A day at a 30-foot-high border wall
To serve lunch, you have to bend the paper bowl of rice to fit it through the steel bars. And be extra careful when the receiving hands belong to a 6-year-old.
Of course the folks on the U.S. side get the comfortable shade. The migrants don’t.
Border companion Nina Wickett and I spent 5 1/2 hours yesterday in the shadow of a section of 30-foot-high wall separating San Ysidro, Calif. and Tijuana, Mexico. We handed out food, water and hygiene supplies to about 70 migrants held outdoors by the U.S. Border Patrol.
Not a cloud in the sky, 83 degrees and it felt hotter than that every time we ventured away from the shade. Thousands have been detained this way in the San Ysidro/Tijuana region in recent months.
The migrants don’t get any shade here until maybe 5 p.m., but they have tarps that they rig up to provide cover from the sun. And mylar blankets to fend off the cold at night — all donated. Conditions are even worse for the hundreds of migrants dumped by Border Patrol in the desert in eastern San Diego County.
Any food or supplies the migrants receive are from the American Friends Service Committee, Border Kindness and various other groups and volunteers. Border Patrol provides each migrant only two bottles of water and two granola bars. And they seem fine with leaving mounds of garbage, collected in bags by the migrants themselves, sitting in the sun here for days, just yards from where the migrants sleep.
Nina and I witnessed and heard a lot during our experience at the wall, courtesy of an invitation from one of many passionate volunteers who are out here day after day. As usual, we were exposed to a mix of genuine humanitarian love and hateful cruelty.
Have you heard the term “migrant hunter”? Hold that thought.
Acts of Love
Three women from a Filipino organization in Los Angeles spent hours sorting donated clothes and preparing and serving lunch — bowls of rice and greens with a donut, apples, oranges and bananas.
It’s odd, to say the least, to serve someone lunch by handing a bowl through steel bollards of an outdoor prison. You have to bend the paper bowl and fit it through the bars carefully, especially when the receiving hands belong to a 6-year-old.
In one of the heart-warming, and heart-breaking, fleeting connections I make doing this kind of work, I struck up a conversation with a teenage girl from Colombia who, despite the circumstances, smiled constantly.
Perhaps her life at home near Bogotá was much worse than enduring an open-air prison with her mother before “processing” by our government — biometrics screening, color-coded bracelets, a high-tech tracking device for mom, and a mesh potato sack to hold their life’s possessions. If they’re lucky, their court date will be in 2025 — but in front of an appointed (not elected) judge who, chances are, is a former prosecutor for ICE or the Department of Homeland Security.
The girl from Colombia has always liked the English language, she said, and has studied it on her own since she was young. Now that she is headed to Florida, she practices every chance she gets so she can improve. I was happy to oblige.
When Nina and I went to leave, the girl appeared at the wall again, smiling and waving at us through the thick, rust-colored bollards. Like all the other migrants I have encountered here at the border, I know I will never see her again. I can only hope that she and her mother find safety and happiness, and that whatever caused them to flee Colombia will forever be in the rear-view mirror.
Cruelty, hatred, sadness
A few minutes later, at the bottom of the access road to the wall and the aid station, we came across a man in a vehicle who didn’t seem to have good intentions.
Our suspicions were confirmed when we saw the vehicle again at a nearby intersection. As we drove past, the man put a beefy arm over his face to shield his identity.
That’s when our wonderful host — also named Nina — told us about previous encounters with xenophobic haters, including a man who showed up in a black pickup truck (a stereotype, I know) and seemed to be just hanging around.
When the man was asked — politely — why he was in the area, his response was something like, “To hunt migrants.”
Alas, vigilantes aren’t only in Texas, where they are empowered by the hateful and sad Gov. Abbott. Last year when a group of us were dropping water and other life-saving supplies in the southern California desert, I heard about “migrant hunters,” including private pilots who fly above the desolate desert and report sightings to Border Patrol. As hobbies go, that's kind of sick and pathetic.
Another story: Earlier this year, when Border Patrol initiated these “open-air” holding pens, a man from China became ill, lost consciousness and was taken to a hospital in San Diego. A day or so later, he returned on his own to the U.S. side of the wall and wanted to rejoin his family members trapped behind it.
Instead of simply pushing a button to open a gate, a Border Patrol agent told the man he would have to find his way back to Mexico and re-enter the U.S. to rejoin his loved ones. Fortunately, an immigration attorney was there that day and intervened.
One more: Two weeks ago, a woman from Guatemala fell to her death from a section of the 30-foot wall near here.
The list of injuries and deaths from falls from the walls have increased exponentially since 30-foot high sections have been added, starting with the previous administration. A pair of 30-foot-high walls are being built near here under the current president, who had vowed “not another foot” while campaigning. Physicians and ICUs in San Diego have been overwhelmed by patients with catastrophic injuries.
Many migrants who do make it across end up dying in the unforgiving desert or from other causes — at least 853 confirmed deaths last year, more than 500 so far this year.
I believe the term is “depraved indifference to human life.”
Thank you for yours and Nina's witness. Thank you for making us SEE what this country's governance has become. Thank you helping us SEE our complicity. I heard a piece yesterday about open borders...raising the question "shouldn't everyone have the right to travel anywhere they choose?" Certainly Americans with our passports can travel freely to virtually any country. Why is it not the same for others? I can come up with several unpleasant reasons...racism, xenophobia, colonialism....☹️
This seems like a "harder than most" trip--does it feel that way to you? Thinking of you and your new friends every single day.