Our Relationship to the Land

Although the travel seminar was filled with a wide variety of rich, educational experiences, something I have been thinking about in particular is the nature of one’s relationship to the land. While we were in Guatemala, we visited two agricultural communities called La Florida and Santa Anita, both of which had the rights to their land. These two communities emphasized the ways in which owning their land gave them a better, more sustainable, and dignified life. Yet, we also visited a family who worked on an ejido (communally shared agricultural land) in San Caralampio, Mexico, who had lost hope in their livelihood, expressing the difficulties of competing in a global, neoliberal system. At first I had trouble reconciling why these communities had such different perspectives even though all of them owned their land and were similarly facing neoliberal pressures, yet I later on realized how strongly their different histories and contexts had changed their outlooks. 

After spending most of our time in Xela, a busy and vibrant city, we were grateful to be in La Florida, a peaceful and beautiful finca that has a rich and inspiring story. On the first day we arrived in La Florida, we spoke with Esteban about the history and strength of the community. The story of La Florida goes back to the Guatemalan Civil War, in which over one million Guatemalans were displaced. In response to this injustice, a group of campesinos formed SIDECO, a labor union that fought to better the lives of campesinos and against the violation of people’s rights. After many years of organizing, SIDECO became interested in La Florida, an abandoned 47-acre finca. In 2002, more than 100 members occupied the finca, yet many families ended up abandoning the mission in fear of violence and unemployment, leaving only 22 families to put the finca back together. Although the families faced threats of violence, they remained on the land, recognizing the power of their vision and refusing to recede to a life of economic and political insecurity. In order to negotiate the terms to the land, with the help of organizations, lawyers, and financial advisers, they went and sat through long tedious meetings, and ultimately were able to lower the price of the land to 6.5 million quetzals, almost halving the original cost. Although the members of La Florida are still working to build their community and struggling to bring in income, they have found innovative ways to enhance their economy, using ecotourism and beginning to produce bananas and coca plants. The power and pride that came with building this community and fighting for their rights was not only evident in Esteban’s talk, but it was also reflected in our experiences eating with families, working, and exploring.   

Shortly after our stay in La Florida, we visited a similar community in Santa Anita, an organic banana and coffee growing campesino made up of ex-guerillas from the Civil War. Both from speaking with members from the community and watching the moving documentary “Voice of A Mountain,” we learned about how the community’s values from the war have impacted their vision for Santa Anita, hoping to build a more equal and sustainable society. One of the main differences between Santa Anita and La Florida was that the community didn’t have the same organizing force and was unable to negotiate the price of the land, but rather had to take out extensive loans from the Fondo de Tierras to purchase the land. Although their work and organization has provided them with pride, dignity, and a better life, working to develop the community and maintain indigenous roots, they are also still struggling to make ends meet and pay off the debt. One of the main messages communicated in the movie was the members desire to build better educational systems so that their children would no longer have to work off the land and live off of low-agricultural wages, but could go to school and enter the professional world, making a better life for themselves.  

Although we were warmly welcomed in San Carlampio, the stories we heard were quite devastating. After having a nice lunch all together, the farmers told us of how their lives on the ejido have changed, revealing the ways in which the ejido system is now an empty shell of what it once was. Not only is it expensive now to live as a campesino with the current price of corn, but also the farmers’ crops were dying due to a plague. They explained that with the escalating costs of fertilizer, pesticides, and seeds, which are not indigenous to the land, they are having trouble sustaining this lifestyle, yet without using these products they would not have a chance at keeping up with global competition. They lamented that only 10 to 15% of profits stay for the family. The farmers are now reliant on selling corn to El Salvador on the black market, yet coyotes have become in charge of determining prices, making it even more difficult to live. As their young 2-year-old granddaughter walked around, carefree and full of energy, they sadly said that she would have a hard life and that they are worried for her future, having lost all hope in reviving the ejido system. 

Although on a surface level it appears as though these three campesinos are in similar situations, their different histories and contexts have significantly affected their life chances as well as their optimism. I realized on further reflection that the pride and strength behind La Florida is not solely from owning their land and controlling their working conditions, but is due to their triumph; fighting for and winning the land at a time in which privatization and international corporations are flourishing is a great success. La Florida’s communal and progressive finca is a new and growing project that is providing more work opportunities in resistance to these neoliberal forces. Although Santa Anita similarly has overcome great hardships, the debt of purchasing the land is still heavily weighing down on them. I was confused when in “Voice of a Mountain” the community expressed that they want to move away from farming and into the professional realm while the community in La Florida had presented their livelihood as a vision for the future. Because farmers in Santa Anita are still struggling to get by, they no longer see their agricultural lifestyle as sustainable, but want to provide more opportunities for their children so they can escape the living conditions of the campesino.

San Carlampio on the other hand has a very different history from these other two campesinos. Working on an ejido is not a new model of resistance, but is rooted in the past; the ejido system was established in the 1930’s. This family had grown up on the ejido when it was in its prime and has seen it slowly erode with changing technology, the implementation of outside seeds, and the growing power of neoliberalism. Although all the campesinos were trying to succeed within the neoliberal, global market, hurt by policies such as NAFTA and CAFTA, Mexico’s corn industry in particular, which the campesino specialized in, was completely destroyed by NAFTA in which the U.S., due to agricultural subsidies, came to dominate the market; Guatemala though specializes in coffee as one of its main exports and doesn’t face U.S. competition. La Florida and Santa Anita are not only producing a specialized product, but also are tapping into markets of ethical consumers, providing organic and fair trade coffee, which provides them with a lucrative advantage. The ejidos in Mexico on the other hand were significantly damaged by the Green Revolution in the 1940’s, which forced farmers to use U.S. seeds, fertilizers, and pesticides, destroying their ability to produce organic materials. The Green Revolution significantly impacted the face of agriculture in Mexico, making it expensive to keep up these practices while also making it difficult to compete without them. Although workers on the ejido still own their land and live communally, as neoliberalism and privatization have become more powerful in Mexico over the past 70 years, their way of life has become more and more difficult to sustain. 

La Florida, Santa Anita, and San Carlampio may have vastly different experiences and visions for the future, but I am still in awe of these three communities' power and strength in owning their own land, dictating their working conditions, living communally, and resisting the power of neoliberalism.     

-Claire Molholm

Personal, National and International

    One of the major focuses and reasons for the travel seminar was to learn about and see the effects of migration on the countries and communities that migrants are leaving. Though our discussion in Tucson on migration touched on these effects, we mostly focused on what was causing migration, the migrant experience crossing the border, in the U.S. and in the North of Mexico. By visiting Guatemala and Chiapas, Mexico, and the communities most affected by migration, we learned about the changing landscape of these places because of migration and the resistance to the journey North, dependence on remittances and the problem of debt. What was also particularly important for me during our time in Guatemala was the opportunity to understand the role of U.S. intervention in the Internal Armed Conflict, economic policies and privatization, and migration, while also seeing and learning about the unbelievable strength, independence, resistance and power of the Guatemalan people. It was really important for us to learn how to avoid U.S. centricism in our understandings and discussion while also understanding the role of the U.S. in Guatemala and the domestic systems of oppression and hierarchies (2% of population owns 85% of land), specifically the historical marginalization of indigenous people. To ignore U.S. intervention would be dishonest and disrespectful to many of the people we met, but to talk about the U.S.’s role in a way that strips agency and power from people would be an unbelievable disservice.

    One of the most important discussions for me during our time in Guatemala was with Maria Elisa, an indigenous activist, who spoke a lot about the effects of migration on her community and her resistance to migration, trans-national corporations and mega-projects, and the fight for land and autonomy. Maria Elisa explained how migration (10% of Guatemalans live in the U.S.) has changed the social relations, specifically the gender roles, and the physical landscapes (i.e. abandoned remittance houses) of communities. She also spoke about the dependence on remittances and how they feed privatization, as opposed to supporting community alternative economies, through the construction of new houses and the buying of trans-national products. Additionally remittances go through banks, specifically the Western Union, which profit immensely from the wiring of money. Maria Elisa also spoke about the effects of migration on the social consciousness of communities and how migration creates divisions and weakens communities and their ability to collectively organize and fight. Remittances also play a role in weakening social consciousness through the difference of wealth within the community that weakens feelings of camaraderie and solidarity.

    Learning about this direct effect of migration on communities and resistance, within the context of the history of colonization, the Internal Armed Conflict, CAFTA and mega-projects, such as mining, as well as the U.S.’s role in these things, allowed all of us to complicate our understanding and to see the connections between the personal, national and international. I think often times it is very easy to think structurally, to see that 10% of Guatemalans live in the U.S. without realizing what that means for individual people. Being in Guatemala and talking to the people who so graciously shared with us situated individuals at the center of our understanding and learning, which is in itself an act of resistance to the discourse of liberalism and individualism that is based on the stripping of individualism form certain peoples and communities, while in reality personally and profoundly affecting them.

    * I would like to make a note on the discourse of individualism, because I think it is extremely complex and needs further explanation. I think the Western and Liberal ideal of individualism functions to justify structures of racism and economic oppression, through attributing individuality to certain people at the expense of the dehumanization of others. However, I am not suggesting that individualism should be extended to those who have been dehumanized and disenfranchised, but rather am interested in understanding how a rejection of communal living and ideals has been replaced by individualism, though that individualism is contradictory and paradoxical in order to function to support systems of power and oppression.

-Juju Hoffman

From the Concrete Jungle to Desert Life

When I first heard that I would spend a semester in the desert I pictured vast open land with a few cacti along with perhaps some tumbleweeds mysteriously blowing through with the wind. Honestly, as a Queens girl, that is all I had seen on TV about the desert. And since staying in Tucson for a couple of weeks I realized that my conception of this desert had been completely wrong. 

To me, the desert is life. 

Here we have wildflowers, barrel cacti, chollas, prickly pear cacti, saguaros, mesquite, paloverde…  (and these are just some of the deserts plants I know, I am still learning the rest).

By day, hummingbirds and bees fly past you, lizards, and roadrunners scurry by you, snakes and scorpions rest nearby and a variety of birds are heard chirping their tunes. By night, the coyotes, jackrabbits, bobcats and javelinas come out to start their day. 

 

These new sounds at night were new for me. In Queens, I usually fell asleep to the sounds of cars and people obnoxiously passing through my block. But in Tucson, I was introduced to the calls of coyotes and javelinas. 

I remember that in my first days of Tucson I felt like I was on another planet, exploring and discovering (at least for me) exotic plants and animals. But ultimately, I began to respect and love this type of habitat.

From afar, I understood the construction of the border wall to be a political and sociological issue. But because I was not familiar with the desert region I did not immediately connect to how the construction of the border is an ecological problem as well.

As my peer Katherine described in the last post, Sky Island Alliance and Sierra Club Borderlands taught us how the construction of the border has already impacted desert life.

Unlike the dominant views of this current society, the land recognizes no borders. If you drive south from Tucson you see that for miles and miles the landscape is the same as the one in Northern Mexico. The only demarcation of difference is that you had to a pass a boundary line to get from one place to another. 

Currently, four senators of the Gang of Eight recently visited the border region in order to advocate for the further militarization of the border. It is so easy to approve an order like that if you do not value and respect this land and the life it sustains. 

Therefore, John McCain and Jeff Flake of Arizona, Michael Bennet of Colorado and especially Chuck Schumer of New York go on a hike trail, perhaps camp for a day or two. This desert is more than you think. 

-Gaby Gomez 

The Environmental Impact of Border Security

In our Critical Issues class today, we got to listen to two environmental activists who support borderlands ecosystems. First, we heard Sergio Avila from the Sky Island Alliance talk about the importance of nature to people and the economy. Second, we listed to Dan Millis from the Sierra Club Borderlands Campaign talk about the destruction that Border Patrol has caused to the environment around the United States-Mexico border.

In the first talk, Sergio talked about the environment surrounding the borderlands. We learned that the borderlands are very diverse, with four different climates represented. He showed us pictures of jaguars, ocelots, bobcats, and mountain lions-all found in Arizona! Unfortunately, they may not all continue to live here. The Real ID act passed in 2005 allows the Department of Homeland Security to disregard 36 federal laws in order to build the border wall, including the Safe Water Act and the Endangered Species Act. I had no idea that the government could violate its own laws. These environmental laws were made and passed for a reason and I find it shocking that they are being disregarded.

Animals do not care about international borders-they care about where to find food and water. In the picture, you see three deer stopped by the wall, unable to go to places their predecessors had traveled to for thousands of years. Sergio talked about the problems the wall poses for migratory patterns.

Dan Millis talked about using large predators as an indicator of the health of an ecosystem. If an area is healthy, it will be have enough food (small animals) for large predators. This is why the jaguar population of Southern Arizona is of such interest to environmentalists, and I assume why both Dan and Sergio spent time talking about the big cats.

Dan pointed out that Arizona might be the U.S. state most affected by the border wall—though Arizona has only 19% of the entire U.S.-Mexico border length, roughly 50% of the wall is here. Dan showed us pictures of Otay Mountain Wilderness Area where Border Patrol had made destroyed habitat in order to make roads and walls. How can we ruin the resources of our own country while claiming to protect it?

 

To conclude this blog post, I would like to leave you all with one comment: not a single terrorist has been apprehended at the U.S.-Mexico border, but how many animals, trees, and birds have died because of it? Don’t we have the obligation to protect those who have no voice?

--Katherine Szocik

Streamlined

The following piece is a reflection on our group's trip to visit Operation Streamline, a mass court proceeding that takes place daily in Tucson in which roughly 70 undocumented migrants at once are sentenced to the misdemeanor of Illegal Entry.  These people, most of whom were apprehended by the Border Patrol during their journey through the Sonoran desert, are jailed for 30-180 days and then deported.

The first place they will take you is to a Border Patrol detention.  Males and females will be separated into different cells.  You will be given crackers and juice and zero tolerance.  Maybe you have been walking for days, perhaps you have been traveling for months and this is just the beginning of another very long day.  Long days are to be expected when months of legal process are crunched into a twelve hours in a mass trial like the one you are about to endure.

From detention, you will be transported to the Marshall service.  You will be permitted to bring only one set of clothes.  Everything else will be left behind: backpack, cell phone, contact information, identification, medication.  They might pretend that losing your ID was a mistake – at least, that is what their PR reps will say, but either way they will try to make you nameless, nobody, now.

Forget the bail hearing.  Forget the pre-trial hearing.  Actually, forget about the court trial altogether.  Today you will have three hours to meet with the public defender you are sharing with five other people, nine to noon to get the whole lowdown.  You see, you've been charged with a felony.  A misdemeanor and a felony, actually, a two-for-one deal in this seventy-for-one trial, but the good news, you'll see, is that there's a plea: they'll drop the felony, drop the court fee, if you plead guilty to the crime of Illegal Entry.

Here's the deal: you're a Repeat Offender with a Criminal Record of a previous illegal entry and deportation.  You've been here before, they sent you back, and they're not happy to see you again.  Illegal Entry is a misdemeanor, but Illegal Reentry After Deportation is serious business felony charges and now that you mention it, what else is on your record?  A DUI in your file could get you ten years today; theft or arson or trafficking or murder or sexual assault or crimes of violence or an Aggravated Felony of any kind and you're looking at twenty.  So you see, you'll really want to be accepting that guilty plea.

The deal they will give you is this:  They will drop any fines and the felony charge, give you a mere 30 to 180 days, if you plea guilty to the misdemeanor and waive the right to appeal your case and to have a court trial.  If you want to measure your time in days instead of years, you don't have much of a choice.  Either way, you are more than likely to be deported at the end.

The lawyers will be done by 1:30 PM.  Then the show begins.

You will be seated on a long wooden bench in a wide courtroom with seventy other migrants.  The room will be large, off-white, windowless, and echoey, so the sound of clanking handcuffs never completely fades. There will be wide-open double-doors through which are pouring the visitors who have come to watch the show – observers of your humiliation, witnesses to the throngs of brown bodies on trial.  There is another door on the other side of the room.

The first thing the judge will do is take attendance.

“22031-M.”  The interpreter translates, reads a name.

Handcuffs clank, a man stands: “Presente!”

“Present”, the interpreter will translate.  Today, you will not speak for yourself.

“22032-M.”  Another name.

“Presente!”

“Present.”

“22033-M.”  Name.

Clank, clank.  “Presente!”

“Present.”

The list goes on.

“22048-M.”  Name.

“Presente!”

“Present.”

“22049-M!”  Name.

“Presente.”

“Present.”

And on and on.  Seventy numbers, seventy names, seventy men (and maybe a woman or two).  Everyone is present.

Next, the judge will give you a chance to change your plea, to speak to your lawyer, to do any desperate, last-minute things you might wish to do before the main act begins.  You will be advised that this charge will be always on your record, you will be told about the years in prison you will serve if you are ever caught again.  You will be read your rights.  And now that that is all out of the way, it's time to get down to it.

This is how the script goes:

The judge will now call to the bench eight of the lawyers and eight of you.  The lawyers will be addressed first:  Are the clients pleading voluntarily?  Do they understand the charges against them, their rights, their penalties?

“Yes, your honor.”

And now to the defendants:

“Is any of you being forced to plead guilty today?”

A chorus of “No.”

“All no.”

“Do you understand the maximum sentence and the terms of your plea agreement?”

“Sí”.

“All yes.”

“Do you understand that you are waiving your right to appeal?”

“Sí”.

“All yes”

“Do you understand your right to a court trial?”

“Sí”.

“All yes.”

“Do you wish to waive this right and plead guilty today?”

“Sí”.

“All yes.”

The judge will address them individually to confirm the date and location of each separate Crime.

“Is any of you a citizen or national of the United States?”

“No.”

“All no.”

“Did any of you enter the United States through a designated port of entry?”

“No.”

“All no.”

“Does any of you have any lawful authorization to be in the US?”

“No.”

“All no.”

“How do you plead to the crime of illegal entry, guilty or not guilty?”

“CULPABLE.”

“All guilty.”

To the lawyers:  “Is there any reason the court should not accept this plea?”

“No, your honor.”

(No one translates for the judges.)

The felony is dismissed, no fine imposed, and the defendants will receive credit for time served.  Having confirmed the the illegality of their presence, the judge will deal the sentences: 75 days for this man, 30 for that one, and 180 for him over there.  Clank, clank.  The men are led away through the door on the side of the room.  The script restarts.  Eight more names, eight more lawyers.

“Is any of you being forced to plead guilty today?”

“No.”

“All no.”

“Do you understand the maximum sentence and the terms of your plea agreement?”

“Sí”.

“All yes.”

“Do you understand that you are waiving your right to appeal?”

“Sí”.

“All yes”

“Do you understand your right to a court trial?”

“Sí”.

“All yes.”

“Do you wish to waive this right and plead guilty today?”

“Sí”.

“All yes.”

The judge will address them individually.  Date and location of the Crime confirmed.

“Is any of you a citizen or national of the United States?”

“No.”

“All no.”

“Did any of you enter the United States through a designated port of entry?”

“No.”

“All no.”

“Does any of you have any lawful authorization to be in the US?”

“No.”

“All no.”

“How do you plead to the crime of illegal entry, guilty or not guilty?”

“CULPABLE.”

“All guilty.”

“Is there any reason the court should not accept this plea?”

“No, your honor.”

Eight more men led through the door.  Eight more called to stand.

I cannot tell you how any of this will feel.  I will be watching from the benches on the other side, you see, and I won't be called to stand today.  My hands will be free to take notes.  And I cannot tell you the next place you will go, because I will be leaving through the other door.

...“Do you understand that you are waiving your right to appeal?”

“Sí”.

“All yes”

“Do you understand your right to a court trial?”

“Sí”.

“All yes.”

“Do you wish to waive this right and plead guilty today?”

“Sí”.

“All yes.”...

And on and on in a monotone.  Normal proceedings – rote, mechanic, industrial, illegal.  Just the everyday 1:30 PM mass migrant criminalization.

...“Is any of you a citizen or national of the United States?”

“No.”

“All no.”

“Did any of you enter the United States through a designated port of entry?”

“No.”

“All no.”

“Does any of you have any lawful authorization to be in the US?”

“No.”

“All no.”...

Did you know that this is the same room where they hold the ceremony

for people who are becoming

citizens?

…“How do you plead to the crime of illegal entry, guilty or not guilty?”

“CULPABLE.”

“All guilty.”

-Jocelyn Sawyer

Mapping Camou-dification

 The imposing height of the mountains and the saguaro form the backdrop of Tucson in my mind, in the same way that the mostly flat corn and soybean fields surround the Indiana town where I go to school, and the steep gorges and tree-covered hills are the foundation for my memories of home, in upstate New York. Last week, as we drove south to Ambos Nogales, and then west towards Altar, Sonora, I saw the mesquite and palo verde dotted landscape through North-eastern eyes – the dry soil and steeply ridged mountains appeared inhospitable. From my view within the air-conditioned van, a multiple day walk through this landscape seemed like an incredible feat, and inherently dangerous even without the added effects of a highly militarized border. 

It seemed odd then, to arrive by van to CAMYN, a shelter and comedor for migrants in Altar, Sonora, and jump right into conversations with men and a few women who were either just about to, or had just been deported from, their trek through the desert to cross the US – Mexico border. As we ate dinner together, maps on the wall reinforced the dangers of the desert – “¡NO VAYA UD!” one urged, “¡NO HAY SUFICIENTE AGUA! ¡NO VALE LA PENA!” (Don't go! There isn't enough water! It's not worth it!) The map is created by Humane Borders, and showed a map of southern Arizona superimposed with the distances of 1 to 3 days walking, and the sites of migrant deaths between 2000 and 2012. A version can be seen below, and the maps are available online, a pdf of the Nogales Sector can be found here:  http://humaneborders.org/news/documents/nogales_poster_20120429_download.pdf)

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Your group should cross the border, to see what it is like, a hondureño suggested, when he found out we were learning about the borderlands and immigration, Do you think you could do it?

My citizenship ensures that I don't have to. Though we shared a meal and stories with each other, the reality was that the next day we left Altar, Sonora for the United States, crossing through the designated border crossing in Nogales, Sonora, with all the proper authorizations and documents. We were back in Tucson before the sun set. That is not the journey available to the men and women we talked to – to the many men and women who pass through Altar on their way north. In the face of such disjointed opportunities, Good luck, seems only to reflect the glaring differences, and yet I heard myself voice the phrase as I grasped for ways to honor our brief connection. 

  

I'm told that Altar has grown incredibly in the past ten years, as Border Patrol has cracked down on nearby Nogales, and other population centers. Altar is directly south of Sasabe, and from there, many face the deserts of southern Arizona, with a much less rosy-eyed view than Thoreau. As we walked around Altar with the Padre from CAMYN, I was struck by the commodification of the crossing experience. There were many stores anticipating the needs of migrants: camouflage backpacks and hoodies, lighters, blankets, necklaces with saints, sneakers and insoles. There were even handmade shoe covers, made out of jean material and a swath of carpet, to cover tracks in the desert.

The Padre told us that before Altar's sudden growth, there was only one pharmacy in Altar; now there are more than ten. The owner told us that energy boosters are the most popular (caffeine drinks, chocolate, energy powders), as are sanitary pads (a cheap alternative to the insoles: they prevent blisters and absorb sweat). She recently started selling water in black jugs – so that they wouldn't reflect the moonlight. Before the plastic was black, people improvised with black garbage bag. And yet that change from clear to black plastic means that someone is directly profiting from the needs of clandestine border crossings. 

As a group of BSP students plan to go camping this weekend, two hours southwest of Tucson, I am reminded of how resource rich we are, as we plan for a night in the desert with a propane stove, sleeping bags and pads, tents, and gallons and gallons of water. I grew up surrounded by catalogs from companies whose sole income came from the commodification of wilderness experiences, with page after page of sleeping bags, hiking boots, backpacks, lightweight tents, headlamps, cooking stoves, Camelbaks. Like any technology, the products seemed to be continually pushing for the lightest, strongest, smallest version, each with an additional cost.

And yet the recreational industry catering to the middle-upper class doesn't seem to benefit off of the same overt inequalities as the border industry. This seems most apparent to me in the militarization of the border, and the subsequent millions of dollars that are funneled into weapon and military companies through the purchase of ATV's, horses, remote cameras (on ground and in drones), ground sensors, pepper ball guns, tasers, and on and on. During our visit to the Border Patrol station in Nogales, Arizona, a map of southern Arizona was pointed out to our group. Like the Humane Borders map at CAMYN, the physical terrain was overlaid with the amount of time to apprehend someone who crossed the border before they could easily avoid detection, ranging from seconds to minutes in cities to hours to days in the desert. The map reflected the initial intent of Operation Gatekeeper in the 1990's: to seal off cities, that the terrain of the desert and mountains would form a natural deterrent.

Henry David Thoreau, a fellow north-easterner wrote, “My Spirits infallibly rise in proportion to the outward dreariness. Give me the ocean, the desert, or the wilderness! In the desert, pure air and solitude compensate for want of moisture and fertility.” (Henry David Thoreau, “Walking”)

I wonder if Thoreau ever made it out to the desert of southern Arizona.

And I wonder, as we go out this coming weekend and go on hikes, as we sit around a campfire and look at the stars, as we spend the near-freezing night in tents and sleeping bags, who else will be in the desert with us, staring at the same stars.

-Quina Weber-Shirk

Bienvenidos a Arizona

 It has been a busy two weeks for the new BSP group. We have been getting to know our host families, each other, Tucson, and more recently, a remarkable woman named Rosalva.  Rosalva was invited by Jeff and Katie to speak with us during our first Critical Issues in the Borderlands class. She is a woman on fire. Rosalva is a mother of three, and still finds the time to be very involved with numerous community organizations. She exerts herself with confidence, laughs happily and sincerely, and brings warmth to those she speaks with. For me, “warmth” could be turned up a notch. It was more like fire. She has a way of passing her passion and excitement on to others as she speaks with them.

During our time together, Rosalva educated us on many policies and programs that have affected the Tucson community in recent years.

But Rosalva also spoke a lot about fear. She reminded us about how fear can be used as a tool of manipulation… but also how it can be paired up with education as a tool of empowerment

When Rosalva first arrived to Arizona, she was driven by the fear of not knowing what could happen “a estar detenida.”  

As a person who has never had to live a day in fear of being detained or deported, of losing a job, home, or family, I cannot say that I understand the extent of the fear that Rosalva was talking to us about. However, I can remember many instances in which I felt the apprehension of losing people I loved who lived this fear out daily. 

And while Rosalva was talking to us, I found my mind slipping away, remembering a cool summer Sunday night years ago. I was sitting in a back row of my church, consumed by the fact that nearly half of our congregation was missing on such a beautiful night.  I had heard rumors about the raids going on, but never thought it would get to this point.  I couldn’t imagine that the raid of the migra at our local Wal-mart would bring my community to be overtaken by a fear so great that some of our most devoted congregants would not leave their homes to make it to Sunday service.  My heart was heavy with sadness and worry that night.  It was at this moment that I realized how quickly the life of an undocumented immigrant could be turned upside down.  It was then that this truth was personalized for me.  And I felt utterly helpless to do anything about it.

But I was not helpless. And contrary to what I believed at this moment, my community was not helpless either.

Because as Rosalva shared with us, fear did not debilitate her. It was her driving force.

Yes, there were many policies (Proposition 200 and 300, E-Verify, Operation Streamline, HB 2008, SB 1070, etc.) that brought fear to the undocumented immigrant community.

Yes, these laws also brought unnecessary fear to many others, who, upon hearing about the “immigration issues” that brought on these policies, mistakenly learned that immigrants were to be distrusted and seen as a problem. 

But Rosalva’s fear brought her to realize that she could access power through educating herself.

So she took English classes, learned more about the political and social systems of the US, learned about what her rights were.  She was empowered by this new knowledge and found that it brought her a new sense of self-confidence. 

Rosalva explained to our class that being an undocumented immigrant can be debilitating to a person’s sense of self-worth. Many are made to feel as if they are not smart enough for not knowing enough English. Rosalva reminds them that it is silly for anyone to expect that of them. Do all Americans know perfect Spanish? No. Both are at the same level. No one should be made to feel lesser than another because they grew up in a different environment, because their needs are different, because one has one set of papers and the other doesn’t.

So now, more than a decade later, she is busy motivating others who are in the same situation she was once in to also learn as much as they can for themselves and for their communities and to take confidence in their knowledge.  Rosalva knows that an educated and organized community is a powerful force.  

As for me, I was also motivated by Rosalva to push forward despite the doubts and fears that I have. I know that I will be challenged in ways I can’t imagine this semester. I know that I will have many uncomfortable moments and unpleasant feelings during this trip. It will not always feel like I am on an adventure, and that is okay. I am excited about the things that are going on in this city and in the ways that I will be able to be involved. I am ready to grow, build new relationships, and learn from the communities I become a part of here.  And I will be intentional about remembering my own community back home, appreciating the organizations and individuals who make it their focus to educate each other on these issues of immigration, and looking for a place of best fit for me when I return home.

-Claudia Armijo