Several of us in my family went to Tijuana and volunteered
for a week, providing accompaniment to migrants waiting to present their cases
at the US border. This post will not detail facts available elsewhere, such as
the following: Migrants and immigrants are an infrequent source of crime, with
fewer such reported than for the population at large. The current migration
caravans and other groups of migrants are generally not bringing drugs either.
Most drugs interdicted arrive by car or boat, at our northern as well as southern
borders, and the Coast Guard is underfunded. A wall across the rural miles will do nothing to reduce drug flow, and
will only increase the unknown numbers of deaths daily as migrants on foot are
pushed into the deadly hot and dangerous desert crossings. Many drugs arrive by
highway, the 24-hour auditory backdrop to our time in Tijuana and its
neighboring US city, San Diego (This crossing is one of the top heroin
interdiction sites in the US.)
The Trumped-up immigration “crisis” does not conform to reality
either, as the largest numbers of migrants was in the 1970s. There have been
reduced numbers since then. What is new is that larger numbers of families, not
single men, have been coming north out of desperation, trying to avoid having
to join the gangs, pay extortion money, or be killed. What is new is Trump’s
effort to discourage further immigration by cruelly and illegally separating
families and even losing family members permanently.
I will not spend time making the case that we all know, that
US policy since the 1950s has successfully broken any progressive governments
in Central America, leading to the breakdown of economic and political
organizations in those countries and providing a vacuum into which gangs and
drug cartels, fueled by demand for drugs in the US, have rushed, making life
untenable for many in Central and South America.
I won’t review the fact that US law allows for people to legally
request asylum, presenting themselves ANYWHERE at that country’s border, and
making a case that they have a credible fear of persecution in their country
and cannot return.
Instead, I’ll focus on providing a first-hand account of my experiences
at the border. We were lucky to spend a week’s vacation there: John (medical
experience), Evan and Laura (Spanish, and Laura had lots of background working
with immigrants already) and me (Spanish, French and Creole language
experience). We each gravitated to the organization that seemed most
appropriate to us. Some prepared food at World Central Kitchen, some provided
emotional support to migrants through the temporary Sanctuary Caravan, and I focused
on legal (and emotional) support at Al Otro Lado. Its name means “to the other side”. It is a
very impressive non-profit that has been working since 2012 offering legal
support to migrants. They have been open every day since Thanksgiving. In that
time period they have completed 1200 private consultations, currently running a
daily workshop, with 30 - 50 volunteers per day.
Not being a lawyer, I wondered at first how I would be able
to be of assistance through this organization whose main mission is helping migrants
prepare for their Credible Fear Interview with an ICE judge. This is the first
hurdle that migrants must pass in order to be allowed to request legal status
as refugees.
I should not have worried. The goal of the work is to help
migrants represent themselves at the border. Surprise: no lawyers are provided.
Many lose their documents or have them stolen or destroyed by rain. So they
must be able to summarize their case, from memory, in this interview. An excellent
curriculum has been created, with a mnemonic of a hand to remember the 5 points
that must be made. My job, and that of most of the volunteers, was to help
individual migrants organize their traumatic experiences and fears of future
Officially, I helped to plug a gap in the services for
French-speaking and Haitian-Creole-speaking migrants. Unofficially, I helped to
provide the “glue” frequently needed to keep a volunteer organization running.
I roamed the building, bringing people to medical or legal areas, addressing
new minor issues as they arose, and mostly being available to hold a hand, say
a prayer when one was asked for, or simply listen.
Here are some pictures:
End of a long day at Al Otro Lado. Taken from the roof, a hub of activity all
day long. This open area serves as spillover interview space. I generally
brought migrants here for their introductory lecture about the process, the
intake interview (basic demographic data) and credible fear interview preparation.
It was easier to converse in French or Haitian Creole here than in the crowded Spanish
classroom space below. I love the view
across Tijuana to the mountains beyond. Behind me is the data room where cases
are typed up every afternoon. They are then uploaded, along with photos of the
person’s documents, to a private folder accessible only to the person and those
whom they share it with (generally family members).
Entering via the pedestrian crossing.
Below, the enormous shopping mall on the US side of the border,
seen from the pedestrian transit area.
Dawn – daily pedestrian commuters to the US.
Site of the awful tear gassing incident in December. People
got tired of waiting (perhaps forever) and tried to cross the border at other
than a “legal” point of entry. Remember that it is legal to cross anywhere to request
refugee status. This is a river bed, also encampment sites under the bridges.
When it rained for several days, it became a fast-flowing river. The
inhabitants spent the rest of the week trying to dry out their belongings under
the highway bridge.
For obvious reasons, very few pictures of migrants or
volunteers.
We are working in an oppressive system that requires people
to relive trauma they have experienced, over and over, in order to receive
protection in the US. Some trauma was experienced at home, and was the impetus
for leaving. Other trauma occurred nightly in Tijuana. Not just young men, but
middle-aged women and older couples report being threatened or robbed in the
city. They come in each morning with fresh injuries and fearful stories.
As one of the few French speakers available last week, I worked
with a large number of Africans and Haitians. However, the largest numbers of
migrants were from Central America, and especially from the Northern Triangle where drug cartels have nearly overshadowed the governments: El Salvador, Guatemala and Honduras. One way for me to process this experience,
and to honor the people who have been forced to face this journey, is to tell some
of their stories. I hope you will join me in holding these individuals in your
prayers, in the Light, or in whatever way you choose to remember that our
fellow humans are going through this hell. As Luis, one of the leaders at Al
Otro Lado, said, “We run off anger and love here.”
Some stories:
The very first day, as John and I arrived at Al Otro Lado, a
woman was brought in by a volunteer from another non-profit. A middle-aged
woman traveling alone from Honduras, she had no place to stay the night before
and nothing to eat. She had knocked on a door and been allowed to sleep on
someone’s floor, wearing her sweatshirt but with no bedding. She was a diabetic,
and her first complaint was that she might be having an insulin reaction. We
brought her to the medical clinic area and her story spilled out of her. She
had not taken her insulin medicine because she lost her pocketbook. She lost it when she
grabbed the wrong bag while escaping from thieves who had held a gun to her
head. They had tied her up and she was finally able to escape. She quaked and cried as
she repeated her story over and over. This was our first experience at Al Otro
Lado, before we got a chance to take the volunteer training.
This often happened. A piece of the story would come out,
followed by another and another. Emotional trauma makes it harder to order
one’s problems. And in fact, the diabetes WAS the biggest problem of the
moment. Until I sat down with her and held her hand, at which point I heard the
bigger problem. As to why she left home in the first place, we didn’t even get
to that.
Her medical crisis over, she was invited to take a nap on
the couch in the sunshine. It was warm and quiet there. When she awoke, she told
me that she believed in God and that God would take care of her. I sensed that
she wanted to pray, and we prayed together, my mind expanding into the verbal
prayer that is foreign to me but seemed to be comforting to both of us, praying
aloud in duet form.
Two sisters from a small town in El Salvador whose family
had a small business. Because they were unable to pay extortion demands from
the gangs, three family members were killed. They posted notices around town
and sought help from the police to find their niece’s body but received no help
or information. They had to abandon the business and head north.
J., a young man from Honduras who lived with his parents and
was attending university. His brother had been forced to join a gang and when
he was put in jail for his activities, he was forced to continue to provide
services for the gang from prison. Eventually he was killed by the gang. J. and
his parents were forced to leave their home which they owned and flee to
another city, where they rented another home they could not afford. J. had to
leave university to support his family. He was attacked and threatened by a
gang member with a machete when he went to secure his house.
G., a political prisoner from Central African Republic. He
fled, leaving his wife and two children in hiding. He reminded his fellow
migrants to ask the immigration officer for asylum without fear, as it is his
right. He suggested avoiding looking at the officer in the eyes but to look
elsewhere so as to claim his story and not to lose his nerve.
A 21-year old man I met in the medical clinic was very cold,
shaking. He was traveling alone, and said he could trust no one. We found him a
hat and helped him to change into donated dry socks and boots. He told me he
was looking for a job as a cook in Tijuana. I sat down with him and helped him
with a to-do list, to work towards this seemingly impossible task.
Every single one of the migrants I met had experienced, and
were experiencing, trauma. I asked people “How are you doing?” and immediately I
saw tears spring to their eyes. They opened up to me, telling me their case. Why
were they so willing to trust, having been hurt so much? I think it is because
people crave community, they need love more than anything else.
Guarded faces collapse into tears when a hand is held, a
smile is offered. A couple from Africa was stony-faced until I showed them the
bulletin board that offered “Welcome!” in many languages. I asked them to write
it in their language, Wolof. They smiled and carefully wrote on the board, “Dendale”.
Then they began to trust me with their story. Sitting on the roof overlooking
Tijuana to the south and San Diego to the north, they told me their experience
of racism, forced marriage and death threats from a brother. We worked together
to order the facts into a coherent, true story that even a border crossing
guard might recognize as worthy.
Some people hold their stories tightly, not ready to share their
pain with me. Two men from Haiti are traveling together, and I describe how it
might be that certain categories of people receive protection under US law. I
mention protected classes including race, nationality, religion and social
groupings such as homosexuality. In hearing the process they were likely to
experience if they decided to try to cross the border and ask for asylum, one
of the two progressively lost his energy and finally leaned back on the couch,
almost asleep. Is he tired, sick or just discouraged? His partner seemed ready
to cope, mentioning a friend in the US and a ready understanding of the requirement
to prove their need to enter the US for safety. I provide the best information
we have as to the trip ahead, and I can see him and his partner weighing
silently the risks of going ahead or staying back. I tell them that they will
likely be separated from each other at the border.
Those from Central America mostly reported suffering from
gangs, threats, cartels stronger than governments. The Africans are more likely
to report government corruption: abductions, being thrown in jail with no trial,
torture. We can offer the hand of friendship, support and some information, of
unknown reliability, of the path ahead. “If you make it past the first
interview, you will be put in a cold detention center for an unknown period,
allowed to keep only one layer of clothes.” Is this true? We don’t know, but
that’s what we hear. Single men are often detained for long periods, while
families might be dropped off before midnight at a McDonalds in San Diego.
Knowledge is spotty among both volunteers and migrants. I
asked a woman from Africa who had traveled up from Brazil, “Did you come to
join the caravan?” “What caravan?” she asked. We volunteers know little about the
shadowy organization of the number system, “the list”, by which households are
chosen to cross the border. It was apparently created by a group of Haitian migrants
in 2016, and is now managed by an organization connected with the Mexican
police. It makes sense, to avoid a riot. Even so, migrants wait 6 to 8 weeks at
the border, trying to stay safe and warm while checking at the desk frequently
to make sure they do not miss the call. Once they are called, they are put in a
bus and driven to the automobile crossing, a couple of miles away.
Waiting for
the bus is agonizing. Evan and Laura befriended a family with two children and
spent the morning offering piggy back rides, and otherwise entertaining the
children so the parents could have a few moments’ peace. Later, Laura received
information via Facebook that the family had been released and were headed
north to their sponsor family member, someone with papers living in the US.
Evan did some research on ICE records and found that a woman he had worked with
was in detention. These are the only people we were able to receive information
about on the other side.
The list is a shadowy project: volunteers and most of all,
migrants are governed by it, yet to participate in it is an acquiescence to an unfair,
cruel system. An unpredictable number of families is called each day; the number is much smaller than the need and seems intended to discourage those seeking
immigration. Volunteers from Al Otro Lado observe the process every day and
report back the important facts: how many numbers are called, who is separated
and who is allowed to travel together, what is the final number reached each
day. If a household is not present on the day their number is called, they may
have to start again with a new number. Maybe there will be a second chance for
those who missed their number. Or maybe not, as those who are present each day
complain that others are given two chances and they are given none.
Similar to the capricious information at the Tijuana border,
the border fencing is made up of many different structures cobbled together. A
three-story building topped with accordion wire like a jail. A huge spiral
staircase outdoors, an open-air zig zag stair on the other side. A chance to be
seen and evaluated by the cameras everywhere. A labyrinth of one-way doors, hallways, new and old together. Rules
change every day. One minute no line for pedestrians to cross, then the next
minute there are 20 on line as a new form must be filled out. We are in a stream
of travelers, most of whom seem to make this transit daily to go to work. We are
among the lucky ones with permission to cross the border at will.
So many people are committed to this work. It was an honor
to be among them for a few days. Here I am in front of the office of Deported
US Veterans. There are reported to be
Too bad this story does not end on a happier note.
