On the night of October 25th I had the opportunity to speak with Alejandra in the Migrant Resource Center. It was a slow Sunday night and towards closing time she was the only person in the Center other than me. I sat down across from her and started asking the normal questions: where are you from? How did you cross? Do you have family? I then asked “¿Vas a intentar a cruzar otra ves?” Are you going to try to cross again?
Her response was not all that uncommon, “no hay otra opción.” There’s no other option. At that point the conversation became a memorable one. Alejandra said, “me estoy esondiendo.” I’m in hiding. She then explained to me that she suffered for twelve years living with her abusive husband and was trying to cross into the United States to save herself and her child. She finally decided to leave her husband because he threatened to kill her. Alejandra mentioned being caught by the Border Patrol. They told her that she didn’t have permission to enter into the United States. She responded by saying “Dios me ha dado permiso.” God has given me permission. She ended her story by wiping her tears from her face, smiling and saying “¿pero sabes que? Dios es grande.” You know what? God is great.
Alejandra reminds me of the human aspect of the border. She also reminds me of the complexity of the border. But there is one thing that is not complicated: these people need help. Alejandra, clearly a woman of great faith, created in the image of God, had encountered nothing but hardship for most of her adult life. She had just crossed most of Mexico, walked for days in the desert, and was detained by the Border Patrol. After she arrived to the Migrant Resource Center she was eventually taken to a women’s shelter in town and finally felt safe.
Your involvement in the Migrant Resource Center has most certainly made a difference in the lives of those we serve, at least partially alleviating the pain and distance from home so many people unfortunately feel.
At the Migrant Resource Center there is a constant need for food, clothing, and hygiene and basic medical supplies to be distributed to people like Alejandra. As well as a constant need for financial support to continue to maintain the center itself. Your donation will continue to enable us to provide quality support and care for those individuals so desperately needing our assistance.
On a daily basis it might seem like change is hard to come by, but in the past three years we have fed more than 43,000 men, women and children. Thank you for your part in making the change we want to see in the world, and thank you for chipping in and helping the cause of the Migrant Resource Center.
Friday, October 30, 2009
Friday, October 9, 2009
Gratitude.
Its like a chapter from a Steinbeck book. The men are making fun of each others’ mustaches. There’s one guy who keeps whistling as he washes the dishes in the tiny bathroom. The men keep buying Cokes for 5 pesos each and bringing them in and sharing them with everybody. And when they run out, they go back for more. A pleasant hum of conversation fills the Migrant Resource Center. High pitched laughs occasionally pierce the pleasant drone of mantalk. Soon, the men start to leave. The Whistler says, ¡Oye! ¿No me van a ayudar?
Hey! Yall aren’t gonna help me?
Shortly thereafter the men are arguing about who will mop. The Whistler gives up his post as Chief Mopper and delegates to another man.
The phone rings.
¿Puedo comunicarme con José Luis?
Sí, I say. ¡José Luis!
The name echoes as the rest of the men shout it out in unison.
The man in question rounds the corner with eyes wide and mouths the phrase, Gracias, eh?
¿Bueno? He said to his wife.
Echale pino porque huele bonito, says the assistant to the Whistler.
Through some Pine Sol in there, its smells pretty.
The Whistler sits down. A deep satisfied sigh escapes. He looks at his assistant.
¡Eso es chaparro, estas contratado!
Yeah boy, you are hired!
José Luis hangs up the phone with a look of sad happiness. He says: las mujeres son las cosas más hermosas del mundo.
Tienes razon, amigo, I say.
¡Pues sí! Mi mujer me enseñó usar esta pinche trapiador, says the Whistler with his broad mustachioed smile.
Well yeah, my wife taught me how to use this damn mop!
After a while the Whistler leaves the bathroom. He looks at me, the Migrant Resource Center far cleaner than normal. With palms facing the floor he wipes an imaginary surface.
Ya es todo, he says.
Ustedes saben que no tienen que hacer eso. Pero muchas gracias.
No, gracias a usted.
The Whistler saunters outsider, his form silhouetted by the late morning sun, to rejoin the conversation.
No va a cambiar la pinche situación.
This fucking situation isn’t gonna change.
The dull roar of conjecture and conversation continues. The friendships of men forged in desert heat, thirst, and sadness continue to be soldered through commiserating, talk of women and Mexican cities and hope.
The Whistler’s assistant carefully waddles across the newly mopped floor. This is the world of men. Proud men. Migrants.
Its not always like this.
There is a calmness.
Hey! Yall aren’t gonna help me?
Shortly thereafter the men are arguing about who will mop. The Whistler gives up his post as Chief Mopper and delegates to another man.
The phone rings.
¿Puedo comunicarme con José Luis?
Sí, I say. ¡José Luis!
The name echoes as the rest of the men shout it out in unison.
The man in question rounds the corner with eyes wide and mouths the phrase, Gracias, eh?
¿Bueno? He said to his wife.
Echale pino porque huele bonito, says the assistant to the Whistler.
Through some Pine Sol in there, its smells pretty.
The Whistler sits down. A deep satisfied sigh escapes. He looks at his assistant.
¡Eso es chaparro, estas contratado!
Yeah boy, you are hired!
José Luis hangs up the phone with a look of sad happiness. He says: las mujeres son las cosas más hermosas del mundo.
Tienes razon, amigo, I say.
¡Pues sí! Mi mujer me enseñó usar esta pinche trapiador, says the Whistler with his broad mustachioed smile.
Well yeah, my wife taught me how to use this damn mop!
After a while the Whistler leaves the bathroom. He looks at me, the Migrant Resource Center far cleaner than normal. With palms facing the floor he wipes an imaginary surface.
Ya es todo, he says.
Ustedes saben que no tienen que hacer eso. Pero muchas gracias.
No, gracias a usted.
The Whistler saunters outsider, his form silhouetted by the late morning sun, to rejoin the conversation.
No va a cambiar la pinche situación.
This fucking situation isn’t gonna change.
The dull roar of conjecture and conversation continues. The friendships of men forged in desert heat, thirst, and sadness continue to be soldered through commiserating, talk of women and Mexican cities and hope.
The Whistler’s assistant carefully waddles across the newly mopped floor. This is the world of men. Proud men. Migrants.
Its not always like this.
There is a calmness.
Sunday, September 6, 2009
Some creative writing from the Border....
The idiot stumbled down the part of the road with each eye focused on different objects. He played a child's accordion that spat out tri-tones and honks and gasps that made the accordion seem alive. He was nothing like the other beggars with amputated arms or legs or spirits. This man only had amputated reason. Whatever brain he had was not able convince himself of his own situation and was likewise unable to guide his feet down the road without looking like a giant fleshy kid's wind up toy. Some force other than his own, whether benign or indifferent, was able to guide him though the half-mile long snaking line of steadily idling v8's. His stupid and vague smile, looking away at something only he can see, is troubling. That incurable stupid smile. You're not supposed to be smiling.
The taxis fly around the corners and stake claim to a piece of curb. Despite the men inside, the cabs seem to be living, breathing beasts. Early 90's Crown Vic's that grandmothers in Louisville or Milwaukee probably used to drive. Now they housed throaty exhaust systems and lift kits and the men inside them. Now the took gringos to places at high price and take unsuspecting migrants to no place for a price not deserving of the treatment they received. Whether the men were extensions of the cars' souls or vice-versa, the purpose of the man-car monster is not so well hidden under the sheet metal once so popular to so many geriatrics in Florida. It stakes claim to a curb and waits for its prey.
The taxis fly around the corners and stake claim to a piece of curb. Despite the men inside, the cabs seem to be living, breathing beasts. Early 90's Crown Vic's that grandmothers in Louisville or Milwaukee probably used to drive. Now they housed throaty exhaust systems and lift kits and the men inside them. Now the took gringos to places at high price and take unsuspecting migrants to no place for a price not deserving of the treatment they received. Whether the men were extensions of the cars' souls or vice-versa, the purpose of the man-car monster is not so well hidden under the sheet metal once so popular to so many geriatrics in Florida. It stakes claim to a curb and waits for its prey.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Your tax dollars at work.
This is an Abuse Report that was done at the Migrant Resource Center where I work. None of this is made up. All of this is very real and takes place more than is most likely documented. Just to remind any one who might read it, this shit aint cool.
Documentation of an abuse on August 11th, 2009
Names of Interviewers: Sergio Tellez and Michael Ugarte
Place: Migrant Resource Center, Agua Prieta, Sonora
Abuse: Physical and Verbal
Guillermina Ibarra and Brenda Ibarra were detained about 48 hours. The Border Patrol treated them inhumanely. The agent grabbed Guillermina and Brenda and made them walk through the toughest terrain when Guillermina had fallen, hurt her knees and could not walk. She has lacerations on her neck. She is unable to lift her knees, she hurts especially in the groin area. She told the agent that she needed medical treatment but was told that she was not in a hotel and was not in her country and she did not deserve treatment. She was handcuffed and made to sit down then another agent, she was told of Japanese extraction, made her walk while he accompanied her in a 3-wheeled vehicle. He made her sit down forcefully, pushed her, and he took out his weapon pointed it and called her “a fucking bitch.” When she got to the Migrant Resource Center she could hardly walk and she was crying.
Documentation of an abuse on August 11th, 2009
Names of Interviewers: Sergio Tellez and Michael Ugarte
Place: Migrant Resource Center, Agua Prieta, Sonora
Abuse: Physical and Verbal
Guillermina Ibarra and Brenda Ibarra were detained about 48 hours. The Border Patrol treated them inhumanely. The agent grabbed Guillermina and Brenda and made them walk through the toughest terrain when Guillermina had fallen, hurt her knees and could not walk. She has lacerations on her neck. She is unable to lift her knees, she hurts especially in the groin area. She told the agent that she needed medical treatment but was told that she was not in a hotel and was not in her country and she did not deserve treatment. She was handcuffed and made to sit down then another agent, she was told of Japanese extraction, made her walk while he accompanied her in a 3-wheeled vehicle. He made her sit down forcefully, pushed her, and he took out his weapon pointed it and called her “a fucking bitch.” When she got to the Migrant Resource Center she could hardly walk and she was crying.
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
a bit of what I wrote to my church.....
So, how have I felt God calling me to do this? I have read that we should love our neighbors as our selves. So if my neighbor is hungry, I'll give him or her a burrito. If my neighbor is thirsty, I've give a cup of coffee or a glass of water. These people who cross the desert, and often die in the process, are moms and dads, children, aunts, uncles, and grandparents. Most importantly they are children of God.
This shouldn't sound so revolutionary, but for some reason, it is. The ugly wall that stretches as far as the eye can see, dividing the
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
My letter to Senator Lindsey Graham
Firstly, I would like to thank you for your service to South Carolina, and to the United States. My purpose in writing you is to discuss the issue of immigration and border security. I understand that on Thursday, June 25 at 2:00pm EST, members of Congress will join the President at the White House for a meeting that is expected to create a roadmap for legislative action on comprehensive immigration reform in 2009.
I'm currently three weeks into a year long internship on the border in south east Arizona with a bi-national ministry called Frontera de Cristo. I live in Agua Prieta, Sonora, Mexico. This is ground zero for immigration. Every day I meet people who have been deported at the Migrant Resource Center where I work. Many of these people simply want a cold glass of water, a warm burrito, and to find a way back to there homes here in Mexico. As you know, immigration is a very complicated issue, and I feel that we are approaching it in the wrong way. I have met several times with the Border Patrol just across the border in Douglas, Arizona and their goal has been stated to me very plainly. To secure the border. Unfortunately, the way in which we are securing the border is causing people to go further out into the desert in order to cross. This kills people. It kills family members. It kills fathers and mothers who try to cross the desert to attempt to make enough money to sustain families. It kills children with the promise of finding a better life in the U.S. And it kills grandparents who have decided to leave a world they know behind. These migrants who cross the border are at extremely high risk. Risk from the elements of an unforgiving desert, risk of wild animals, and they are also at risk of encountering dangerous people on the border who want to take advantage of them. Senator Graham, these people want to come into the United States to find hope, to finds jobs, and to find renewal. I'm not proposing that we open the floodgates. I just wish there was an easier way for people to enter this country who want to do it so their kids won't go hungry. Or so they can get the education they need to fullfill their dreams.
The economic reality is this: employers in the United States want cheap labor. And many of the people coming across the border from Mexico want to work. I'm sure you know this just as well, or better, than I do. Its supply and demand. If we are going to do true immigration reform citizens of the United States must be held accountable also. Regardless of how tall the wall is, or how dry the desert is, people will cross, because they can live better in the United States. While I was in graduate school at Winthrop University some one commented to me that "all the problems down on the border aren't going to be solved until we completely close the border." I don't think there is a magic door that will close the border. Walls, literally and metaphorically, come down. Always.
I see it through the lense of Christianity. These people are hungry. They are thirsty. They are poor. I believe we, citizens of the United States, as members of humanity and citizens of the world are called clothe the naked, feed the hungry, and help those who ask for it. It wasn't so long ago that we as a country said to "give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses, yearning to breathe free." Have we forgotten this? I would venture to suggest that that wall that has been built in southern Arizona expresses a completely different position: keep out.
I don't have a solution to problem that immigration and border control poses. But I do want to suggest one thing: that we remember that the people who attempt to cross are human. Just like you. Just like me. Just like my friends from Great Falls and Winnsboro and Rock Hill. And just like my parents in Mount Pleasant. It does not make sense to me that because some one was born south of a line which was drawn almost 160 years ago by American railroad tycoons and soldiers they shouldn't be able to live a full and healthy life.
Life, Liberty, and the Persuit of happiness. Does that apply to only citizens of the United States?
Political boundaries are important, but I think justice, compassion, and kindness transcend any border.
Thank you, Senator Graham, for receiving this message. One thing I ask you to remember. Remember that these people trying to cross th border are humans. Humans who deserve to be treated compassionately.
Thanks again. Sincerly,
Jordan Bullard
I'm currently three weeks into a year long internship on the border in south east Arizona with a bi-national ministry called Frontera de Cristo. I live in Agua Prieta, Sonora, Mexico. This is ground zero for immigration. Every day I meet people who have been deported at the Migrant Resource Center where I work. Many of these people simply want a cold glass of water, a warm burrito, and to find a way back to there homes here in Mexico. As you know, immigration is a very complicated issue, and I feel that we are approaching it in the wrong way. I have met several times with the Border Patrol just across the border in Douglas, Arizona and their goal has been stated to me very plainly. To secure the border. Unfortunately, the way in which we are securing the border is causing people to go further out into the desert in order to cross. This kills people. It kills family members. It kills fathers and mothers who try to cross the desert to attempt to make enough money to sustain families. It kills children with the promise of finding a better life in the U.S. And it kills grandparents who have decided to leave a world they know behind. These migrants who cross the border are at extremely high risk. Risk from the elements of an unforgiving desert, risk of wild animals, and they are also at risk of encountering dangerous people on the border who want to take advantage of them. Senator Graham, these people want to come into the United States to find hope, to finds jobs, and to find renewal. I'm not proposing that we open the floodgates. I just wish there was an easier way for people to enter this country who want to do it so their kids won't go hungry. Or so they can get the education they need to fullfill their dreams.
The economic reality is this: employers in the United States want cheap labor. And many of the people coming across the border from Mexico want to work. I'm sure you know this just as well, or better, than I do. Its supply and demand. If we are going to do true immigration reform citizens of the United States must be held accountable also. Regardless of how tall the wall is, or how dry the desert is, people will cross, because they can live better in the United States. While I was in graduate school at Winthrop University some one commented to me that "all the problems down on the border aren't going to be solved until we completely close the border." I don't think there is a magic door that will close the border. Walls, literally and metaphorically, come down. Always.
I see it through the lense of Christianity. These people are hungry. They are thirsty. They are poor. I believe we, citizens of the United States, as members of humanity and citizens of the world are called clothe the naked, feed the hungry, and help those who ask for it. It wasn't so long ago that we as a country said to "give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses, yearning to breathe free." Have we forgotten this? I would venture to suggest that that wall that has been built in southern Arizona expresses a completely different position: keep out.
I don't have a solution to problem that immigration and border control poses. But I do want to suggest one thing: that we remember that the people who attempt to cross are human. Just like you. Just like me. Just like my friends from Great Falls and Winnsboro and Rock Hill. And just like my parents in Mount Pleasant. It does not make sense to me that because some one was born south of a line which was drawn almost 160 years ago by American railroad tycoons and soldiers they shouldn't be able to live a full and healthy life.
Life, Liberty, and the Persuit of happiness. Does that apply to only citizens of the United States?
Political boundaries are important, but I think justice, compassion, and kindness transcend any border.
Thank you, Senator Graham, for receiving this message. One thing I ask you to remember. Remember that these people trying to cross th border are humans. Humans who deserve to be treated compassionately.
Thanks again. Sincerly,
Jordan Bullard
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Mexico
I struggle to begin to describe what I have seen and experienced here on the border in just one week. It has started to sink in that this isn't just a trip. This is the real deal. Considering the position I'm in, there is no way to hide the realities of the border. As I ride my bike parallel to the border on my way to the US from Mexico, I see that the fence stretches as far as the eye can see, and further still. That being said I'm reminded of a plaque which is mounted inside the Statue of Liberty. It comes from a sonnet called "The New Colossus."
Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!
I wonder if we have forgotten who we are, and how most of us arrived to this country. And I wonder if we are still willing to accept tired, poor, huddled masses yearning to breathe free. Its not that these people don't exist, just yesterday I met several men who were walking in the desert for two days in search of something better. After they were caught by the Border Patrol and repatriated they found their way to the Migrant Resource Center where we gave them food and drink and some basic medical care. In my week here on the border there has been no shortage of hospitality, as people who might be considered tired and poor by the standards of Charleston, SC have said without fail, mi casa es tu casa. That phrase may sound cliche, but it is used and adhered to here in Mexico. These people have strong conviction about hospitality. The family I have been staying with recites a verse from Matthew every time they sit down to eat. Love the Lord with all your heart and soul, and love your neighbor as yourself.
I can't offer an answer to solve the problem on the border, but I know that it is no secret that each one of us is called to love our neighbor as we would love ourselves. If you're hungry, do you feed yourself? If your family is hungry, do you feed them? If your feet hurt, do you prop them up and rest? As members of humanity, regardless of religious affiliation, I feel we should be more willing to heed the call to help our neighbors. A good fence does not a good neighbor make. It only protects us from taking the plunge and risk of becoming involved in someone else's life, and maybe making a difference.
I'll conclude this by telling the story of a guy name Juan Luis. Juan Luis is the director of an organization which specializes in Perma Culture (I suggest looking it up). He promotes self sustainability within the community, and becoming more independent consumers of energy and food. Juan Luis strolls around the compound of DouglaPrieta Trabaja (or DouglaPrieta Works) and is beaming with pride about the gardens that are being grown in the desolate desert soil. The environment surrounding Juan Luis, and every one else here, is not great. In fact sometimes it can seem hopeless. But to see beans and tomatoes sprouting out of the dry dirt of Agua Prieta will give any one hope. Hope that there is a way of making things better. Hope that one day the situation at the border will be a little more fair. And faith in the people who live down here and have no option but to be hopeful.
Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!
I wonder if we have forgotten who we are, and how most of us arrived to this country. And I wonder if we are still willing to accept tired, poor, huddled masses yearning to breathe free. Its not that these people don't exist, just yesterday I met several men who were walking in the desert for two days in search of something better. After they were caught by the Border Patrol and repatriated they found their way to the Migrant Resource Center where we gave them food and drink and some basic medical care. In my week here on the border there has been no shortage of hospitality, as people who might be considered tired and poor by the standards of Charleston, SC have said without fail, mi casa es tu casa. That phrase may sound cliche, but it is used and adhered to here in Mexico. These people have strong conviction about hospitality. The family I have been staying with recites a verse from Matthew every time they sit down to eat. Love the Lord with all your heart and soul, and love your neighbor as yourself.
I can't offer an answer to solve the problem on the border, but I know that it is no secret that each one of us is called to love our neighbor as we would love ourselves. If you're hungry, do you feed yourself? If your family is hungry, do you feed them? If your feet hurt, do you prop them up and rest? As members of humanity, regardless of religious affiliation, I feel we should be more willing to heed the call to help our neighbors. A good fence does not a good neighbor make. It only protects us from taking the plunge and risk of becoming involved in someone else's life, and maybe making a difference.
I'll conclude this by telling the story of a guy name Juan Luis. Juan Luis is the director of an organization which specializes in Perma Culture (I suggest looking it up). He promotes self sustainability within the community, and becoming more independent consumers of energy and food. Juan Luis strolls around the compound of DouglaPrieta Trabaja (or DouglaPrieta Works) and is beaming with pride about the gardens that are being grown in the desolate desert soil. The environment surrounding Juan Luis, and every one else here, is not great. In fact sometimes it can seem hopeless. But to see beans and tomatoes sprouting out of the dry dirt of Agua Prieta will give any one hope. Hope that there is a way of making things better. Hope that one day the situation at the border will be a little more fair. And faith in the people who live down here and have no option but to be hopeful.
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