But his latest stunt, which he’s calling a “Restoring Honor Rally,” is simply too much. Along with Sarah Palin and the NRA, Beck will hold the event this Saturday, August 28th, at the Lincoln Memorial, which just happens to be the anniversary and site where Martin Luther King Jr. gave his historic “I Have a Dream” address. Beck first called this coincidence an accident, but he’s now been trumping it up as “divine providence.”

The thought of these two fear-mongering thespians holding a remotely “honorable” rally at the site dedicated to Lincoln and King, both known for advancing civil rights and basic justice for people of all races, seems like a distinct impossibility. Beck’s twisted interpretation of the founding fathers’ rhetoric renders his logic unfathomably, frustratingly circular. Despite his claims that the rally is to be “non-political,” there is little doubt that issues like immigration and the Fourteenth Amendment will come up, and there is even less doubt that the event will be a desecration of the legacies of both King and Lincoln.

With new immigration laws engendering fear and propagating racial profiling, the Tea Party movement’s inherent xenophobia, the mosque/Ground Zero debacle, and the talk of changing the Fourteenth Amendment, it seems a big racist brouhaha is brewing in America. Section 1 of the Fourteenth Amendment, which guarantees the right to citizenship of any person born on American soil, was born out of the hard-won battles of the Civil Rights movement, and any major modifications of it threaten to roll back the great strides made by the crusaders of that movement. It also, of course, threatens many immigrants living here today.

So while it may be futile and agitating to even watch, much less argue with Beck, Palin and their ilk, it’s important to call them on their outright lies. And these two have spun a few good yarns in their time.

On a recent show, Beck said, “When illegals are rounded up, and, they almost never do time, and they’re usually not even deported, you know, they’re booked and then they’re lost in the system. I haven’t seen them ‘perp-walk.’”

For the record, Glen, “illegal” is not a noun, and no human being is “an illegal” (pretty sure Lincoln and King would agree). But, the “facts” you spew are even more troubling. I have personally witnessed scores of undocumented people, shackled at the waist, hands and feet, given jail sentences of up to several years, before being deported, or some are deported immediately. About 70 people a day are processed in Tucson, Arizona alone through a speedy, unconstitutional legal process called “Operation Streamline.” Their pockets are empty, now that they’ve spent all their money trying to get here. They’ve been ruthlessly separated from family members they traveled with, and many are held in privately owned prisons without right to trial or even knowledge of why or how long they are being held. The vast majority of these migrants are not “dangerous” or “criminals,” as Brewer and many who support SB 1070 claim. In fact, the entire claim that the border region is dangerous is a complete fiction—smoke and mirrors created by a few politicians with a personal interest in passing these types of laws.

As for Palin, she was recently talking about SB 1070 (on Fox, doing her “news correspondent” gig), saying that the Obama administration has “Allowed this to become a racial issue by perpetuating this myth that this is a racist law.”

Clearly, both Mr. Beck and Ms. Palin have some misunderstandings about the situation in Arizona. This is a racial issue. This year, migrant deaths in attempted border crossings have reached the alarming number of 231 already since October 1, 2009. These are excruciating deaths by exhaustion and dehydration. If 231 white people had died of highly preventable causes this year, there would be widespread outrage. If there is a violence problem on the border, it is these deaths, which are direct results of American “deterrence” policies.

A law was passed that not only allowed racial profiling but actually demanded that law enforcement officers use racial profiling (though thankfully, it’s been partially enjoined). These elements threaten to amount to an ethnic cleansing in Arizona, and though it might not be pleasant or popular to admit that our country still has race problems, if we turn a blind eye to them and use “citizenship” as a thin cover, we are destined to revisit the mistakes of our past.

On Saturday, there will be events that are more palatable than the repulsive Palin-Beck extravaganza. In Detroit, activists have planned a rally called “Peace, Jobs and Justice” to commemorate King’s legacy, and many across the country will be out in solidarity.

The sweltering summer of injustice that King referred to in the South 47 years ago—that fight has simply moved to the border, and to any state that is considering laws similar to SB 1070. And it’s been a broiling summer of intolerance indeed. But America has shown great strength in the past, and it is possible to rise up again and to strangle the stubborn seeds of racial injustice. This summer, Arizona has been a hotbed of activism, and heroic people have stood up against injustice, non-compliant even in the face of arrest or physical danger, just as people did during the Civil Rights movement. False prophets like Beck and Palin may not realize the strength of grassroots movements, because they don’t understand that not all power comes from money. True strength comes from an innate yearning for survival, for providing for your family, and for fighting for your fellow human being. As King said, “The whirlwinds of revolt will continue to shake the foundations of our nation until the bright day of justice emerges.”

On July 29th, the community of activists here in Tucson came together in a “Day of Action” to resist SB 1070. The date was significant because it marked the day SB 1070 would go into effect. It had been announced several days prior that a federal judge had struck down the most notorious parts of the law that promoted racial profiling. However, some provisions regarding day laborers did go into effect, and most activists agreed that we still had much to fight for.

As Isabel Garcia pointed out at a recent ¡Ya Basta! Coalition meeting, she and many others have been fighting injustice on this front for decades. SB1070 represents just a small part of a long history of dehumanization, racism and oppression of migrant workers and their families. Only, the war waged against immigrants has now been racheted up to the point that many people are calling it an ethnic cleansing. While that may seem extreme to some, the situation is indeed at its core a systematic effort to rid the state of Arizona (and America at large) of a certain type of person, classified by race or place of origin. The UN defined the term ethnic cleansing as “the planned deliberate removal from a specific territory, persons of a specific ethnic group, by force or intimidation, in order to render that area ethnically homogenous.”

Opponents often say we activists are missing the point, that they are interested in whether someone is an American citizen, rather than their race. However, were that truly the case, and those opponents were to look at their own family history, it would not be too many generations ago when they too descended from immigrants, i.e. not citizens. As many people alluded to with signs and literature on July 29th and at other protests, this land did not originally belong to people of European descent. It was stolen outright from indigenous people. We should remember and be humbled by that fact. The only clear difference (besides the racial one) between those immigrants who entered through Ellis Island many generations ago is that they were mostly presented clear avenues to citizenship (though many would experience oppression in their new home). Presently, immigrants from South and Central America are not given the same option. In fact, due to current US policy, pre-calculated to allow for “collateral damage,” i.e. desert deaths, they are compelled by economic desperation (also caused by American policy) to traverse an impossibly treacherous desert just to get here, and many of them die. How is that for “force or intimidation?”

So, clearly, there is a lot to protest.

Just to recount and document the actions that took place on July 29th in Tucson, I will write what I saw. I am sure there were many other perspectives on the event, but this is just what I was able to witness myself.

It began the night before, when a number people gathered at Presidio Park, and others gathered nearby at the intersection of Congress and Granada, in front of the state building for all night vigils. The ¡Ya Basta! Coalition had been meeting at that intersection every Friday in the month of July to protest SB 1070, so there was an air of comfort and belonging at this point. We had claimed this spot as where we would speak out on behalf of those who could not. A group of activists had set up a small shrine on the sidewalk with many candles and icons for those who wished to say prayers. The candle flames and incense were tended and kept burning for a full twenty-four hours or more, which I thought was pretty remarkable given the location, a busy street corner. I joined the group that evening and for the sunrise ceremony as well. There were group prayers and speakers and musical acts, and I cannot overstate the peaceful and reverent vibe that pervaded.

When the morning started to heat up, counter-protestors began to congregate on the opposite corner from us on Congress and Granada. They were holding signs with vitriolic messages like “Go Back to Mexico and Fix Mexico.” (Which is just…ridiculous. NAFTA quashed Mexico’s farming industry, and we cannot expect it to pick itself up again after such a devastating blow. But that is a subject for a whole other blog). A few of us walked through their group to cross the street, and many of them shouted at us. One woman said, “You should go live on the border and just see what that’s like. One of my friends was attacked.” I said, “By a migrant?” And she just stared blankly. So, that’s a “no” then?

Our side of the street was exploding with energy, dancing, chanting, making music, all the while keeping in mind what we were there for: resistance to the law and non-compliance. The other side was still and lifeless.

Then came the heckler. A big, bulky guy with a crew cut came walking over to us from the other side, and started getting in peoples’ faces. Clearly a white supremacist, he used some racial epithets, and I also heard him spout some completely random malicious insults, calling people “ugly” or “fat.” I took this as further evidence that he, and people who hold his beliefs, are only interested in surface appearance. He had absolutely nothing intelligent or coherent to say, although he did have a healthy amount of saliva to sling around. When he took his turn getting up into my face, he said, “Why are you just standing there? Why don’t you defend yourself?” I said, “Why would we argue with someone so inane?” And then I stopped myself. Oh I could have certainly gotten angrier, but as I saw from other protestors’ strong example, it was best not to fuel that particular fire.

After about an hour of this (I was almost scared that the guy was going to have a heart attack from all his screaming—his veins were bursting out of his now beet-colored neck), the cops finally arrested him and took him away in a police car. And we got back to our peaceful protest.

The showing was staggering. Each time it seemed like a group of people left, a new group of reinforcements would show up, bearing food and renewed energy. The feeling of the whole day was fantastic and invigorating.

Around 4pm, the mood began to get more intense, and while I had heard that civil disobedience was in the works, I didn’t know all of the details. Then all of the sudden, there was a forward momentum of the crowd, and everyone migrated into the intersection, calmly and methodically. I was carried into the intersection with the crowd, not forcefully, more like magnetically. Bike cops surrounded the intersection, but maintained a distance and allowed us to continue for at least 30 minutes, while their vehicular cohorts blocked off the intersection from one block away on all sides.

Everyone chanted and marched around and round the perimeters of the intersection; owning the streets for a few powerfully symbolic moments. A fellow activist named Shloka tied that hands and feet of several people and led them around the intersection snapping at them with a whip, wearing an outfit resembling a law enforcement officer. This was meant to symbolize our poor treatment of immigrants in the court system called Operation Streamline, where around 70 defendants are tried in a single court session, and are shackled at the feet, wrists and waists.

I was surprised at how long the cops allowed us to occupy the intersection, but eventually they began to make announcements that we must clear the road. Reluctantly, those of us not wishing to be arrested made our way to the sidewalks, still chanting with vigor. At this point, a handful of activists still stood in the middle of the street, holding black signs with white lettering stating, “We Will Not Comply.”

When it became clear that these protestors were not budging, the cops began making arrests. A group of six storm troopers in full outfits including facial masks took away the protestors one by one. I happened to be standing on the side where the cops escorted the protestors out f the intersection and put them into police vehicles. The unflinching bravery on the faces of those arrested is something I’ll never forget. The whole scene was just surreal—clearly we were watching history take place.

Afterward, people were talking about how the cops had purposefully taken those protestors with darker skin before arresting the others. I had not noticed it at first, but once it was mentioned, I did come to the realization that the order did seem to be Latinos and then whites. At a follow-up meeting, someone within close proximity of the arrests agreed that white protestors were given more fervent warnings that they should leave in order to avoid arrest. Of course, they stood firm until the police arrested them as well.

A few minutes after the arrests were complete, a fleet of twenty or so cyclists cruised in from the north, surprising everyone, and biked merrily in circles as the police formed their wall again around the intersection and tried in vain to get them over to the sidewalks. This got all the protestors riled up again, and although we didn’t reenter the streets (the cops lined the sidewalks for a long while after the arrests), many people stood around and held signs and celebrated the day’s victorious feeling. We even heard there were a few people were still there much later on into the night.

Acts of solidarity happened throughout Arizona, and from my understanding, throughout America. In Phoenix, many were arrested protesting the law and Sherriff Arpaio’s raids, and even shut down his raid efforts that day. Also in Tucson, a group of protestors called “Freedom for Arizona” managed to shut down I-19, the thoroughfare often used for deportation and also to transport goods—the group noted it wanted to create a “direct disruption to the flow of capital.”

We are still waiting to hear what will happen with Governor Brewer’s appeal, and this fight WILL continue. But it was nice to have a day to celebrate a small victory, and to claim the streets and speak out against unjust policies. And for once, to be heard.

Greetings. We started this blog last fall with the intention of learning and spreading knowledge about the situation on the US-Mexico border. Namely, we were concerned with the tragic and preventable deaths of migrants who clandestinely cross the border out of economic necessity. We are still very concerned with this issue, and believe that US policies that focus heavily on border enforcement and militarization (which have failed repeatedly) rather than amnesty and real solutions are destined to continue to worsen things, causing more deaths and immeasurable suffering.

After what you might call a “sabbatical” (if you can call living in my folks’ basement in order to save some moolah a sabbatical…) I’m happy to report that we are back in Tucson permanently, and I will be attending law school at University of Arizona this fall. My goal is to eventually go into some form of human rights law, possibly immigration. So we will continue to report our experiences and opinions on this crisis at this forum. Please check out all of Rocky’s wonderful photos, under “photos” and “portfolio,” and feel free to pass on our URL to anyone interested in civil liberties and the border.

Not so happily, since last fall, things have gotten notably worse for immigrants already living in Arizona. The passage of SB 1070 has had resounding effects already. It has created a culture of fear, without a doubt.

Last Monday, Rocky and I attended a protest that we were notified of through Derechos Humanos (human rights group in Tucson). The email stated that four undocumented University of Arizona students were staging a “sit-in,” modeled after the lunch-counter sit-ins of the Civil Rights Movement.

It was a hot day, as are all summer days out here. But it’s not even June yet and collars and armpits were soaked in sweat, water bottles being passed out, faces red. Students, who looked so very young, were courageously shouting into megaphones. “Education not Deportation.” “Education is NOT a crime.” “Hey Obama, don’t deport my mama.”

When the leaders shouted, “What do you want?” The crowd shouted, “DREAM Act!”

“When do we want it?”
“NOW!”

The DREAM Act has been a component of many of the proposals up for debate for comprehensive immigration reform. It would provide that students enrolled in a post-high school education or military duty, who were brought here as youngsters, be granted full citizenship and immunity from any illegal immigration charges. McCain once backed the act, but he has since withdrawn his support, presumably because of election pressures, thus the protesters staged the event outside his Tucson office.

They were answered with the arrest of five students — four of them undocumented immigrants. This outcome was not a surprise, though. The students knowingly put themselves in harm’s way for the advancement of the civil rights of immigrants. What a courageous act, for sure, but quite heartbreaking to think they could get deported — these are obviously some bright, community-minded students.

Like many here in Arizona and across the country, the students have said “enough.” Things were bad before, with a steady rate of migrant deaths each year in the desert, and many families torn apart by the militarized border. But SB 1070 has thrown down a gauntlet — something much worse, a climate of fear not just hinted at as before, but spelled out by Governor Brewer in a national media circus.

Before this protest, it had not really occurred to me that it might be possible to break down immigration reform into small bites. Perhaps the Obama administration can learn something from the health care debacle, where of course the “comprehensive” reform was watered down until it seemed more like “impotent” reform.

I think most reasonable people (regardless of party lines) could agree that these kids/young adults who were brought here against their will, as non-consenting children, should not be caught in the crossfire of this debacle, especially if they are in school or serving in our country’s military. Obama should push for the DREAM Act to be passed, to get the ball rolling in the right direction. After that, it might be more palatable to tackle more difficult issues like amnesty and worker programs.

Many have called for a repeal of SB 1070, and I believe that would be a positive action, and perhaps would spare some from humiliation and abuse. But in many ways the damage has already been done. Psychologically, the line has been drawn, and it will take many years to make reparations to those who’ve suffered.

Thoughts on “Border Violence”

One thing that’s really irked me lately is the use of the term “border violence” by media outlets. They use it to refer to some mysterious violence they hold to be caused by illegal immigrants. I guess they are referring to drug-related killings (which, though terrible, are mostly contained to the other side of the border, anyhow). And more importantly, these drug-related deaths are facilitated by the US’s super-lax gun laws that allow traffickers to stock up on weapons unchecked. (New York Times reported last April that there are over 1,500 licensed gun dealers in the Houston area alone — with no legal avenue for tracking who’s buying those weapons, a person could go around getting thousands of weapons in one day, without raising any red flags.) And even those deaths that have occurred on the American side have been murders committed by drug smugglers/cartels/assassins, not migrant workers who wish only to come here for work.

From what I’ve gathered, drugs and immigration do indeed overlap, but that’s a phenomenon that’s been directly forced by American policies of militarization. Because the drug smugglers see that there is profit to be made by escorting migrants through the treacherous desert paths designed to outwit American Border Patrol, they have gotten in on the game of making money off these migrants — often taking their last thin pesos. They might pick up some more weapons while they are in America, I suppose. But to criminalize the migrant workers here is a grave error. If there were legal ports of entry for those migrating here for legitimate work opportunities — those who are desperately needed by American farmers and employers — no one would have to pay smugglers to cross. More importantly, no one would have to die.

Over 5,000 deaths have occurred in those treacherous crossings over the past decade — these deaths can be directly attributed to our militarized border and our exclusive immigration policies. Now that is what I call violence.

In the last four years, Texas and Arizona have been literally capitalizing on immigrants as a means to boost their faltering economies through a court process called Operation Streamline. By prosecuting migrants en masse, Streamline clearly violates the Constitution and due process. By stripping defendants of the basic rights to trial, and being presumed innocent until proven guilty, Streamline makes a mockery of the Constitution. The question is, if the Constitution becomes a mere facade, what force then shall govern our criminal justice system? Money, it seems.

Each day, migrants are brought in from the border, about 70 a session, and are tried and convicted en masse. They are shackled at the waist, wrists, and feet, in order to comply with the US Marshall requirement that there must be at least two Marshalls per prisoner in the courtroom, or else shackles must be used. Public defender Erendira Castillo-Reina, or Yendi as people call her, feels connected to the migrants she must represent in Streamline, having been naturalized herself in 1995.

“With people being processed all in one day, we don’t know how long they’ve been in the desert. We don’t know how much, if anything, they’ve had to eat. We don’t know what trauma they’ve gone through.” Castillo-Reina says. “I’ve had clients who have stumbled over people who’ve died in the desert. A woman last week told me she came across another woman who had crossed with her child, and her six-year-old had died out there. The body of the child was left there.”

The defense at Streamline is made up of public defenders and CJA lawyers, hired to handle the heavy load of prisoners. Defendants are brought in the morning of trial, and only get about 30 minutes to discuss their options with counsel. Unfortunately, some of the lawyers are notoriously indifferent to their clients, and witnesses at trial often see them checking their Blackberries, reading the news, and playing computer games. “Because there aren’t generally accepted standards as to what lawyers should do, what I think is ok might not necessarily be what another lawyer thinks is ok,” says a politic Castillo-Reina.

Making the most of the short time allowed, Castillo-Reina spends it explaining the process and what is happening to the defendants’ rights in the bargain. Then she talks with each person individually about where they were born, their current circumstances and family life. She guesses that many who go through Streamline have no idea what is happening to them. “I want them to hear the process at least once,” she says. “But I usually have to tell them the same thing: that it’s in their best interest to waive their rights and plead guilty. The only defense would be citizenship or if they have papers.”

Last year, a colleague named Jason Hannan requested personal hearings for his clients, but the judge denied the request. He appealed those cases, asserting that Streamline’s characteristic en masse proceedings are in violation of Rule 11, which provides that each defendant be personally addressed by a judge. Specifically, Streamline clients are encouraged—or in Yendi’s perception, coerced—into accepting a plea bargain which exchanges the initial felony charge of illegal entry for a misdemeanor charge. Sounds like a deal… the only catch is they must give up all rights to a trial, or any possible appeal. And, when such a change of plea is made, Rule 11 of due process requires that it happen “individually between client and magistrate.” Operation Streamline clearly does not comply.

On December 2, 2009, the 9th circuit court handed down a decision—it essentially opined that the en masse proceedings are indeed in violation of Rule 11, but that it fell under the “no harm” clause, because the defendants would likely plead guilty in any case. “There’s a standard in the legal world called ‘harmless error,’” Castillo-Reina explains, “And it’s basically a big ‘so what?’ because they were gonna plead guilty anyway so what’s the harm? No harm, no foul.”

But our Constitution provides a right to trial and appeal as one of its basic tenets, and hanging it on a “no harm” explanation seems careless to say the least. Castillo-Reina says, in a recent email, “They’ve
shifted the burden to the defendant to show harm. But how do you show harm when the defendants are shipped off before we have a chance to gather that evidence? How do you show harm to something as evanescent as Constitutional rights? If we start diminishing the protections of the Constitution to illegal border crossers, where will it end?”

After that decision, it seems the court made it a point to change the face of Streamline presumably for PR purposes—at my last attendance, the judges were noticeably folksier in their demeanor, stating clearly the rights that the defendants are giving up and asking if they understand, (though en masse). The judges differ slightly, but one recently said, “We want to make sure that you are giving up the right to trial freely, voluntarily, and knowingly. If this is not the case please stand up. Don’t be bashful.” No one stood.

Also, since that decision many judges do not give prison sentences anymore. In the past, many defendants would be sent to Florence or Eloy to spend up to six months in a CCA detention facility before they were deported. Now, however, if it’s the defendant’s first offense, he or she may be let go with a fine. According to Rule 58, if there is no prison term assigned, then the requirement in Rule 11 of an individual change of plea may be waived because there is no liberty interest at stake. So, the courts are making an effort to inch closer to operating within the guidelines of the constitution, but the injustices are still there. After witnessing Streamline before the decision, the version the judges are now performing seems just that—a performance or a façade. It’s merely a PR front.

Behind all this is the ugly fact that Streamline brings in an enormous amount of money into Arizona’s economy (as does all immigration enforcement). One judge estimated to Castillo-Reina that the Federal Courthouse injects about $20 million into Tucson’s economy a month—including detention by CCA, legal costs, medical costs and Border Patrol costs. This, in a bottomed out economy, in a state that has limited resources to begin with, is a major boon to some. “My personal feeling is that this is just an industry now,” says Castillo-Reina. “We have an unlimited number of people who are trying to cross, and we decide where they’re going, because we’re persecuting a population that has no voice and no vote. Historically the immigrant has been demonized, and this allows us to capitalize on it, literally.”

News commentators like Glenn Beck and Lou Dobbs paint a picture of an immigrant population that’s either highly criminal or lazy, merely wanting to come here and live off our welfare and health care system. But the truth, according to Castillo-Reina, could not be more disparate.

“You can’t tell me that Streamline is working because, if you’re hungry, or your family is hungry, or you don’t have a place to live, or your family lives across the border, it doesn’t matter who you are, you are gonna try to cross anyway. If it’s a difference between life and death, you’re gonna do what you have to do to survive,” she says.

Throughout her close work with migrants, Castillo-Reina has not found any evidence that people come here to get welfare benefits. They come to work hard and they’d be happy to pay taxes, if they were given the chance to become legal. She related the story of a recent client, a young man of 21 from the mountains of Mexico, who explained, “It’s not that we want to come here. It’s like we’re little animals just trying to migrate through the seasons, just trying to find a way to keep our bellies full. We’re like little ants, coming out of the mound to look for food.”

“Your flag decal won’t get you into heaven anymore/

They’re already overcrowded, from your dirty little war/

Now, Jesus don’t like killin’ no matter what the reason’s for/

so your flag decal won’t getcha into heaven anymore” — John Prine

Last night I was lucky enough to see the magnificent John Prine at the Fox Theater in Tucson. I realized while he sang this song that he could be speaking to a lot of different issues. I’m not sure which war he had in mind…Desert Storm, Operation Iraqi Freedom, the Afghan War, the Korean or Vietnam War…or maybe the war on women’s reproductive rights that’s being silently waged on the Congressional floor. Perhaps it’s the war on those in poverty in our country. Maybe it’s the laughable “War on Drugs.”

Certainly, it could apply to our unnamed border war. I’m pretty sure Jesus don’t like killin,’ especially when it’s innocent refugees from a country whose economy has been torn to shreds. He’s probably not too keen on people dying of dehydration in the desert, or being picked up near the point of death and thrown into privatized prison facilities, becoming pawns in various money-making avenues (multi-national corporations, the military industrial complex, Arizona’s court system, the federal GDP).

The border war, like all our dirty wars do, provides jobs and money. I’ve been told the average entry-level border patrolman pulls in about $50k a year. The US attorney’s office in Tucson hired 21 new lawyers last year to prosecute immigrants. Criminal defense attorney and activist Isabel Garcia recently told me that our federal government pays CCA (Corrections Corporation of America) $13 million dollars a month to house immigration detainees in Arizona alone.

All this money to “secure” our border and all that’s happened is it’s become less secure. That is, if you’re measuring it in human losses lost here in the desert. As I’ve said before, at least 5,500 remains have been recovered in the desert since 1994. Before that year, which coincidentally marks the beginning of border militarization, the death rate of migrants was minimal. I guess some people use different measuring sticks for “security”…

There are other cases that are only slightly less horrific than death. I’ve been told  recently of many undocumented women who lose custody of their own children while being held in ICE detention facilities. Immigrants can be held in prison for many months with no explanation, no trial, and no legal counsel provided by the system. Actually, I think most mothers would agree having your kids taken away is worse than death.

In immigration court, there’s no such thing as a right to free legal counsel, as is required in America’s crime and punishment system. And there’s very little chance for a bond hearing, so people rot in detention while they lose their jobs, homes and families. In other words, immigration court dashes the basic American standards of being innocent until proven guilty, right to a fair trial, and any semblance of fairness and human rights.

It’s true, they aren’t legal citizens, but do we really want to live in a country with no human rights standards?

When I began this journey, I had hopes and faith in Obama. But I’m becoming cynical. The health care bill has been watered down and rendered powerless. So with an issue as contentious as immigration, I can’t imagine this administration will break with the status quo of promoting militarization and imprisonment while ignoring injustice in the courts.

As Garcia put it, “He [Obama] absolutely decided to shrug off the real issues about immigration and the border. In the campaign trail, he talked about realizing that NAFTA had displaced a lot of workers, but now he’s Mr. Trade! Militarization of the border has become worse—there’s a higher rate of deportations now than there were under his predecessor.”

While I don’t really think Obama himself is anti-immigrant, he’s become a pushover. Naming Napolitano Secretary of the Department of Homeland Security was a move in the wrong direction. DHS has expanded the powers of 287(g), which allows local police departments to assume the role of immigration officials, thus encouraging racial profiling and unjustified arrests. In reference to Napolitano’s former stint as Arizona governor, Garcia says “She signed a lot of legislation that really hurt immigrants and their families. She helped militarize this border, that’s how she catapulted herself into national prominence.”

We can’t always trust our leaders to think with their hearts and minds rather than their political aspirations. But we can think for ourselves.

Prine’s song refers to the people who ironically call themselves patriots. Similarly, I saw another bumper sticker the other day that said, “The Christian Right is neither.” Sadly, the term “patriotism” has been co-opted by the right to mean warmongering, and “protecting” our land from terrorism and otherness. The right’s take on immigrants is that they should stay in their own country.

But I wish everybody in America driving around with a fish or a flag decal could see the migrants here on the border, talk to people in Nogales looking for family members, and realize the suffering that is going on here. These people are just trying to feed their families. They aren’t evil-plotting terrorists, plain and simple. They’re caught in our war, and it’s become a war on our own soil.

Thanksgiving is a holiday that’s based on family… despite the fact that its lore is a fallacy made up to disguise cultural theft and the removal of our native population… but that’s a whole other ball ‘o’ wax. This Thanksgiving, I hope our leaders will think of the families who have been split apart by this border — fathers who can’t attend their daughters’ weddings, brothers who can’t hug their sisters, and mothers who have lost their own children. Maybe it’s time we changed the way things are going, gave Thanksgiving an overhaul, and stopped oppressing people who are less fortunate. Maybe its time we embraced our brothers, embraced peace, and embraced the real meanings behind our iconography.

We were tagging along with a group of human rights activists called No More Deaths, or No Mas Muertes, which provides direct access to food, water and medical help to migrants crossing the border.

Rocky got up quickly, dressed, and piled his sleeping bag on top of me—finally warm and I had to get up, damn it. I reached for my jeans on the ground, they were nearly frozen. I stuck them down in my bag to try to give them some warmth, but ended up putting them on outside my sweats. I thought about how cold it must be for the migrants, who don’t even have sleeping bags—only the clothes on their backs, literally.

The campfire had been stoked, thank god, so I sat there like a zombie until someone yelled “Coffee.” The coffee was good. I couldn’t complain. I got some oatmeal and things started looking up.

We had gotten into town the day before, and a volunteer named Daniel came to pick us up and drive us down the dirt road to the camp. It was nothing much—a few RV trailers and a few large white tents. A bucket with a toilet seat and a tarp sufficed as the bathroom. The children’s book author Byrd Baylor, who lives nearby, allows No More Deaths to use the land for their humanitarian work.

Daniel is a tall, gawky guy with a tattoo on his face in place of a beard. He’s training to be a physician’s assistant in hopes of opening a clinic in Africa or Central America one day. He’s full of radical ideals and clearly has a big heart. Driving us to a couple of water drop off points as the sun went down, he tells us about the days when he was younger and he used to train jump across the country. The road was exceedingly rough. At one point, we got the ancient donated truck stuck in a ditch, and I was convinced we’d be spending the night out there. In the back of the truck were a couple dozen gallons of water and a case of black beans, so we’d survive. But luckily, Rocky and Daniel maneuvered the rusty beast back onto the road.

That next morning, after breakfast, the group of 16 volunteers and leaders of No More Deaths stood around the campfire and conferred about where to go do supply drops. Rocky and I were assigned to a trail called “Ruby,” with a leader named Annie and another volunteer named Ben.

Ruby is the name of a cluster of migrant trails that wind through a treacherous area of Coronado National Forest. It was a pretty challenging trek. We hiked on the trails for a couple of hours, and I was in pain the whole way, even though I’m in decent shape. (Though, our superhuman guide Annie busied herself climbing a rock face while the rest of us took a breather).

The trails aren’t well-marked like the official ones you’ll find in many parks, and we had to use a GPS to keep on track. Of course, we could have also followed the trail of litter, strewn about continually along the trail. There were rusted out tuna cans, plastic wrappers, and the ubiquitous gallon jugs emptied of water. We were each carrying two or three full jugs, until we came to a drop point, where we would mark the jugs in Sharpie with encouraging words like “Bien Suerte” or “Vaya con Dios!” and leave them for people to find.

While it was upsetting to see so much litter in an otherwise untouched national forest, I had to remember that these water jugs regularly save human lives. There’s no way to tell exactly how many, but if you think about the fact that it takes four to six days to make the trek, and migrants have only the food and water they can carry, it’s easy to see that supply drops could be crucial in their survival. When we came upon a drop point, often many jugs from the last drop would be gone, taken by a migrant and quite possibly keeping him or her alive. At several drops, however, sinister slashes in the jugs denoted a hunter or some other hiker who clearly disagreed with No More Deaths’ goals.

Recently, a group like ours found the body of a 14-year-old girl out here. Her name was Josseline, and she had been left behind by her group, unable to keep up because of some unknown ailment. No one will ever know exactly why she died or what her last moments were like. I imagine they were pretty scary.

Acacia trees, choya, and mesquite dotted the landscape, which was otherwise made up mostly of rock. Yellow sandstone faces and odd finger-like formations jutted off into the iridescent blue sky, like rockets in waiting. Nearer at hand was the slippery up-and-down terrain—many times you have to slide on your butt on downward slopes to keep from falling, and grip with both hands to climb up the rocks to the next plateau.

All the while, you have to remember that migrants make this trek at night, doubling the challenge. At one point we hear a helicopter whirring overhead—Border Patrol. When they fly over a group at night, the migrants will scatter. Some get picked up by the BP, while others find themselves alone, in this desolation. Like the rest of Homeland Security’s efforts, this tactic is ruthless, and accounts for an unknown number of migrant deaths.

We didn’t run into any migrants on our hike, which is a good thing and a bad thing, according to Annie. On one hand, perhaps there was no one out there in need of help. On the other, maybe we just didn’t find them.

Right across the pedestrian border, No More Deaths has a cluster of tents set up year round for people to come access its services. Although, this particular location has been used less and less recently. Border Patrol and Wackenhut (a privatized transport company) used to drop off migrants here, but Sarah says they’ve begun dropping them off in the center of town, in efforts to separate them from the coyotes who usually prowl this area. Of course, the coyotes can just follow them there. It’s all part of the cat and mouse game, and things change quickly.

But Sarah recalls working here when they would get up to 700 people a day. “They’d come off the bus limping because of blisters or a twisted ankle, and they’d received no medical care while they were in detention,” she says.

No More Deaths has been documenting abuses in detention facilities and in the field for the past few years, and they’ve found abuses to be rampant. Sarah tells us that although there are signs in the facilities instructing detainees to ask if they need water, food or medical attention, they’ve had many migrants report their requests for basic human needs repeatedly denied. They have documented many cases of verbal and physical abuse, in addition to denial of food and water.

Some of the volunteers at the No More Deaths tents are migrants who’ve given up on crossing. Marco Antonio Gonzalez, one such volunteer, says, “When I crossed, I suffered a lot, so I decided to come here and help others. I was hungry and thirsty, walking for four days. I got back here and I saw many people hurt who needed help, so I decided to stay.” Gonzalez washes windshields for money, and he receives only cookies and chocolate in exchange for his hard work here.

Juan Carlos Diaz is another volunteer. Originally from the state of Nayarit, he came here with the intention to cross, but he was caught, sent back, and told he must wait five years to apply for a visa. His four kids, ages 27, 24, 19, and 18 live in Phoenix, and have been petitioning to get him into the US. The story of families being torn apart by the militarized border is extremely common.

There’s a medical trailer in the No More Deaths facility, where Joaquim Valdez waits for patients to treat. He shows us the three nooks that serve as operation rooms, which look very outdated in terms of equipment—a small  examining table in each and a hodgepodge collection of bottles with ointments and iodine. Unbelievably, he has delivered two babies here. Valdez recalls one woman who fell in the desert and went into premature labor. When a group of cowboys dropped her off here, she was already 8cm dialated. They had to start her on IVs because of all the blood she’d lost. After she delivered she was sent to the hospital, and mother and child were reportedly healthy, thanks to Valdez.

As we left the tents, we saw a group of people with backpacks gathering and speaking in low voices. Sarah guessed they were probably waiting to meet their guide to cross. They would leave that night.

We followed Sarah to Grupo Beta, the agency run by Mexico’s government where migrants can find out about different resources. The interesting thing about Nogales is, although many are homeless and in need of services, no one asks. Sarah approached people, trying to figure out if they needed help.

She spoke to one group of five people here from Chiapas—they had traveled for six days in the desert before they were apprehended by Border Patrol. They had been on their way to melon farms in Santa Rosa, where workers were needed. The patriarch of the family spoke to Sarah. “Isn’t there work?” he says in Spanish. “Why wouldn’t they want us to come?” People seem genuinely confused—people who’ve made it will tell them to come, that it’s safe, and then they are apprehended and bussed here, a no man’s land.

Sarah’s work is hard, because there’s only so much she can do. There are so many questions she can’t answer.

One of the women in the group, named Josefina, told us that she had been separated from her husband, Novy. When they were apprehended, he was taken with another group, and she had no way to contact him. They wanted to call the Mexican consulate, but had no phone. And our phones did not work in Mexico.

I told her I had a meeting with the Consulate the very next day, and that I would ask. She seemed hopeful about this and gave me his details. She told us that, in detention, they were given only one pack of crackers and a juice box for two nights. She had a headache and was nauseous, and she asked for pain pills, but the agents told her she had to wait.

They said that as soon as they heard from her husband, they planned to go back to Chiapas. “They told us if we came back within five years, we’d get a long jail sentence,” Josefina said.

The group then came with us to the Comedor, a kitchen run by Jesuits in Nogales. There was already a long line of migrants waiting outside, tickets in hand. They must produce a slip of paper from the US government saying they’d been deported in the last few days to eat here. Likewise, they are only allowed three nights in a local shelter. For some, this is not enough time to scrape together the money to get back home.

But the mood here was light, like a holiday meal. Older men and women handed out bowls of rice, pasta, chili and beans. Tortillas and vats of hot sauce were on the table. Then came coffee and sandwiches for later. People chattered happily as they ate.

After that, Sarah and her husband brought out bags of clothing to hand out. It gets much colder in Nogales than in surrounding areas because of the high elevation, and that day was particularly chilly. People clustered around them hungrily to try and score a sweatshirt or a better pair of shoes. One of the women asked me if she could have my shoes, and asked her if they would fit (she was about six inches shorter than me). We put our feet together to measure, but we both laughed because my feet were obviously much bigger.

Some of these people told us they were planning to return South, back home. Others were waiting to attempt the crossing again. I wondered how they would get the money to pay the trafficker. More and more, we have heard that the drug cartels have been getting into the human smuggling business, as it’s almost as profitable these days. And no one wants to owe money to the cartels. It’s not a stretch to see how this could bring bloodshed into America.

One young boy, Carlos, took a liking to me. He was maybe 15 or 16. I kept asking him if he planned to cross, or where his parents were, but he refused to answer serious questions. He only wanted to know if I was married. I said, “No, but there is mi novio,” in my broken Spanish, pointing to Rocky.

Just as well. His next question was, could I find him a pair of pants? The only ones left were a ratty pair of long johns, which he held up to his body and shook his head laughing. I wonder where he is now…

Charles Bowden, Some of the Dead Are Still Breathing

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Of the many players in this border story, Minutemen are probably the most extreme and marginalized. However, their ideas are not at all shocking or novel. They seem to take a lot of rhetoric from both sides of the political spectrum and mesh them into some strange hybrid of radical ideals. They are, like most people on either far side of the right-left continuum, consumed with conspiracy theories.

When we met Al Garza, the founder of Arizona’s Patriots Coalition (an offshoot of the Minutemen movement) and one of his cohorts, Heywood “Woody” Mitchell, I don’t think either one of them said the word “government” without using “corrupt” in the same sentence.

So, there’s a commonality between the Minutemen, academics, media, and the activist community—no one’s satisfied with the government’s treatment of our southern border.

But is this message being heard? Maybe no one’s using the right tactics… The situation seems to be increasingly becoming more convoluted as our government continues to look the other way.

Garza and Mitchell had us meet them at their new headquarters, an older building in Palominas, Arizona that resembled a small law office, only stripped of furniture, with bare walls and a few folding chairs. They explained apologetically that they had only recently acquired the building, as Mitchell’s bull terrier, Rocky, dutifully demonstrated by sniffing the perimeter of the room between pettings from his master.

Palominas is one of those towns you’ll miss if you blink, but there must be some water around somewhere because it’s a patch of green amidst miles of desert—nothing but a thick barbed saguaro here and there, scrubby clusters of mesquite, and dry as bones red earth. Here though, a line of lush trees actually obscure the border wall, about a half mile from where the Patriot’s Headquarters stand.

The Patriots’ protocol is to patrol the border each night, with night vision goggles, flashlights and communication devices, looking for migrants. If they come across a group, they do the admirable thing and give them food, water, and any medical help they can offer.

Then they call the Border Patrol.

They have no legal power to hold the migrants, and they say they don’t attempt to. “We have to be very careful,” says Mitchell. Sometimes, the migrants remain until Border Patrol shows up, especially if they are in poor health. Other times, they flee.

To defend his methods, Garza is a fan of slippery-slope reasoning. “If we’re gonna give these people amnesty, we might as well give amnesty to everyone who’s in prison,” he asked.  “Why are illegal aliens not accountable?”

He’s concerned that the new immigration reform will grant all undocumented workers amnesty. He probably shouldn’t lose any sleep over this… Most activists think this reform will likely be more of the same: security, militarization, regulation.

Interestingly, Garza is of Hispanic descent. He grew up in Texas, but his ancestors are from Mexico and Spain, and he speaks with an accent. Clearly, Mexican culture was an integral part of his upbringing, but at some time in his life this tie evidently went sour.

On undocumented immigrants, Garza says “They damage wherever they go. I like rice and beans, I like menudo, stuff like that. That culture was once very close to my heart, but I’ve lost the luster for it. There is no dignity any more. There is no honor.”

Garza cannot even stand Spanish music anymore. He’s convinced that this new crop of immigrants is a lazy bunch, glomming off of America’s welfare system and even getting free health care.

I had no statistics to argue this, so I didn’t. Still, I found it hard to believe that someone speaking limited English and no papers could acquire welfare. I once tried to get food stamps when I was working a crap job and paying New York rent, but I gave up when I realized how difficult it was to navigate the system.

Like most Americans, Garza and Mitchell want what’s best for themselves and their families. They swing to the right on this, though, as it’s a typically Republican move to begrudge others welfare if it’s coming out of their change-purse. In response to the Dream Act (the bill that would allow children of illegal immigrants who were born here and grew up here to apply to American universities), Garza says, “Why are we discussing the Dream Act? We’re talking about people who are here illegally. We should be talking about how to better my life, as a retiree, who put in fifty years of work. They should be talking bout my children and my grandchildren, not somebody’s children who are here illegally.”

The Patriots Coalition advocates bolstering the border by adding more fences, more virtual fences, more guards, and even bringing in the National Guard. They are staunchly for full militarization. “I want helicoptors, I want planes, I want my Commander in Chief to secure our borders,” Garza says, (although he does not acknowledge Obama as “his” president.)

While he’s rejected his heritage, Garza insists this is not a race thing. “I’m all for people being here legally,” he says. “If you come through the front door, and you sign the guest book, you’re welcome. But if you go through the back door, you’re hiding something. And you’re not welcome in my country.”

We’ve heard that before. Of course, the problem with this logic goes back to the government policy. The amount of people we let in legally simply doesn’t compare to the number of migrants we employ.

I was left with an uneasy feeling after we left these two men. On our way back to Tucson, we headed to Bisbee, a historic copper-mining town nestled into a little mountain range. It was like Gatlinburg without all the obesity and fudge. But there was an excellent coffee roaster.

But Garza’s shrill voice kept haunting me. His group may be a miniscule minority and people may disagree with their tactics, but at least they appreciate the scale of this issue.

Innocents die every day. Our land is being increasingly militarized. We are holding mass trials that go against the Constitution, and depriving detainees of basic needs. We are hunting people down in the desert. There’s rogue profiteering and unchecked rape, theft and violence in the desert. What about this is unlike war?

“We just want our borders secure, and we want to make sure illegal immigrants are held accountable for their actions. If that doesn’t happen then we aren’t America, we’re just another third world country,” Garza says. “I’m fighting for my children, I’m fighting for my grandchildren, I’m fighting for my friends who died in Vietnam, I’m fighting for America. And this is a war.”

At the top of a hill, there’s a gorgeous panoramic view of both sides of the wall. They look pretty much the same. Ramshackle buildings and houses with bleached out paint jobs are perched in the hills like some Mediterranean village I’ve seen in a photo. There’s a main drag of commercial spots visible on the Mexico side, each one indicated by a pop of colorful paint. Behind where we stood, there was a tall tower with security cameras, indicating the “virtual wall.”

Prescott grew up on this side of the border, and when he was growing up there was only a metal fence, with many holes. He remembers people coming through the holes, “Mostly old women, coming to shop.”

Crossing into Mexico was no problem. They didn’t even need to see our passports. We drove up to the other side of the wall, where some Mexican artists have made an installation of metal icons. Many of them picture folk saints like Jesus Malverde, Santoribio Romo, and Juan Soldado, the folk heroes of drug trafficking, according to our friends. Other pieces depict dollar signs, a skeleton drinking water underneath a cactus, people carrying a body bag, “las perreras” chasing migrants, a cartoonish coyote. These paint a haunting picture — while many people succeed in crossing, Mexicans are clearly aware of the dangers. The dollar signs indicate the awareness of America’s gains through this whole situation.

Afterwards, we drove out from the city to a spot dedicated to the mother of all the drug saints, Santa Muerte. The mention of her name, heavy with reverence, sends chills down your spine. Prescott explains that when a drug dealer does something awful, like committing a murder, he must repent to Santa Muerte.

Along the side of the road there are at least ten little chapels built, seemingly not at the same time or by the same person, each one harboring a statue of Santa Muerte, a figure swaddled in robes like your typical saint, only the face is that of a skeleton. Some are all black, one has a cigarette hanging out of its mouth, and another has been dressed in a cheap white bridal gown—two children are playing at its feet, lighting candles. Their parents are nearby, frying fish in a portable fryer as an offering to Santa Muerte. The man tells Prescott that he’s dedicated his life to this saint, but he doesn’t say why.

Down the road, the shrines get smaller, and more homemade looking. Dan warns us not to go too far down, as there’s a group of men wearing cowboy gear, “drinking pretty hard.” This is, we’re told, a typical Sunday in Nogales.

I have been to many countries where there seems to be a baseline of poverty. Everyone has this in common and people are not ashamed to beg. In Vietnam, it was the worst I have seen—children under five running up to you, clamoring for your attention, selling you trinkets, gum, cigarettes, beer, coconuts with straws, etc. “Lady! Lady! I give you good price.” When you buy something, because you cannot resist those eyes or because you’re thirsty, you’re immediately swarmed by more adorable but thin children.

In China, it is mostly adults, they are a bit more demure and they sit in stalls waiting for you to come to them. However, once you show an interest they will immediately beg and haggle you to buy something, speaking very little English but knowing the key sales words.

In Nogales, we passed by an alleyway where some women were selling a variety of cheap goods. I stopped and looked, but I didn’t like any of the jewelry. The women had pleading eyes, and they spoke the familiar phrases, “What price you want to pay?” or “Which one you like?” I chose a leather keychain which had a small painting of Juan Soldado, one of the drug folk saints. I paid three dollars and I didn’t try to haggle. Rocky bought a little accordion for $20.

I peered into another shop selling colorful Mexican pottery. The men in the store came out and told me the bowls I was eyeing were $7 each. No way, I said. I didn’t really need them. But as I should have expected, one of the salesmen pursed me, following me all the way down the street until we came to a bar that our friends were in, telling me I could have 6 bowls for $25. It was quite the bargain, I guess, but I refused. Even though I’ve seen it so many times, this desperation as a sales technique is always unsettling. Perhaps because it’s so real. When I cave in and buy something, it’s usually because I don’t want to not buy something, after the person has tried so hard. But this makes me feel even worse, like an entitled American gallantly bestowing my generosity on the natives…

Most of the countries where you see this kind of broken economy are recovering from a recent war or political unrest. And in many ways, the border areas of Mexico are like a war zone. Most obvious is the military presence. Also, many people are profiteering—and not only the coyotes, who smuggle people across the desert. But people cater to the migrants, selling them black backpacks, water jugs and clothing for the journey. Everything must be black because they travel at night.

There are humanitarian efforts typical of a war torn area. Grupo Beta, a service run by the Mexican government, will sell returning migrants half-price bus tickets to return to their home in the South, or refer them to a shelter to stay the night. There are medical aid stations and a soup kitchen run by a group of Jesuits. You get the sense that the migrants themselves are just floating on a conveyor belt, waiting to be told by a coyote or a human aid volunteer what their next move should be. After all, they are strangers here.