals’ must require a very strong dose of propaganda from media networks and politicians who score points attacking people who everyone knows are for the most part incapable of defending themselves. The real criminals, aside from the cartels and those who do actually commit real crimes, are politicians who pass trade and border policies that bring about the deaths of thousands.

Tense encounter with BP

The Border Patrol kept up quite the presence around our camp during this week.

There was one incident that was very tense. One morning myself and the other NMDers heard horses outside our camp. Byrd has horses on her farm and we can hear the both of them braying occasionally, but this was much closer. One of our volunteers saw a BP on horseback only a few metres away, and he heard two men talking. Two of us decided to go out and face them- there is nothing we could do to stop them from coming into the camp if they wanted to, since we are close to the border with Mexico no search warrants are necessary. Byrd Camp has been raided in the past.

We decided to opt for a non-confrontational route, and walked out, loudly talking about hockey- which is a topic albeit Canadian that I know nothing about. We saw one guy on horseback, when he saw us, he started trying to move away, down the wash and away from the camp. We decided to follow him, keeping a far distance. D got a soccer ball and we started kicking it around, all the while maintaining our sights on him. The agent looked a bit confused and tried to go behind a tree with his horse. There was a lot of shrubbery in the area and it almost worked, but D spotted him right away and pointed him out to me. He then tried going uphill again, towards the camp, and we began doing the same. So he turned around and went back. We could see him talking on his radio. I took a few pictures with my cellphone (camera was out of batteries at the time), and he began backing away from us… a lot. The funny part was that my cellphone camera is pretty hopeless and I’m sure I didn’t get him, given how far we were from each other.

Then, three Border Patrol vans pulled up on top of the hill. It looked like they were going to come into camp. Things did not look good. D and I went into one of our vans that got stuck at the wash last night and sat there, watching them from the driver’s back mirror. We turned on some music. All of a sudden, one of the vehicles seemed to have a flat tire, and the agents got out to have a look at it. It took a few minutes. Then another miracle- pastor Jean, who happened to be in the area and wanted to show our camp to a person he knew, pulled up alongside them. He got out and asked one of the agents if they needed help. After being told “no”, he drove down the wash, and came into our camp. Five to ten minutes later, the cars all left. I believe God intervened and kept them from coming in.

A day after that, we had a helicopter fly relatively low over our camp. This hasn’t happened before during my time there, either during this week or the last one. I’m wondering if it was connected to the incident the previous day.


The chopper that flew over our camp. I don’t know if it was a BP helicopter or if it was conducting surveillance or in any way connected to what happened the day before. The Border Patrol use helicopters for two purposes. One purpose is search and rescue. BORSTAR has also used them to find and rescue migrants who are stranded and in severe medical trouble, they have saved lives.

However, they also have a far more sinister purpose. In addition to being used to keep an eye on migrants coming through, BP engages in a practice called “dusting”. A helicopter is literally flown over and landed on a group of migrants. As the chopper starts to descend, the force of the propellers throws rocks, sand and dust into people’s faces. The raids often happen at night. People run in all directions, terrified. Groups split up. Some are tracked down and caught, some rejoin their groups, while others are separated and left by themselves. Most in the latter category get lost in the desert and run into trouble.

I took this picture as the helicopter was flying away.


A closer look at the chopper.


BP van, 3 like it were up at the wash looking down at the camp.

Byrd

Byrd is the woman who lets us use her land for our NMD camp. May God bless her and protect her, her generosity has saved many lives.

Byrd is a children's book writer, and has a house not far from camp. NMDers go there and feed her horses. She is not at her farm now because of health reasons, and I have never personally met her.

Her picturesque house has a bed on the porch for anyone who is traveling through and needs a place to stay. Her generosity extends to animals too- the water buckets for her horses actually has a stick inserted in each one so bees that fall into it can climb out... I am not making this up.




One of Byrd's horses. One day, after someone forgot to close the fence, it wandered off. B and I were watching the camp that day and no one migrants were there, so we took some carrots and horsefood and tried to lure it back in. We talked to it and baited it for at least 45 minutes before it went inside. It was also pouring rain. Quite the adventure.


Everyone is welcome here.


Byrd's house.

Hermanos

Hermanos

I want to write about two people I have met who came through our camp. I cannot say their names, when they came, how long they stayed, or where they are going. Not because these things are not relevant, but because there are people who may be reading this who would probably try to track them down and arrest and deport them. I will call them Manuel and Fernando.

Manuel and Fernando came to the camp together, after making a brave choice that almost cost them their lives. Like many other migrants, they were traveling with a group of people, and they just crossed the border.

They were led by a “coyote”- a smuggler.

There are differing opinions I have heard NMDers and others working on the border about these guys. Some coyotes are caring people who guide their flock across the border and through trails reaching to destination points where they are picked up. They will slow down as much as is possible for people who are hurt, and do not demand more than was agreed on. Others are predators and oppurtunists, who will raise the price or will cheat people by leading them only a few miles and then keep tell them to keep walking, that they will be in an American city or dropoff centre in a matter of a few hours, whereas the truth is more like several days. Groups of migrants are often attacked by bandits, and the drug cartels like to use them as unwilling smugglers. Manuel’s and Fernando’s group ran into a situation where everyone was told they will be smuggling marijuana across the border. They both refused and as a result were abandoned. Going through the desert is always dangerous, and there is no guarantee that even with a well-meaning guide the journey will be successful. Without a guide, the risks increase substantially.

I met Manuel and Fernandez in the med tent, I dropped by to say hi. One of them noticed I was wearing a cross and a Romero t-shirt and asked me if I am a Christian. I said I am, and they told me they were as well. Manuel is a Catholic and Fernandez an evangelical. They told me how they praise God for being with them on this journey. Fernandez then took out a guitar that was in the med tent and asked me if I wanted to hear some music from his church. He started playing Praise and Worship music, except that it was all in Spanish. I didn’t recognize it, and that made me happy. It wasn’t a Spanish translation of an English song (not that our P&W music isn’t awesome, I think it is), but a song sung in his church in Mexico. I could recognize the words Dios and JesuCristo. Then it hit me. These guys I was sitting with weren’t just fellow human beings created in the image and likeness of God, they were my also my brothers in Christ. I could see them worshipping and praising Him alongside us in Vineyard or Riverwood, or with my Catholic Christian brothers and sisters in St. Andrew Bobola or St. Ignatius. Heck, I could see Fernandez on the worship team at Vineyard.

Jesus said where there are two or more gathered in His name, He is am among them. I was not just sitting with good people and brothers in humanity, but also brothers in Jesus Christ. We talked about Him in the tent (actually, it was mostly them who did the talking, I listened) and it was a humbling experience for me. I have never faced the struggles and pains they go through, and probably will never face what they did in the desert, either that or the poverty that forced them to make such a journey in the first place. They both said they are from farming families in Southern Mexico, but that things were very difficult at home and they came to support their parents. Fernando said he would like to get work on a farm, while Manuel said he doesn’t particularly mind where.

I wish my hermanos all the best, and to all my other brothers and sisters making this journey across the Sonora.

Water Drop in the Mountains

2 volunteers and I went to the mountains very near the border with Mexico to make some water drops. We walked only about 0.3 miles but to them but most of it was uphill. It started raining just as we were leaving.


Ochotillo forest.


The drop. There are more water bottles under the crates, as well as blankets and socks.

In some parts of the desert, water bottles have been cut open with knives by BP agents and local ranchers. Given the circumstances the migrants are facing, such actions are nothing short of murder.


The end of the trail. It was tough during the daytime, and we stopped halfway to have some water. Imagine doing this at night, walking at a fast speed; knowing that you are being potentially followed and that if you fall down and sprain your ankle you will probably be left behind.

The desert during monsoon season

One thing I couldn't help noticing is how much greener the Sonora becomes during July. Sometimes you look out and could be forgiven for thinking it is a lush forest. As annoying as it is to get drenched on a daily basis, the water makes the plants so lush and beautiful. Of course, the heat outside stays the same and unfortunately the migrant death toll does not fall, but rises, during these months.

Looking at the desert though I can't help marvelling at God's creation- our Creator and Saviour is not only a God of justice and love, but also one of beauty. Who else could design and create something like this?


An ochotillo

Guests

During my time there

Unlike last week, we have had many guests come during these 8 days. They arrive in groups of 2 and 8 and 12 and sometimes more. Some days no one comes, others there are 14 people at once. Some weeks no one comes, during others we receive many visitors. It has been like this since NMD started. For the most part they are adult men, mostly in their 20s or 30s although there are people who look older too. They arrive after days of walking in the desert. Their shirts are often stained with sweat and they wear clothing that is usually dark. Some walk in briskly, others stumble in.

They are a small number of the hundreds of migrants from Mexico and countries in Central America who cross Arizona every day. People come in at all times of the day, and when we see them the people left at camp spring into their roles. The Spanish speaker invites them to the med tent, and the medical person assesses them. Things to look for are signs of dehydration- sometimes salts need to be given. Food and water can’t be given immediately in all cases, sometimes our guests are unable to take it down. We try to not call them migrants when we talk with each other; they are more than that to us. They are friends who are in a bad situation that they have done nothing to deserve being in. It is our privilege and honour to host them. Usually they are given right away, after it is safe to do so. After a medical checkup, they are given tubs with warm water where they put their feet, and then the treatment for blisters takes place.

While this is taking place, the other volunteers in camp are preparing a meal. Usually eggs and tortillas and vegetables. One group of migrants who came to the camp have not had food in two days, people sometimes come in literally starving. Our volunteers also pack bags of clean clothing as well as some cans of beans and snacks and water or Gatorade bottles for our guests to carry when they leave. People are welcome to stay with us as long as they need to; every one of them is a patient. Almost all have came in dehydrated to an extent, and almost all have blisters. No doctor would discharge a patient while he or she is still sick, and we feel that our guests no best when they can move on. No one wants to stay longer than necessary; not because they do not enjoy our company but because getting to where they need to get in America means being able to find a job, and that means enough money can be earned to send back to their families back home and that they can eat. For those whose families live in the US already, getting home means seeing their loved ones.

It is very hard to watch them go. Our friends who have came into camp have lived through some horrific ordeals in some cases- we heard a man tell us about how a group he was in was attacked by bandits who beat everyone and stole their food and water- out in the desert that is a potential act of murder. Others have almost not made it, still others have had to make the horrific choice of leaving a person behind who couldn’t walk anymore. We watch them leave, always they thank us for being there, but in reality we didn’t do that much. We only provided things that every person should have access to- food, water, clothing, and letting our guests know that, in our eyes at least, they are not ‘illegals’ or ‘aliens’ or criminals. They are people like us, no different from us in any way, except that they live on the other side of the border in a country whose leaders have traded its people away in corrupt dealings with our leaders who overlooked the massive human rights abuses taking place and the consequences millions would face for some extra money.

They leave to continue their travels, and I pray for them that they will get to their destinations alive and well and be able to support themselves and the people they love.

Ezekiel 37

Ezekiel was a prophet in the Old Testament, and God passed many important things through him to the people of Israel. In Ezekiel 3, Ezekiel is out in the desert and God speaks to him. He directs him to a pile of bones, and asks him something we humans would call probably call a ‘stupid question’.
“Son of Man, can these bones live?” (Ezekiel 37:3)
Ezekiel decided to not to take chances and answers simply,
“Oh Lord God, you know”. (Ezekiel 37:3)
Verses 4 to 9 finish the rest.
God made the dead bones come to life. Out of a pile of death, He created new life.
He goes on to tell Ezekiel
“Thus says the Lord God: Behold, I will open up your graves, O my people and I will bring you to the land of Israel”. (Ezekiel 37:12)

God promises the Israelites He will revive them. They may be defeated and crushed and broken, even dead, but nothing is impossible for Him.

The desert is a place of death in Arizona, no less than in the middle east where Ezekiel had his encounter. Bones are all that is left of many people here, and hundreds of sets of bones each year are collected by the mortuary. Bones of Mexican and Latino men, of women, of children who were for the most part fleeing involuntary and NAFTA-imposed poverty to seek a better life. It is estimated that hundreds more bodies are never recovered.

However, God promises a resurrection. Death is an integral part of the inhuman border policy that is in effect, yet God is more powerful than death. He is more powerful than injustice. Neither injustice nor death have the final word. The people we leave water bottles for, and the people who come into our camp, and the people in Nogales who are served by No More Deaths and other similar groups- many lives are saved and because of our small efforts some do escape death. We continue to do the best we can to help people not die, as well as challenge border and trade policies that drive them to such conditions.

Others though we cannot help, and their bodies end up in the Sonora. However, God is always with His people, in death as well as in life. God can and does raise the dead. He raised Himself through His Son, from the dead. He raises the mistreated and uplifts the downtrodden. He is the ultimate source of hope, there is no other.

There will be justice one day in Arizona and in Mexico, just as there will be in Palestine and Iraq and Chechnya and Tibet and Colombia and inner city Winnipeg and every part of the world that is oppressed by violence and exploitation and addictions and poverty. God can replace and make alive what human greed, cruelty and stupidity have destroyed. We may not know when the Second Coming will be, but we do know that neither death or injustice will triumph. He will. Satan does not have the final word. He does.

What didn't change at Byrd

One thing that reminded me we were back at Byrd Camp was the fact that like 10 minutes after we got there, it started pouring rain. We waited it out before setting up our tents.



Javalina pit- this is where we dump our dirty dishwater. It is a putrid and disgusting puddle of crap, and it is called a javalina pit because no other living creature would enter something like this. To learn more about what a javalina is... keep reading the blog. It will be added in the next 2 days or so.


Rain falling into a little trench we dug around the kitchen. A and D helped me dig one around my tent.

Back to Byrd Camp

July 19, 2011

We rolled in on Tuesday in our cars. I came with 4 new volunteers, and some old timers who drove us there. There were a lot of people there, many of whom I began training with. It was great to reconnect with people as well as get to know the ‘new ones’, of whom at least a quarter of the camp was part of only 2 weeks ago.

To my relief, I came back to learn that Riley was no longer part of our community. After waiting for the Fire Department to remove him, we got hold of a friend called RJ who lives in the area and is an expert at snake removal. Riley was taken away from us, and dumped off in another part of the desert where he will hopefully keep his slithering and hissing and tail rattling to other animal life. Hopefully also migrants, Border Patrol and other people traveling through the desert will not run into him.

However, the campground is still full of snakes and where Riley used to lie and hiss and rattle at everyone passing by, there was a new one. More on Rudy later, and how he met a tragic end. For every rattlesnake you see in the desert there are an estimated 10 or so that you don’t. The Fire Department and RJ do remove snakes, but they say “if you call us everytime you have a snake in the area we’ll stop coming”. Rattlesnakes are an unavoidable part of desert life, and one just has to be careful and hope for the best. While rattlesnakes are venomous and can be deadly, they fear people more than we fear them and don’t go out of their way to hunt us down. Still, it is possible to accidentally step on one and many have innocently done that. Others yet have been bitten because of sheer stupidity. One of our volunteers knows of people who have had a drink too many and got too close. Reportedly some memorable things people have said before being bitten include things like “Hey, watch this” and “Hold my beer, dude”. Fortunately alcohol is not allowed at camp.

Another important tidbit of information I learned, a good way to tell if you are being dehydrated. May sound weird and kind of disgusting, but good to know. Basically, the thing to do is observe your urine. If you are getting enough water in a desert environment, you should be having go at least 4 times a day. Also, your urine should be of a clear or near clear colour. If you are peeing yellow, that is okay but it means you need to be drinking more water. If it is brown that is definitely not good and you should see someone for medical help.

I am looking forward to these next 8 days.

S., one of our new volunteers. In addition to being super cool, he also teaches at a university and knows cars really well.


This cool little trailer stores some of our camp "goodies" like snack bars and powerade powder, as well as is one of the places people who do not have tents can sleep. It is called Destiny's Child, which I think is pretty creative and hilarious.

"They should just shoot them all"

I had an interesting conversation with a taxi driver today as I got a ride to the theatre where a friend and I met up to watch a film. I missed my bus and wasn't sure when the next one came so I took a cab.

Anyways, the guy driving it was very outspoken about the illegal migration. I asked him what he thinks of it and the answer came out right away- "They should just shoot them all". He told me that every migrant is a criminal and criminals should be shot. They are also "a bunch of freeloading bums". I asked him why he thinks migrants come to the States. According to him, they come to go on welfare, with the exception of "a few" who work. He went on to tell me that every country that Spain ever conquered is corrupt, and that the Spanish themselves are also corrupt in Europe. He said the same is true of Italians and blacks. The only countries that are not corrupt are white, anglo-saxon nations like the UK, Australia, Canada and the United States. He told me that the only time South Africa was not corrupt was when "white people" ruled it, and "it was good for the blacks, even if they couldn't vote". All Arab nations are repressive and the whole middle east is backwards, except Israel "that can kick ass whenever it wants".

There was a lot I could have pointed out and his rant was so absurd I didn't know where to begin so partially because I don't know my way around Tucson and didn't want to get kicked out and partially because I was a bit curious how far this could go, I just listened. The part that got to me most was the assertion that the migrants come to the US to go on welfare... crossing for 5 to 7 days in the desert, being burnt by the sun, cut by thorns and sharp rocks, risking death and abuse... to go on welfare? Apartheid was a good thing for black people? I am not a supporter of the governments of any Arab countries because they are human rights abusers... no less than Israel though. This was one of the few times I experienced such unbridled racism, and it shook me up. I felt it was not a good time to mention either my involvement with No More Deaths or Slavic ancestry.

Most people in Tucson I have spoken to are sympathetic to migrants, and I made a point of asking this of non-hispanic people I meet on the street who are not affiliated with No More Deaths. This kind of hatred and racism is a first that I witnessed but it was pretty scary. I hope God frees him from such hate, and that no migrant or other vulnerable non-anglo-saxon person comes across him. I have heard of some neo-nazi groups in Arizona, that also patrol the border and look for migrants. From what I know, they are few and hopefully full of hot air more than anything else. Hatred and racism is a cancer and a person full of hate is incapable of knowing God. It binds and imprisons the racist in a far more serious way than his or her targets.

In memory of those who didn't survive the journey

A memorial at Byrd Camp to the thousands of men, women and children who died crossing the desert.

Operation Streamline (part 2)

After coming back from the Courthouse, at the Convent Lois gives us more information about Operation Streamline.
One of the most stunning things about it is that none of the magistrates (actually they are not certified judges but play that role, however participation in O.S. can be a part of climbing that ladder) she talked to really believe in it. It is clear to them as well as to almost everyone else in the courtroom, that the people being convicted and being handed down criminal records and being sent off to prison are not wrongdoers and have done nothing to deserve such treatment.
People with actual criminal records who are caught crossing the border are turned over to other courts where they face additional charges. The only offence the Streamline defendants have committed is illegally crossed the border. An overwhelming majority of them do so to look for work.
The magistrates who pass down the sentences do not actually decide on them, the prosecuting attorney and lawyers hammer out the details of who will be in which prison and for how long. The result is displayed on a plea bargain that the migrants read and sign. Lois talks about a magistrate, Jacqueline Marshall, who apologized to the people she has sentenced. After a migrant told her he is sorry for having broken border law, she told him “I am sorry you weren’t welcomed into my country”. During another court case, she broke down in tears after hearing a migrant tell her about his kids living in the U.S. Thomas Ferraro is known as a judge who is “not overtly kind, but not overtly harsh” on the migrants.

Lois shares some ugly stories of the US Justice System’s fight against the migrants. Often people who are arrested and deported are have been living and working in the US for quite some time. When they are discovered and thrown out, they sometimes leave family members behind.
One of her stories that most highlights the absurdity of the situation is that of a young man. When he was 4 years of age, his parents crossed the border illegally and took him with them. He grew up in America, went to school, and has no criminal record. He was seventeen years old when they came for him. One night he and some friends went out in a car. The driver was a teenage girl who absentmindedly borrowed the car from her grandfather without asking. The man called the police and soon the group was pulled over. After it became clear it was a misunderstanding, everyone was released- except the 17 year high school student. The police ascertained he was not a legal citizen and passed him forward to ICE. He was sentenced to 7 months in prison and did time. He has now been released and is about to be deported. He is appealing for the system to at least let him finish his high school before being thrown into a country he has not seen for over ¾ of his life.

Lois tells the story of another young man of a similar age, who was brought to the US when he was 4 months old and deported to Mexico. He does not speak Spanish, and some schools in Nogales (one of the main deportation centres, and also an extremely violent place due to the cartels) are beginning to teach bilingual programs for deportees who have little to no knowledge of Spanish.

While I understand that illegal immigration is a complex issue and those who are against it can also offer valid arguments and reasons for their positions, the criminalizing of innocent and often exploited people simply because of the fact they crossed a border in search of a better life is in my eyes vindictive and unjust. Even the people who are carrying out Streamline seem to know it. I am reminded of the first 4 verses of Isaiah 10.

Isaiah 10

1 Woe to those who make unjust laws,
to those who issue oppressive decrees,
2 to deprive the poor of their rights
and withhold justice from the oppressed of my people,
making widows their prey
and robbing the fatherless.
3 What will you do on the day of reckoning,
when disaster comes from afar?
To whom will you run for help?
Where will you leave your riches?
4 Nothing will remain but to cringe among the captives
or fall among the slain.

Yet for all this, his anger is not turned away,
his hand is still upraised.


Even the powerful will have to face God's justice one day.

Operation Streamline (part 1)

July 12

We came back into the city today, and in the early afternoon went to the Justice Building to observe a phenomenon I have never seen in Canada and never want to see it either there, or anywhere else in my life.

It is called Operation Streamline. It was a program started in 2005, to criminalize migrants for crossing illegally into the United States. Before that time, most migrants who were caught would be detained, made to sign voluntary deportation orders, and deported. Sure, during arrest, detention and transport they would often be subjected to humiliations, beatings, deprival of water and other indignities but in spite of being treated like criminals, most were not legally recognized as such. That all changed 6 years ago.

In 2005, the Border Patrol began taking migrants to court, and demanded that everyone who was picked up would be given a criminal record and maybe some jail time as well. The courts replied that such an action was impossible. A deal had to be made. BP began to randomly select approximately 30 to 70 migrants from the hundreds who are detained each day, and dragging them off to court.

The process happens Monday through Friday every week, and is open to the public. The defendants are charged with illegal entry if this is their first time entering, and illegal re-entry if it is their second time. There are about 5 to 6 lawyers, so each one takes on between 5 and 14 clients, depending on the number. Each group has about 30 minutes with their lawyer, in total. They are presented with prepared plea bargains that the lawyers and prosecuting attorney earlier prepared, stating that they are guilty of the above mentioned offence (1st timers are committing a misdemeanour, second timers a felony) and outlining the punishment. First timers are given a criminal record and deported. Some have spent days or weeks in jail before their day in court, and that is considered time served. Second timers are sentenced to prison for a period of a week to 6 months, after which they will be deported. People who do not sign are given a federal trial and charged with the same offences. Difference is that is they are found guilty they will spend 2 years in prison. An overwhelming majority do not.

They filed in to face the judge. That Monday there were 31 of them. We sat in the courtroom and watched the events unfold.

The judge is sitting in his chair, above him is a large circular emblem: US District Court, District of Arizona. The lawyers are there already, as are three BP agents in sharp green uniforms and a court officer. The migrants are standing in 3 groups.

Before you can see them, you can hear them. Their chains, that is. Everyone is handcuffed, leg cuffed, and has a chain around his waist. Most are Mexican, although some are from Guatemala. They are all young men this time, at other times there are women among them. They are all very dark skinned (Lois tells us most migrants she works with are campesinos- farmers- from Southern Mexico who were forced to leave because of NAFTA) and wearing clothes that reveal being worn for a very long time. Their faces are emotionless, devoid of any expression. Most do not speak English, and all are wearing translator earsets.

The trial starts. The judge is a kindly man with a moustache, and does not look angry at the migrants. His name if Thomas Ferraro. He gently tells them about the charges they are facing, and allows them to ask questions they may have. He tells them they are being charged with illegal entry, that what they have done is punishable with up to 6 months in jail or a $5000 fine. Each of them have the right to enter a guilty or non-guilty plea. They have the right to a retrial if they plead not guilty, it will occur before a US Magistrate and the prosecutor will have to prove they are guilty. He asks if they have any questions. Everyone collectively says no.

6 people are called up and appear with their lawyers beside them. They are asked if they understand the sentence. They all say “si”.
“Do you still want to plead guilty”
“Si”
“Do you understand your rights”
“Si”
“Do you understand if you plead guilty you will lose your rights?”
“Si”
“Do you give up the right to waive or appeal the sentence”
“Si”
“Do you have any questions?”
“No”
“How do you plead?”
“Culpable” (guilty).

Nationality is quickly ascertained.
“Mr. Alejandro Rodriguez*, are you a citizen of Guatemala?”
“Si”
“Are the rest of you citizens of Mexico?”
“Si” (everyone else responds)

Then each defendant is asked a series of questions. They go something like this:
“Mr. Alejandro Rodriguez*, did you enter the United States on July 11, 2011 near Sasabe?”
“Si”
“Did anyone threaten you to make this statement?”
“No”
A few other questions are asked of him and everyone else facing the judge, including if the defendant wants to plead guilty. Everyone says yes. It is quite chilling. The Court is asked if they are satisfied. The answer is yes. The migrants are asked if they want to add anything. Everyone says no.

There is one exception. One man chooses to plead not guilty. He will go to another court. Lois expresses surprise later, this kind of thing she says happens very rarely.

The first timers are given a criminal record and released with time served before deportation. Some thank the judge. “gracias, gracias” can be heard in the courtroom. Three of them were indigenous Mexicans and Guatemalans and cannot speak either Spanish or English. They are not charged with anything and simply marched out and deported, not having probably understood a word of what just took place.

But others are not so fortunate. The sentences are handed down. People get sentenced from 9 days to 125 days in jail. Young men who risked their lives to support their loved ones and try to survive the severe economic hardships imposed on their communities are now going to be locked up in penitentiaries, doing prison labour and being in a violent and dangerous environment where gangs like the MaraSalvaTrucha 13 often exert a strong influence and in essence force many inmates to either join or be severely harmed; where they will be in the company of murderers, rapists, drug dealers and others who have a habit of preying on the weak, and the newcomers who arrive on a daily basis are more than fair game. It is tragic and some of us want to start crying, myself included. Some of the newly sentenced prisoners keep their eyes to the ground, not wanting to look up. Others are trying to put on a brave face, to somehow not betray the fear and apprehension of what lies in store. They are escorted out by the BP, dressed ever so sharply and professionally in their slick green uniforms.

After sentencing each small group, Ferraro tells them “Good luck to you all, I hope you have no more trouble”.

*Not a real name, but an alias I made up
**They are actually magistrates and have not yet reached that rank, but preside in that role for O.S.