My Time on the Mexican American Border

Disponible en Español.
Spanish translation courtesy of Sonia de los Santos.

This is the wall that runs through the towns of Nogales, Mexico and Nogales, Arizona. Billions of dollars have been spent on such measures. When I gather together and play music with my friends from around the world we are able to build some of the bridges that are so important in these fearful and divisive times. And we have fun!

During a show in New York earlier this year I mentioned from the stage that my band and I had been working with various Latino musicians on a collection of songs from Puerto Rico, Mexico, Colombia, the Dominican Republic and other parts of the Spanish speaking Americas and that it was our "pro-immigration cd." In other words, while the debate about who’s eligible to live in the United States raged on we were having a rocking time with musical friends celebrating some of the vibrant culture that comes with immigration.

After the concert I met Joseph Nevins, a geography professor and author of the book Operation Gatekeeper who had attended the show with his family. They had just returned from Tucson, the urban epicenter of the U.S. Mexican border difficulties, where they had been working with various organizations in efforts to reduce migrant deaths and change legislation to provide more humane possibilities for Mexican and Central American workers seeking Northern employment. I mentioned that I was somewhat in the dark on the situation but would like to know more. Before I knew it, Joseph had set up an itinerary for me, and I was on my down to Tuscon see for myself what was going on.

I spent the first day driving and hiking through the Sonoran Desert on and around the migrant trails with a humanitarian aid group called the Samaritans. The first thing that struck me was that this is a military zone. Heavily armed border patrol agents in vans, SUVs and helicopters, are the dominant presence. I was unnerved and ashamed to see groups of migrants, men and women of all ages, many of whom had been walking for several days, exhausted, dehydrated, and demoralized, with little more than the shirts on their backs, being caught and herded into vans and buses. We stopped as one group of captured migrants was being loaded into a bus to be taken back to the border. A woman in the group was clearly pregnant and when the Samaritans asked if they could give her a bottle of water, the bus driver continually answered with an insistent "No." I later saw a small group of migrants which included a girl who looked to be about thirteen, my daughter’s age, herded by border patrol with dogs into a van. It’s a heartbreaking war.

Among this group of migrants being loaded into a Border Patrol van was a girl who looked to be my daughter's age. If i needed an incident to highlight my own sense of privilege this was it.

Although I’m still working to understand the situation in all of its complexity, this much came up in my conversations with people in the area: in the mid 90’s the Clinton Administration began a call for increased border security near San Diego which, until that point had been the main point of entry for migrants. Billions of dollars were spent, miles of wall were built, underground sensors were installed, and the Border Patrol was increased dramatically. What changed was that when people were unable to make enough money in Mexico to feed their families they risked their lives crossing into the U.S. through the brutal heat of the Sonoran Desert in Arizona instead of southern California. The numbers of migrants crossing the border didn't drop with the beefed up security and the numbers of people dying along the way increased. In seeing the situation first hand I couldn’t help but sense tragic political theater with a high cost both in dollars and lives. There was the feeling among almost everyone I met that until we in the U.S. attempt to change the root causes of extreme economic disparity, greatly exacerbated by the free trade agreements of the past 10 years, there is no amount of build up on the border that will stop people who cannot feed their families and are willing to risk their lives to find work here. In a more basic sense, can any of us, as God’s children, stand by while our neighbors are suffering?

My second morning in Tucson was spent at the Casa Maria Soup Kitchen run by the Catholic Worker. This is where many migrants have their first hot meal. Hundreds of people of all ages, mostly Mexican and Central American, came through the line. That afternoon I traveled with Maryada Vallet, of the humanitarian aid group No More Deaths / No Mas Muertes (with the telling slogan “Humanitarian Aid is Never a Crime”), to Nogales, Mexico where the organization has established a food and first aid facility which offers help to migrants who have been rounded up in the U.S. and dropped off back in Mexico. We saw several busloads of demoralized people being lead down the side of the highway from the U.S. across the border to Mexico. The despair and physical trauma was overwhelming. Volunteers from No More Deaths, both Mexican and U.S. citizens, bandaged hands cut by razor wire, tended feet with enormous blisters, and gave out much needed food and water. Most of those who are caught and returned to Mexico will try to cross again.

This is what I saw from the window of Kat's car driving from Altar to Sasabe. There's no escaping the sense of death, dreams, and hard reality in this part of the country.

My third day began with a 5am drive down to Altar, Mexico with Kat Rodriguez of the group Derechos Humanos, a human/civil rights group which fights the militarization of the Southern Border as well as discrimination, and human rights abuses by federal, state, and local law enforcement officials. Altar is a staging area for people who have come from all parts of Mexico with plans to cross the border. The entire economy of the town is based on the needs of the migrants - tube socks, backpacks, non-perishable foods, sneakers, and water are sold in stalls around the square. Buses of people arrive daily and are eventually split into groups of about 15-20, crammed into vans and driven to the border an hour away where they begin walking, a journey which usually takes several days. We spent a few hours in the center of town while Kat handed out small pamphlets entitled Conozca sus Derechos (Know your Rights). The feeling in the square was electric - nervousness, excitement, hope, fear on the faces of working people about to make their dangerous northbound journey. Having already witnessed the despair on the faces of the migrants returned to Nogales it was impossible for me not to feel deeply saddened in Altar.

Here is a view from the U.S. looking towards Mexico. This is a long line of migrants who have been picked up in the desert and been driven back to the border. When they cross into Mexico they'll see the tent set up by the humanitarian aid group "No Mas Muertes." Volunteers will offer them food, water, and first aid. It was necessary for me to spend the afternoon in and around that tent to begin to understand what these people had gone through in their efforts to find work or family in the U.S.

I saw the migrant experience from many angles, each one heartbreaking, eye opening, frustrating, and ultimately infuriating. Had it not been for my chance meeting of a professor and the generosity of the people working tirelessly on the front lines in the Tucson area, I could have possibly gone on for years without any idea of the tragedy on our Southern border. Every day in the newspaper there are reminders that inhumane treatment of our fellow men and women is not limited to the border region; racial profiling, raids, and deportations are a part of everyday life for many in the United States. The spirit of ‘us’ and ‘them’ has pervaded our national dialogue. For some of us, it may be easy to toss off a phrase like “increased border security.” Yet the sight of exhausted, hungry, poor men, women and children — not unlike the working people I grew up with in New Hampshire — being rounded up in the desert and bussed back to Mexico, where in desperation and in need they will likely try to cross again, is a sad piece in the larger puzzle of our failed national immigration and economic policies.

My time in Tucson ended with a family concert at the Rialto Theater. The band and I were joined onstage by Sonoran folksinger Salvador Duran and members of the legendary Mariachi Luz de Luna. As it always does, the wild, unpredictable, and joyous sound of musicians getting to know each other while people of all ages dance and sing along gave me a sense of life’s best possibilities.

It was music that made me want to know more in the first place. It’s everywhere here in Brooklyn. Norteño, son jarocho, bomba y plena, reggaetón, mariachi, merengue, salsa, cumbia, rock en español all drifting out of car radios, apartment windows, parks, restaurants and storefronts. It was music that opened my eyes and made me want to understand the lives, traditions, dreams, and difficulties of others. It was music that eventually brought me to the Southern border.

It’s clear to me now that we must all fully engage in the current immigration debate.If we are to be a healthy, vibrant, successful country in the 21st century, intolerance, fear, complacency, apathy, exclusion, and greed must be countered with love, generosity, acceptance, respect, celebration, and yes, music.