Walking the Migrant Trail

We finished the walk on Sunday. We walked 75.9 miles in 7 days from Sasabe, Mexico to Tucson. It was brutal, but I finished it.

We started Monday morning from Mexico. The first and the last day we walked fewer miles, and the other days we walked between 12 and 16. From Monday through Thursday we were in the Buenos Aires National Wildlife Refuge, which was lovely. Lovely for desert, I mean. It was hot and dusty, but the surrounding mountains provided some great scenery and sunsets. After we left the wildlife refuge we walked on the highway the rest of the way. The scenery was still pretty, but the highway was hot. I breathed in so much dust during the course of the week that I had to send our support people out to get me more allergy medicine.

The point of the walk was to experience for ourselves what migrants go through to get across the border to safety, and to bring attention to their plight. The way I see it, migrants are coming here for jobs that are available to them at wage and benefit levels that most US citizens won't accept. Immigration policy has led to tightening of border controls around population areas, but has left the border porous in the most dangerous crossing areas--the desert. This has led to about 3000 reported deaths in the last 10 years, and probably many more bodies are never found.

There came a point during the walk where I realized at a much deeper level than before that a person would have to be desperate to attempt this trip. I think it may have been the day that I twisted my ankle and realized that I was going to try and walk the rest of the way anyway, because that is what a migrant would have to do---or else be left for dead.

This realization reminds me of the time I recognized at a deeper level that the Palestinian suicide bombings were more about suicide than bombings. That the desperation of their situation had led them to think their lives were worthless and expendable.

We camped out every night but one. On Friday night we stayed in a church that had offered us hospitality. I can't tell you how great the floor of that air-conditioned church felt. It made me understand the importance of sanctuary (in all the meanings of that word!). By then a flush toilet and water to wash my face seemed like luxuries. I imagined what it would be like for migrants who did not have support vehicles full of water and snacks following them every step of the way. It made me feel even more committed to providing sanctuary when the opportunity presents itself.

The walk was a time of great grief for me. As I walked in the hot sun, breathing in all that dust, I imagined the migrant person walking the same path and at some point coming to the realization that they would not be able to continue. Ever.

I had some time to reflect on the similarities between my desert experience in Palestine and the desert here. Israel is building a wall around Palestine, and we are building a wall around the border with Mexico. The walls divide wealth from poverty and opportunity from desperation. The walls separate people from jobs and family. The walls interrupt freedom of movement. Both walls are highly militarized. The land on the wealthy side of the walls was taken by force from dark-skinned people by white colonizers.

I am struck, and not for the first time, at how you become your own enemy. We should never create enemies for ourselves, because history has shown repeatedly that the most likely outcome is that we will, eventually, turn into that enemy. So the Berlin Wall has now become the wall dividing Israel from Palestine and the wall separating the US from Mexico. Except for the racism part, the same factors are at work.

Freedom of movement is an international human rights issue. The relatively rich and white people can travel wherever they want and access the resources they want. The poor people of color are stuck in places without enough resources to sustain them and cannot travel freely. These people are thus forced to risk their lives to find something better. Seen in this light, border enforcement becomes a human rights violation.

I am still tired, but recovering. I will have to throw away my sneakers. I have developed a strange taste for gatoraide. My ankle still hurts. But it was an awesome experience.