Snakes in the Grass

Tamara and I attended the Pharr Literacy Project Festival on Saturday, July 17, 2010. We were happy to meet another seminarian, Yvette Murrain. Yvette is a 3rd year MDIV Student at Drew Theological Seminary in Madison, NJ. Yvette will be working here in the Valley for 10 weeks as a part of the Communities of Shalom program. It is funny how we came so “far” to meet each other! This is one of the reasons why I am certain that the Valley is a special place.

We are happy that Yvette offered to share one of her blog postings with us. Enjoy!

The Pharr Literacy Project has just recently collaborated with a local group called “Los Caminos Del Rio” by inviting this organization’s Ameri-Corps Vistas to work at the center. According to loscaminos.org, “Los Caminos Del Rio offers kayak trips virtually every weekend at Anzalduas Park. Participants will explore sections of the Rio Grande, and can experience a safe and exciting introduction to kayaking along the Rio Grande River savoring historical and environmental details with the assisance of friendly and trained adventure guides.”

My day with Los Caminos Del Rio personally introduced me to the “historical details” of immigrant women crossing into the United States.

On Saturday, June 26, 2010, I journeyed with my coworkers Chuy and Reyna (*who speaks little English*) to the Anzalduas Park which extends to the Rio Grande River. As we came closer to the river, near the edge of the park the family friendly atmosphere abruptly ended. The armed border patrol station, barbed wire, and yellow (government access) gates signified that everyone is not welcome. Especially not illegal immigrants crossing the Rio Grande River into the United States.

While we waited for our turn to kayak down the Rio Grande, Chuy, Reyna and I decided to find our own adventure and walk along the grassy river bank in hopes of getting close to the dam. Reyna and I were afraid of the snakes that Frank our guide warned of. We tip toes along the rocks in the high grass holding hands. Soon we would grasp hands in recognition of a more sinister fear, something that rocked us to our cores. Just a few steps in front of us I noticed a pile of black “stuff.” “Snaaaake Skinnnnnn!” I screamed. Reyna and I jumped back squealing like little girls. Chuy the grave man stepped forward and picked up the “snake skin.” Reyna yelled at him not to as he flung the skin towards us.

All at once we realized this “snake skin” was not what it appeared. The “snake skin” was actually a torn pair of black women’s panties. Reyna and I weren’t scared anymore, WE were safe. No snake skin to signify the impending approach of danger. No snake skin. Chuy held the underwear up and said “Ooooh someone couldn’t wait to get things going” with a laugh.

It was as if some light bulb went off in Reyna’s face because it lit up and then darkened. The same light bulb went off in my head too. We looked at one another and said “No Rape.” And then I remembered where I really was. The Rio Grande River isn’t just some adventure zone. It’s a place where the sweat and tears of an oppressed people rage between two worlds.

I was on the banks of the Rio Grande River where thousands of poor immigrants from Mexico and other Latin American countries a month cross in the United States. Many of these travelers are poor defenseless women depending on coyotes to make their way across the river into the United States. Those torn black underwear belonged to a woman, someone’s daughter, mother, sister, cousin  - a child of God. I didn’t know if her left behind undergarments signified that she had been abused. I didn’t know if she was an immigrant coming to the United States to find work to feed her children. I don’t know if she was a young pretty girl manipulated by the Mexican Drug Cartel to carry drugs inside her body across the border. I didn’t know anything about her except for what she left behind.

I thought of all this as Reyna whispered the word “rape” in an erie echo. She knew just as  I did what those underwear meant. We had a “sister moment” that defied out language barriers. My grasp on her hand got a little tighter as we walked further up the bank. Chuy didn’t make nay more comments as he walked ahead of us. A group of adventurers joined us in our “nature walk” and we all jumped in the river and free floated with the current until we reached the shore again. A few people remarked that they felt they were “doing what their ancestors did years ago.” They laughed as they said these things. It wasn’t funny to me in light of finding Blank Panties.

After stumbling upon the Blank Panties, the Rio Grande River didn’t look the same. The sand on the bank near the dam looked scattered as if a struggle had just taken place. The water looked cloudy, murky, and dangerous. I got in it anyway. I kayaked. All for adventure, right? No, I was in sacred water and will thus act accordingly from now on.

Watching news coverage of the new immigration law in Arizona hit home.

I’ve been on the border. I’ve seen and felt some things. It’s real here. There are snakes in the grass in the Arizona state senate.

“Jesus be a lawnmower, in the Rio Grande Valley Everyday”

to be sung to the tune of the Fred Hammond’s “Jesus Be a Fence All Around Me Everday”

Rio Grande River

Rio Grande River