TUCSON BORDERLANDS YOUNG ADULT VOLUNTEERS

Hi everyone!  Last Sunday, we were invited up to Holy Way Presbyterian Church in Tucson to speak some more about our experience as YAVs.  This is what I had to say for my sermon:

“For he is our peace, he who made both one and broke down the dividing wall of enmity, through his flesh, abolishing the law with its commandments and legal claims, that he might create in himself one new person in place of the two, thus establishing peace, and might reconcile both with God, in one body, through the cross, putting that enmity to death by it.  He came and preached peace to you who were far off and peace to those who were near, for through him we both have access in one Spirit to the Father.

So then you are no longer strangers and sojourners, but you are fellow citizens with the holy ones and members of the household of God…”

-Ephesians 2: 14-19

Thanks to all of you for inviting us to be present and to speak this morning here at Holy Way.  I have been watching and reading much, in the past few weeks and months, about the upcoming Presidential elections.  It has been strange to live in Mexico- specifically, on the border- during a time in which there has been so much discourse about so-called “border security” in national media.  Most people I’ve met here in the borderlands since my arrival on September 5th are dismayed, even scared, by the possibility of seeing further militarization and deeper division along the border.  I, for one, don’t know that our southern border policy currently accomplishes much other than to criminalize the poor who attempt to come to the United States and look for work.  During my time as a YAV, I have privately struggled to intellectualize the issue and figure out what would be the ideal way to stem the flow of drugs and organized crime into our country, while allowing law-abiding citizens to pass freely between the United States and Mexico.  But I haven’t quite figured that one out yet.  Bad on me, I guess.

But whatever political opinions we come to on our own, I think it’s important to remember that those who come here are not simply part of a “brown wave,” or looking to “steal jobs from good, hard-working Americans.”  They are people, with hopes, aspirations, fears, and dreams, just like you and I.  They are people who simply want to escape poverty or violence in their homelands, and feel they have no other choice but to leave.  I will tell you now about one of them whom I just met Thursday in the MRC.

His name is Javier.  We didn’t exchange many words on this particular day.  But after he had already eaten with a group of men from the overnight migrant shelter, I simply asked if he would like some of my juice.  He declined, and asked instead (very politely) if he could use our telephone to call his girlfriend in El Paso.  “Of course,” I told him.  She wouldn’t get off work until at least 4 o’clock, however.  So Javier settled into the chair in front of where I sat, at the desk in our office, at the back of the MRC.  And he waited, and waited some more.  After a few moments, he spoke again, and I realized he was tearing up.

“Es que quiero buscar a Dios, hermano, pero no sé cómo…” he managed, as a tear dripped from his face.  “I want to search for God, brother, but I don’t know how…”  I wasn’t sure what to say to that, so I just sat with him and waited patiently, hoping he would tell me more about himself.  Javier and I sat in silence a bit longer, then I asked him where he was from, if he had been to the United States, and where his family was.  He told me he was from Chihuahua, that he had family back there as well as in San Diego, El Paso, and Denver.  He had spent time with his family in all three cities, but was separated from them now.  He helped himself to a Kleenex as he was telling me this, and I asked him what he was planning to do next- re-enter the States, or go back to his aunts’ home in Chihuahua.  He wasn’t sure, but underscored that he definitely wanted to leave Agua Prieta as soon as he could.  I loaned him the phone now, and he called his girlfriend in El Paso.  She must not have gotten home from work right on time; the first two times we called, she wasn’t there.  After a few more minutes went by, Javier tried again, and she answered.  They spoke briefly, while I tried not to listen in, and respect their privacy.  When Javier was finished, he hung up, and seemed visibly reassured.  He thanked me, and turned to walk out.  “Dios está contigo,” I told him, as he walked out, and he thanked me once again.

Others I’ve spoken with in the MRC the past couple of days have had to hitch rides all along the Mexican border recently- from Monterrey to Matamoros to Naco and back to Agua Prieta- in order to get where they are now.  They are, in the most literal sense, sojourners- strangers in a place strange to them.  But we are, of course, fellow citizens of the world.  And as Christians, we believe that we are all beloved by God.  As we go forth, let’s work to make all with whom we share this earth feel a bit more beloved.  Let’s remember Javier.

I’m heading home early tomorrow morning, and pretty excited about it.  I’ve missed my family and friends from home lately, and I can’t wait to see them again.  Christmas, as always, is sure to be a fun time filled with lots of company, good food, and warmth- literally.  But over the past couple months, I’ve seen firsthand just how many people struggle to afford such material comforts.  Lately, I haven’t been seeing too many people coming in for help at work, because the Border Patrol has been sending deportees back through Nogales.  (It’s easier for them, coming straight down south from Tucson.)  But in years past, (so I’ve been told by other fellow volunteers and community members) as many as 30, 40, or more people were coming into the Migrant Resource Center every single day for lunch.

I haven’t had nearly that kind of flow since I’ve been here.  A couple weeks ago, we had about 6 or 7 middle-aged men who were staying at the local Catholic shelter, and they came for lunch every single day.  Therefore, I’ve been able to spend some time with individual people, learn their names and backgrounds, and even develop some friendships.  Here I’ll tell you a bit about just one person I met this past Saturday.

Over the weekend, our YAV site coordinator Alison was visiting with the folks who comprise our Steering Committee, and we had agreed to meet at the Migrant Resource Center, my workplace.  A young man came in.  Melissa attended to him, warming up some burritos in the microwave so he could have something to eat, and I didn’t pay him much attention at first, since the group of us was getting ready to tour the town and find somewhere to have lunch.  But after a couple of minutes, I left our office area to go over and grab some supplies from the storage area.  As I walked by the young man, I asked him if he had eaten enough- I expected him, like most other migrants who I’d seen up until this point, to say, “Yes, thank you!” or “Yes, of course!” or something to that effect.  But he answered no, that he was still very hungry.  And so I went back to the refrigerator and got some more burritos ready for him.

I knew that the group was getting ready to leave, and figured this would probably take a little while, so I told Alison to have the group go on without me to their first stop, and then come back for me in a little bit.  As the group made its way outside, the young man asked me for a change of pants, socks, and shoes.  I told him he was welcome to come back into the office space and choose from among the clothing we had available.  He said he had been walking too much, and as he picked out what he needed, he removed his footwear.  While I didn’t look too closely, I could tell his feet were not in good shape- he had some patches of skin between his toes that looked black, and an unpleasant smell reached me from the other side of the room.  I wasn’t sure what to offer him for blisters other than some Neosporin and Band-aids; he gladly accepted them.

By this point, the guy had already had two servings of burritos, but I could tell he was still hungry.  So while I prepared him some Ramen noodles, I finally got around to asking his name.  Santiago, he told me.  And then he went on to tell me why he had been walking so much.  He hadn’t been deported, but he had tried to cross the border somewhere over to the east, by Chihuahua.  He said the Border Patrol had found him, but that he had managed to escape and cross back into Mexico closer to the Douglas/Agua Prieta area.  Why was he trying to cross?, I wanted to know.  He said he was trying to get to Tucson to see his mother.  His brother lived there as well, and had just recently had a baby boy.  But the baby had died unexpectedly, and the funeral was planned for sometime in the next couple days (meaning today or tomorrow, at this point).  It seems tragic to think that anyone should have to break or flee the law simply trying to reunite with family for such a tender, heart-breaking occasion.

People cross the border undocumented for a variety of reasons- this case is probably the most unique I’ve encountered to date.  I didn’t think to ask his age yesterday, but Santiago seemed around my own age.  As I sit here typing, counting down the minutes until my shuttle leaves to take me up to Tucson on my way home, I’m haunted by what Santiago told me about his own experience.  I would hate to have to go through what he did just to try and reunite with my family.  No one deserves that.

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