"Border Infrastructure Tour"
This innocuous-sounding title was part of our agenda for Monday, February 2nd. We were to meet with Mark who leads a bi-national Presbyterian ministry in Douglas, AZ and Agua Prieta, Sonora. When we arrived at the Frontera de Cristo house in Douglas, Mark was waiting. After brief introductions, he climbed in the van with us, and began to explain the progression of the border's infrastructure; how it had grown from a simple marker post to a monstrous iron fence. Soon, we arrived at what looked like a huge concrete ditch with barriers on either side. We stopped briefly so Mark could identify himself and us to some Border Patrol officers who were sitting in a truck. After being waved on, we drove a few hundred feet and got out of the van to stand alongside part of the deep concrete channel that stretched as far as we could see to the west. Mark explained that these channels were built to divert water from the torrential rains that swept through the desert in the winter.
Before the wall, natural arroyos had served this purpose, carrying the rainwater but allowing it to soak into the ground and nourish the flora and fauna of the desert region. Now, this artificial arroyo kept the rainwater from the land with its concrete walls. There were portals at points along the channel to allow access for repairs in the dry seasons. Of course, these access points had to be gated...another barrier against those who try to cross the border. As we gathered by the dry concrete channel, much deeper looking when you stand right beside it, Mark told us how six people had lost their lives just below where we stood. These travelers, these "others" we were trying to keep out, were swept along by a flash flood. When they were pushed up to the gated outlet, it was locked and they were trapped...all six of these beloved children of God drowned. Silently, we climbed back into the van and headed away from the triple barrier of fence, wall, and channel, driving eastward on the dusty road created by a constant to and fro of patrol trucks. We stopped at a point that, to me, looked no different than the rest of this scarred earth. Mark, however, knew exactly where he was taking us; he knew this landscape deeply and well. It had become his home. He showed us a shrine, visible between the iron columns, that marked the place of another life lost to this wall. Mark told us the story of a young man, a teenager, who had crossed the border carrying marijuana for one of the Mexican cartels. When he realized that Border Patrol agents had seen him, he tried to flee by climbing back over the wall. He was shot multiple times in the back as he tried to escape and fell dead, back onto U.S. soil. Yes, he was carrying drugs...but does that crime warrant a death sentence? And could we truthfully lay all the guilt on the heads of those Border Patrol agents...or had they lost respect for human lives as a result of enforcing our laws?
Mark spends his life telling these stories of lives lost unnecessarily, remembering the names of those who have died as a result of our policies, and reminding us of our culpability as U.S. citizens. Above all, Mark is a Christian minister- I would even venture to call him a prophet- who brings a message from God that we are failing our migrant brothers and sisters. On that day, Mark reminded us that each of the people who died bore the Imago Dei, that each were our brothers and sisters, beloved of our Creator God. Then, he walked into the cold shadow cast by the fence and invited us to follow. Mark challenged each of us to touch the hard, rusted metal of our wall, to claim our part in its existence, and to cry out to God for forgiveness. For me, there is no other choice than to answer the call that I felt in that moment, the call to tell these stories and to do whatever I can to help bring down that wall.
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