Welcome to Border Humanity

I'll do my best here to share what I experience and learn here at the U.S.-Mexico border in Texas, and again when I travel to the southern border in California in the fall.

A sign in the welcome center for asylum seekers in Brownsville, Texas.

I arrived in Brownsville, Texas, earlier this week to begin a two-week volunteer stint with Team Brownsville, a not-for-profit organization founded in this border city in 2018.

My excursions here and in Tijuana have been marked by serendipity. By sheer luck or fate, I encounter people, either migrants or fellow volunteers, who guide me to fulfilling and almost spiritual encounters that I try to share when I return home to Central New York.

Two examples: In 2021 in San Diego, my frequent border companion Nina Wickett and I were enlisted at the last minute to drive two hours into the desert to pick up a recently released detainee, a man from Nicaragua, and drive him back to San Diego. We picked him up at a tiny motel and drove him to the airport, where we put him on a plane to reunite with his wife, whom he hadn’t seen in two years. The man’s gratitude and happiness were immeasurable.

Last year here in Brownsville, I happened to connect with a wonderful group of volunteers from a Catholic parish in New Jersey. One day I tagged along with them across the border to Matamoros, where we drove to three stores and filled a cargo van with groceries to deliver to a shelter for Haitian migrants run by a wonderful pastor.

Yesterday brought more serendipity.

I was about to wrap up my five-hour shift with Team Brownsville filling hundreds of snack bags for the next group of asylum seekers, when a group of researchers from universities in Texas arrived to volunteer. They invited me to accompany them to the Ozanam Center, a migrant shelter a few miles away — the same shelter where, two weeks ago, eight Venezuelan migrants were mowed down and killed by a driver who plowed into them as they sat waiting at a bus stop.

I am still processing yesterday’s visit, where we spent two hours sorting mountains of donated clothing in a stifling storage building. More than 100 migrants stay at the shelter for a few days as they arrange transportation to their sponsors or family in other cities. The victims of the crash were on their way to the downtown bus terminal to make their connections when they were killed.

A shrine of candles, crosses and photos remains untouched at the bus stop, which is across the street from the shelter. It’s difficult to articulate the emotions and thoughts I had as our group stopped to pay respects. I’ll try to do so in a future post, but right now it’s beyond my grasp.

In telling these and other stories, I try to be respectful of the migrants and asylum seekers I encounter. It is important to honor the sometimes horrific journeys they have endured to get to our doorstep. It’s a delicate balancing act, witnessing and sharing stories and respecting the privacy and dignity of our fellow human beings.

I’ll do my best, but if I slip up, don’t hesitate to let me know.

This is my first foray into Substack, so forgive any errors or tech issues that may occur. Feel free to share this and other posts. I’ll try to post consistently.