A trusted colleague we met on the border recently sent me an article by Richard Rodriguez titled, “The ‘Great Wall of America’ and the threat from within”. I found the part about walls being a sign of an empire in decline particularly compelling. I remember reading an article as an undergraduate called “The Nervous System” in which the author asserted that much like headless chickens, the nervous system of a government is the last part to shut down. He used this metaphor of the nervous system to talk about the striking out (flailing or lashing-out violence– often perpetrated against the innocent) of a system that is dying or afraid of its death. He also extended the metaphor to talk about how such a system creates a nervousness that the populace embody–a low grade fear that is ever present, waiting to be triggered. As the immigration debate rages on a national level, and the debate about the Muslim center near ground zero rages in the city, I hear FEAR and in that fear I hear the lashing out of people who are afraid that someone is trying to steal something from them, that they will not have enough. My prayer for today is that we can let go of this fear long enough to witness one another’s humanity–finding compassion as we step forward into the inevitable changing future of this country.

As Steve Taylor of the Rio Grande Guardian captures, “Under SB 1070, if an undocumented immigrant is identified by law enforcement in Arizona, he or she can be prosecuted and deported. The bill makes failure to carry immigration documents a misdemeanor. It also gives the police broad powers to detain anyone suspected of being in the country illegally.” It was interesting to watch CNN last evening capturing some of the “training sessions” of the Arizona Sherriff Department. I would love to get my hands on the tape, the training manual or better yet sit in on these “sessions” to see what “criteria” will be in use to ascertain who needs to be “enforced.”

Such a law is obviously problematic and will lead to scenarios of racial profiling, inhumane detention and persecution. The fear that this law has created within the community is astronomical. Families are separating, persons have gone into hiding, others  have returned home and I know that there are others who are those still here – praying that they will be “spared ~ passed over.”

Although Judge Susan Bolton put “most of the measure/law on hold and agreed with the Obama administration’s core argument that immigration enforcement is the role of the federal government (Associated Press)” – the sheer fact that Arizona could reason even as I write why they are allowed to “clear the state of undocumented persons” is frightening. For the Governor of Arizona or even the Sheriff, Bolton’s “hold” as the Governor put it is “just a bump in the road.” An indication that in their minds that this will come to pass. They are prepared to “make room in a vast outdoor jail and are determined to round up illegal immigrants to fill it.”

This law as my friends from La Union del Pueblo Entero (LUPE) put it is one that is “bad, immoral” and perpetuates the stigma that those entering the US without papers aren’t honest, aren’t tax payers, aren’t hard-working. If anything they are prptrayed as criminals, milking the systerm, taking advantage of the “American systerm.” But, there is always two (2) sides to every story. We perhaps don’t consider that some come to seek asylum, safety from religious, political or economic persecuction. Or that without their labor, sweat the “essential work” of this nation would not happen. Think about the grapes on your table or the person who washes the dishes at your favorite restaurant. Or consider who is building and cleaning the nation or taking care of the nation’s children and elderly. It’s as if we are talking out of our faces.

This law if it realizes what it seeks to do will be a law that will undermine not only the authority and soverignty of the federal government, but will further  notions of privilege, separation, us vs them, legal vs illegal, papers vs no papers and the list goes on and on. This is troubling to say the least , I stand and write in solidarity with the men, women, boys, girls, families whose lives have now been placed in jeopardy by this law. I guess I would be a little at ease if I knew there was a “record” of treating persons no matter their ethnicity, language, background, occupation with pride, respect, dignity and honor. But, unfortunately the record of such is few and far between.

On this day I charge people of faith, who have been called to “loosen the chains of injustice” and to “not let surface things delude us” – to be united in prayer asking that we and our country “be freed from the things that hold us back” and treat all persons with papers or without with dignity, integrity and graciousness.

I think about the “Passover Lamb story” of Exodus 12 where the Israelites are told to get a lamb, slaughter it and take some of the blood and put it on the sides and top of door frames of the houses. The Lord tells them that when he passes through Egypt in order to bring about judgment on the gods of Egypt that the blood will be a sign for you on the houses where you are; and when the Lord sees the blood he will pass over you.”

My prayer for immigrants of this nation – with and without papers – that the blood, sweat and tears that they have woven into the tapestry of this country will cover them in these days ahead. That they will be covered, protected and most importantly shielded from hurt, harm and danger. That the Lord of the Passover will deal appropriately with the “gods of the United States” who use fear, intimidation, violence as a means of establishing who is deserving and who is not. May the Lord of the  Passover be with these families as they drive to work or school, sleep in their homes or go to the grocery store as border patrol agents, sheriff deputies, police personnel seek to “protect our borders” and “keep the criminals” away. May the Lord of the Passover make clear to our world that in fact all of us are part of the Lord’s creation and we do not have the power to inflict harm, danger on others. May the power of the Passover Lamb of Exodus be at work in Arizona, Texas, California, Florida ………… in the United States of America. May the power of the passover lamb be the “only paper” they need and provide them hope, faith and assurance that God is with them even in the face of “many gods.”

ARISE

Ramona directs the van driver, Martin, through the pot-holed streets of Colonia Muniz in south Texas, guiding us to a bright pink building at the community’s center.  ARISE (A Resource in Serving Equality) is painted in bold letters on a sign outside, signifying the presence of the 23 year old non-profit. In their own words:

“ARISE is a grassroots organization of women for women. It is about building on strengths and respecting the dignity of each individual. It’s about spirituality, cultural values and personal growth. It’s about connecting women with each other and strengthening the fabric of their communities. It’s about teamwork and putting personal ambition aside in favor of common goals. It’s about inspiring hope and a sense of a possibility.”

Ramona, who has been involved with ARISE since its inception, leads our group into the building to show us where the magic takes place.  The humble, un-airconditioned converted house has colorful inspirational posters, a shrine to the Virgin of Guadalupe, photos of neighborhood residents, shelves filled with children’s books and arts supplies for classes with area children, and the crowning jewel—a huge patio with tables for hosting community events, neighborhood birthday parties, dances and BBQs.  As Ramona and her co-worker Andrea tell us about the organization, hard rain begins to pour down and the patio feels like it has curtains of water enclosing us in as we learn about this sacred work.

Ramona explains that when families arrive to this country they come with big dreams.  After a few years of struggling to make ends meet, of scraping for work, of being treated like a nobody, those dreams begin to dissolve.  For many depression sets in and they forget, or are unable to raise their children with any dreams.  Ramona thinks that many of the community’s problems are born from young people who have no sense of hope.  Frustrated, stuck, unable to imagine a better future, they get involved in gangs, drop out of school, and at worst, begin to see themselves as nobody. Ramona says that the biggest job of ARISE is to give  the community hope—to remind them to dream and  raise their children as dreamers.

Ramona Casas at ARISE Office in Colonia La Muniz

When the sky clears we begin to walk toward the house of a local family whose story we have been invited to hear.  Their yard has only this week been emptied from the water left by last month’s hurricane. Today’s rain makes the yard refill with mud, further burying the cans, wrappers, and fruit strewn across the “lawn”.  The heat and humidity are stifling as we make our way into the small living room area, crowding around the single air conditioning unit as the family gathers to talk.

The mother, “Maria Louisa” stands against the wall, with her muscular arms folded across her chest.  She is a powerful woman with a strong square jaw line and deep, almost black, eyes. She and her husband make a living harvesting grapefruit for $7.25 a case.  On a good day, if they work together, they can fill 2 cases an hour.  Using this money they have put a $5,000 down payment on their house and are working to pay the remaining mortgage. They had saved up $3,000 over the last few years to pay for their daughters’ college education.  But that money is gone now, after what the family went through last month…

Maria Louisa proudly introduces her two eldest daughters, Elizabeth (19) and Veronica (17), who are as striking as their mother and both studying at the local University.  Elizabeth is studying to be an RN but one day hopes to be a doctor.  Veronica will be starting college this fall and plans to become a teacher, a vocation inspired by the wonderful teacher who taught her English when she first arrived to this country.  Both of these young women immigrated with Maria Louisa and her husband to the U.S. 10 years ago and are un-documented.  The family’s younger daughters and son who are 5, 7, and 9 years old respectively, were all born here in the United States.  The 7 year-old daughter wanted to become a border patrol agent, but that too changed after last month…

Last month, while driving her mother to work, Elizabeth saw the flashing lights of the border patrol in her rear-view mirror.  When the agent approached the car Elizabeth asked him why she had been pulled over.  The officer did not answer.  Elizabeth repeated the question and the border patrol agent responded (I am paraphrasing) that he knew what to do when he saw a car full of people who looked like them.  He told them to get out of the car.  He did not wait for Maria Louisa to grab her younger daughter’s papers from her bag.  Maria Louisa and her four daughters were taken in for “processing” by the border patrol.

Once in custody Maria Louisa and her elder daughters were asked to sign “voluntary departure” forms stating that they were being “voluntarily” deported to Mexico.  Maria Louisa instead signed the part of the form that said she could request a hearing with a judge.  This was taken as an act of defiance—an affront to the arresting officer who began to yell at Maria Louisa. “Do you think you are special because you have been here for 10 years, do you think the judge cares?  Do you think you are special because your little girls are citizens?  Do you think you are special because your older girls are in college?  Do you think owning a house makes you special? None of this matters to the judge.”  In the retelling of the story she said that his tone was “muy golpeada” or abrupt—literally like being hit with words. He asked Elizabeth to help him convince the mother to sign but she instead told her mother not to sign the form—to hold out for a judge.  Maria Louisa continued to insist that she could not leave her young daughters, who are citizens, alone in this country—she wanted a chance to talk to the judge.

Maria Louisa held out for four more hours without signing the form, until they took her to a separate room without her daughters.  There the agent told her that if she didn’t sign the form he would call child protective services to pick up her youngest daughters.  He promised that she would never find them again.  He told her that Elizabeth would go to a women’s prison and that Victoria would end up in a juvenile detention center.  He told her that she would spend months in an immigration center awaiting processing and that in the mean time her family would be separated and it would take forever to find them all again. He told her again to sign the form and out of fear she finally complied.  Even then, after the form was signed, another officer saw the paper with her original request to see a judge along with the “voluntary departure” waiver.  This officer spoke to Maria Louisa’s detaining officer and told him that the form was no good if it had her request for a judge on it.  He tore the paper up and told her to do a new one.  She signed the form again.

The officer now asked Maria Louisa again if she had anyone for the little kids to go home with.  She knew she could not call her husband and risk his arrest too, so she decided to call ARISE to pick up her daughters.  Once the little girls had left tearfully, Maria Louisa and her daughters were deported to Mexico.  There, through a contact from ARISE, the family found a place to stay for a few days as they formulated a plan to come back.  Elizabeth recalls that she was not afraid, she knew they would get back “home”—she was pissed that it would set the family back financially, but this would not ruin her chances to become a doctor.  Maria Louisa felt more fear as she imagined crossing the border with her two beautiful teenage daughters.  She had heard stories of what happens to young women crossing the border in the hands of corrupt coyotes or at the hands of border bandits.  With this in mind she found a reputable coyote to cross the three back to the United States.  The midnight trip across the river in a little raft cost the family $2,700– almost everything she had saved for her daughters’ education.

Although this all took place six weeks ago, the after shocks are still wearing off. Maria Louisa says that her younger daughters cry each time she tries to leave the house, even to buy groceries, “They grab my legs and tell me ‘no mami, no te vayas, te agaran la migra’”(no mommy, don’t go, border patrol will get you).   The youngest, who sleeps with Victoria, wakes up almost every night with nightmares that her family is being taken away.  The 7 year-old no longer wants to become a border patrol agent.  When we asked her why she shyly answers, “hablan muy feo” (they speak in a very ugly way).  The family will have to work for years to rebuild their savings, and everyone wonders what they will do if they are caught again—but Elizabeth and Victoria must continue to take classes and Maria Louisa and her husband must take whatever work they can find.  Whenever anyone is running late, they are all thinking of the worst possible scenario, that they may not see that person again.

We ask the girls about their involvement with ARISE.  How has the organization affected their lives.  Elizabeth and Victoria have both spent dozens, possibly hundreds, of hours volunteering.   They teach classes for the little kids and help to put on events in the community.  They have participated in the myriad trainings  offered by ARISE and this connection has helped them to dream big.  These young women have no doubt that they will succeed—no matter the obstacles set before them.  Maria Louisa says that her children “van a ser alguien” (are going to be somebody).  It is clear that they already are, and that they take after their mother.

There is a hope that the family clings to, that the “Dream Act” will become law.  Both Elizabeth and Victoria are the “dreamers” that the act would cover.  They arrived here young, they were schooled in this system (this country invested many years in their education and they excelled), they have great career potential, and they want an opportunity to work, live and serve this country.  They are the embodiment of the American Dream—hard working, persistent, eyes set on a brighter future for themselves and for their family—all they need is a chance.

As we leave the house I lift my eyes to the clouded sky above Colonia Muniz.  The sun is pressing against the clouds and giving the sky a hazy brightness.  I begin to pray—for these women, for this country, for ARISE and the inspiring work they are doing here. I pray that God will continue  to bless us each with the ability to continue dreaming—imagining something better—transforming our world with grace and hope against the greatest of odds.

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

Paulina's Briefcase - Mexican Labor Law Book on the left; AVON catalog on the right

Last week I had the opportunity to preach at the First Presbyterian Church of Edinburgh, Texas. The Gospel selection was a familiar one “The Good Samaritan” – Luke 10. This passage seemed so appropriate given the work Tamara and I were blessed to witness with the maquiladora workers in Reynosa and Rio Bravo, Mexico. The focus of our gathering was not only to say “hello”,  catch up with what is going on in the world, or even to explain why we are here from NYC, but to join in their “lucha” (struggle) for fair, safe and healthy working conditions.

Helping women become their own “lawyers” and understanding the power of negotiation is a conversation that I can not recall every being a part of before.  I am accustomed to Bible Study groups where I come as a leader or as a participant with my Bible, notebook and highlighter – ready to learn, discuss and share. The gatherings that we have witnessed with the women in Reynoso and Rio Bravo were carried out in the same spirit of inspiration, and motivation but the central text of these discussions was not the Bible or the daily newspaper but rather “La Ley Federal Trabajo del Mexico” – Mexican Labor Law.

On the way back last Saturday Ed asked Tamara and I if we have ever encountered the United States Labor “Law Book.” Our response was “No” – in fact it never crossed our minds to go buy one, search for it online or even borrow it from the library. The difference in how one works for justice, respect and equity became quite apparent. For these women having a clear, succinct knowledge of the “law” is a bedrock and necessity for their struggle. This has been one of the concrete “things” that Ed’s work has given them. Ed has inspired and enabled these special women to pick up a “law book” and be empowered by it NOT intimidated by it.  This “law book” for these women has become in some ways their “Bible” providing a sense of direction, hope and new expectations for how their working lives, careers should be crafted and sustained with dignity. This “book” sets the rules and makes it clear that although their jobs are at the bottom of the totem pole they still have rights – they too are people.

I was particularly struck by Paulina, one of the promotoras. She carries a pink and black AVON briefcase. In the front pockets of her “briefcase” is the Mexican Labor Law book on the left and her AVON sales catalog to the right. If what we carry is an indication was is true and dear to us, I am happy to make the assertion that for Paulina Mexican Labor Law (worker’s rights) and AVON (women’s empowerment and beauty) are central to her being and provide her the drive and income to stay in the “lucha.” What sorts of books do you carry in your “bag” or sit on your nightstand, desk or bookshelf? What words, laws, phrases give you hope, provide promise or have helped to ground your being – your sense of personhood?

For these women the Mexican Labor Law book is the book that clearly dictates what they deserve as workers. They will not give up until the “law” manifests itself in their workplace.  The “law” as these women see it is their lasting hope for equal, fair and just treatment. The challenge that these workers left me with is how do I understand the “law?”  How have I used the “law” to help in my struggle for justice and equity? How can “knowing” the law help in bringing down an deeply entrenched and often unjust system? How can I/we as I/we do justice work be a part of the process that creates laws that empower and uphold dignity? How do I speak against “laws” such as the Arizona “SB1070: show me  your papers law” that seeks to polarize and essentially shame those with proof and those without? How does one rise up “against” laws that do more harm than good? How do we organize, negotiate, sit at the table with lawmakers, CEOs and managers as these women do and bring to their attention their “breaking” of the law? How can/does the “law” hurt or bless the enterprise of believing that we are all a part of God’s creation, which means that we all deserve a chance to live, survive and prosper?

In the story of the Good Samaritan, Jesus arrives at this story by way of a question being asked by a lawyer. The lawyer wants to know “how do I inherit eternal life?” Jesus doesn’t answer the question, but rather does a Jesus “typical” thing – he answers the question with another question – “What does it say in the law?” The lawyer I can imagine just blurts out verbatim what the “law” says – “you should love the love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, body and strength and love  your neighbor as yourself.” After answering the question, Jesus responds “do this and you will live.” This question prompts the lawyer to ask “well who is my neighbor?” And there Jesus responds to the question using an illustration of the Good Samaritan who cared for an injured man while the priest and the Levite “stepped over him.”

The “law” was very clear as to how one can inherit eternal life – how one can live free – how one can live in a world of justice, community, hope and love. But, the implementation or execution appeared to be a bit problematic, challenging. It challenged this lawyer to not only think about his vertical relationships, but his horizontal ones as well. The “law” if fulfilled correctly was not only concerned about keeping things in balance with God, but also with one’s neighbors, community. The “law” that Jesus has called us to follow, plant and blossom in our hearts is one that does not cut or put off, but rather expands and embraces all those whom we come along with.

Jesus sets the record straight about the “law” and what it really means and what it has the capacity to be and do if we make an earnest attempt to learn it and use  it in our lives. The maquiladora workers in Mexico, through the help and gentleness of Ed, have come to know the “law” for themselves.  In their coming to know “the law,” these women have given life to their families and communities; they have ensured that their bodies are not exploited and are given the proper rest and nourishment; they have shown that the “law” is just not applicable to some but applies to everybody. I am convinced that these women will inherit eternal life not only because of their spiritual discipline, confidence, values but because they see the hope in how the “law” when used for good is a pathway to life and love.

Paulina and her briefcase

Mexican Labor Law Books

We crossed the border last Tuesday, snaking through the industrial parks of Reynosa Mexico where huge billboards advertise the products being built in big gray factories running on either side of the highway: LG, Emerson, Brunswick, Zennith, Kohler, Eaton, the names look familiar and I think of my cell phone sitting in the bag on my lap.  When I bought it I remembered to ask about radiation levels, about the warranty, about the rebate—I did not remember to ask where my phone had been assembled, nor where the packing foam was produced (dangerous work that results in many steam related injuries), nor how much the workers were being compensated.  I did not think about it until the moment we drove past the LG maquiladora (or foreign owned factory) and made our way into one of the surrounding colonias (unincorporated housing developments).

This neighborhood, like dozens of others in the city, house some of the thousands of workers who come to northern Mexico to work in factories like LG where they will make between $1-2 an hour.  Tight square houses stand shoulder in this new development, the nicest I have seen in Reynosa.  The houses are identical except for the laundry hanging out front on makeshift clotheslines. I feel huge as I walk toward the house and am sure that if I pressed myself against the front  I could reach across and touch the outer walls on either side, but I resist the urge as a young woman beckons from the front door inviting us in.  She has an infant in her arms while a 2 and 3-year-old dart around her legs.  She sends them to play at the neighbor’s house and the girl complies, leaving her brother behind.  He is curious and hides behind the sofa watching as our meeting starts.

The woman, we will call her “Carla”, is a “Promotora” (or promoter) of worker’s rights.  She has been working with Ed for several years and while she already works a 48-hour a week job in a maquiladora, she spends her free time learning about Mexican labor law so she can advocate for her rights (and those of her fellow workers).  Carla presents us with case reports, each carefully handwritten (2 copies) with the vital information highlighted in bold yellow.  She goes through case by case, explaining to us the injustice she saw (or heard about), how she turned to the law to find support, how she brought the policy to the attention of the employer and ultimately (in many cases) how the injustice was rectified.  There were other cases, ones still open, that she discussed eagerly with Ed to get his second opinion.  In one case, women at the factory had to go through a metal detector to get into work.  For many, their under wire bras set off the detector.  These women (many as young as 16) were told to remove all of their clothing from the waist up for inspection.  Many of the women were very uncomfortable and Carla wondered if this would constitute sexual harassment.

Late in the meeting Carla’s neighbor made her way over and told us about the factory she used to work in.  51-hour weeks with no overtime compensation, only one 15 minute break for the entire shift, and if you refused to work extra hours or change your shift (say from day to middle of the night because it would leave your kids home alone) you were fired immediately.  Ed took down the name of the company and details– he and Carla would look into it later.

After leaving we met up with another promotora, we will call her “Pearla”.  She is the only full-time organizer for Comite, traveling from one neighborhood to the next by bus, listening to people’s stories. She takes us first to a house where a couple live with their 9 year old son.  The husband was laid off from his job last year during the economic recession.  He had worked in the kitchen of a maquiladora for years and was surprised when he was told he no longer had a job.  According to Mexican Law, if you are laid off the company must compensate you according to the length of time you have been employed with them– in addition to paying out unused vacation time, sick days etc.  When he was told he no longer had a job the company offered him an amount that he knew to be far too low.  He and his wife, having heard of Pearla, consulted her about the situation.  She advised the man not to sign anything and not to accept a check until it was for the appropriate amount.  They worked for months, fighting for meetings, conciliation and arbitration,  each time insisting upon the amount this man knew he deserved.  After four months the company finally agreed to compensate him appropriately, a sum 6 times higher than their original offer.  Many of his co-workers, unable to hold out without some sort of compensation for their families to live on, did not wait through the months of negotiations and were not compensated fairly in the end.  This gentleman and his wife explained how grateful they were to have learned about the process.  When asked how this process had changed his thinking he explained that he felt empowered to stand up for himself and his family.  He also felt aware of how the company attempted to wear workers down, threatening that if they did not take the money offered they would get nothing.  He said he would never again trust blindly in what management told him.  He has the tools to protect himself now and is willing to fight for just treatment.

At the next house the family (Mother, Father and teenage son) had all just arrived from work.  They insisted we sit on the only available couch with the only available fan pointed at us.  The husband was sent with an empty coke bottle to a local shop to get it refilled and cold drinks were poured all around.  Each member of the family shared the details of their work experiences.  The wife works at a place with no transportation, no cafeteria, no toilet paper in most of the bathrooms, low wages and insufficient lunch breaks—she hates her job but goes each day to contribute to the family’s finances.  The husband works at Emerson and expressed that his work was different, they got lunch included, transportation, potable drinking water and coffee.  He was very happy to work where he did and seemed content to picture himself there for years to come.  I couldn’t help but think that Emerson was smart to implement these simple measures to so drastically improve workplace satisfaction. The son was working at another factory and trying to pay his way through school.  He said he would be an engineer in five years and could make many times what his parents were paid.   As we sat in the blazing heat of their small home listening to the details of family finances, I was struck by the reality that this is how Ed and the promotoras have done three decades of activism—one story at a time, sitting on couches or perched in doorways drinking coke from Styrofoam cups and listening to people who have taken a leap of faith by inviting them in.

This work is not something easily captured in glossy promo materials or a regular training schedule. There is no website, as most of the people working in the maquiladoras have no computer.  The promotoras do not pass out pamphlets at factories or protest on the sidewalks outside the big buildings as this could endanger the livelihood of the workers, many of whom desperately need this income.  They do not arrive with food, clothes or toys for the kids—they come only to talk—case by case, home by home, person by person spreading the “Buenas Noticias” of Mexican Labor Law—and in so doing transforming the community through empowerment and hope.

Photo:  Ed (in the very front) with some of the Promotoras at a gathering we attended this Saturday!

This Friday morning her mother phoned to let me know that she would be making tamales all day and that we were invited for dinner.  At 5:30pm we set off with directions, a watermelon, cheesecake, and a few butterflies in my stomach—expectations (even the good ones) make me nervous.  We arrived to their home 20 minutes later and my friend (we will call her “Jenny”) and her two siblings came out to greet us.  Jenny’s family lives in a home that they helped build in conjunction with Proyecto Azteca (www.proyectoazteca.com), a local non-profit that works with families to build affordable housing in the colonias.  Jenny’s father is a construction worker and has has added beautiful detail work inside, like crown molding separating brightly painted walls and a huge lit-up plaster star adorning the girl’s ceiling. The cozy kitchen was busy with two massive steamer pots cooking 60+ tamales and the living room was filled with kids ranging from 5 months to 10 years old, the big ones holding the littler ones on laps and keeping them entertained.  It was a truly bilingual event—all of the adults are Spanish speakers, while the children switched fluidly between English and Spanish as they played.

Jenny shyly brought me gifts from her room, a big conch shell from the beach, a felted heart that she had spent days sewing sequins to, and a school picture.  She also brought out the family video camera which provided an opportunity for Jenny to talk about her First Communion: her fancy white princess dress and the huge multi-generational party given in her honor at her home including dinner and plenty of dancing. I was playfully warned that while the family forgave me for missing the festivities, they would not be so lenient for her Quinceañera and I should start preparing now!

Before long dinner was served. Huge tamales on banana leaves filled with chicken or pork and a spicy chipotle sauce, topped with shredded cabbage and more chilis for the brave.  I love tamales, in fact I make great tamales, but these outshone my best attempts with the rich adobo flavor of the chilis and the hearty corn masa (after asking for the recipe it became apparent that my use of butter instead of  pork lard is where I go wrong!).  After two massive tamales I was stuffed but a half an hour later when it was time for dessert, I opted out of cake and went for a third tamale, provoking laughter and boasting from the cooks. Upon learning about my love of food and cooking, Jenny’s dad began to tell me about the most unique dishes from the region of Mexico he is from.  He spoke of the Maguey cactus that is hollowed out and left to sit until the sap/juice drains into the center; that juice is then scooped out and fermented making a favorite regional drink.  When it rains, from that same cactus emerge bright red worms that are a delicacy in the region.  He laughingly explained how people try to take small earthworms and feed them food coloring to sell to the unsuspecting, but that the real thing, though pricey, are something he really misses from home.

After dinner Jenny took me to look at pictures on her parents’ bed.  She brought out photos from her parents’ wedding, her birth, her early baths in a sink and later ones in a 5 gallon bucket, her birthday parties and photos of her grandmother who is still living in Veracruz.  As we looked through pictures other kids came in to climb in our laps and giggle at pictures of when Jenny was smaller than them.  Eventually Jenny’s mom came in and started explaining the stories behind the photos.  Over the course of our conversation I learned that she and I are the same age (30 years old).  We talked about the different places life had brought us since our high school graduations. I was humbled by her story.

Jenny’s mom first traveled to the U.S. 8 months pregnant laying in a raft.  She and her new husband knew they wanted their daughter to have the opportunities that come of being born in the United States.  At 18 she wasn’t even sure what the journey across the border would mean but she was newly married, crazy in love, and willing to take a big risk for a chance at a better life.  Now with three kids, a home, a couple of dogs, and a community of neighbors carrying similar stories, this place has become her new home.  I asked when she and her husband would become citizens and she explained that they will have to wait until their children are adults and can apply on their behalf.  In the mean time they work, pay taxes (with a TIN number) and social security they will never see.  They own a home, raise a family, and try to go about the business of living despite the constant fear of deportation and separation from their family.  She told me about her mother living in Mexico and of the dangerous and expensive trips across the border to visit her childhood home.  She explained that the journey is becoming more expensive and more dangerous with the drug wars and that her neighbor’s husband had been kidnapped 7 weeks ago while crossing and hasn’t been heard from since. She told me that she used to dream of saving enough money to go back to Mexico and buy a small farm, but that now Mexico is becoming so dangerous she doesn’t think she will ever return to live there.  We talked about her job, cleaning the home of a local school teacher whose husband is a local police officer.  She chuckled at my raised eyebrow, saying that the police officer has bigger things to worry about than her.  She told me that 11 years into her marriage she and her husband are still very much in love and trying to find joy in the constant adventure of living in this country.  She described herself as very lucky.

When it was time to leave I was sent with a stack of tamales for the road and was made to promise that we would be back the following Friday for nopales (cactus).  The family has decided that Carolyn and I should come every week so we can sample a different regional dish and spend time listening and sharing in their stories.

I left full of tamales and gratitude—gratitude for the families who are living, struggling, surviving and raising a new generation full of dreams, and like their parents, hope for a better life.  Children whom I pray might one day become leaders changing the way we think about the border, immigration and ultimately what it means to truly love our neighbor.

The Valley is home to over 1,200 of Texas’ 2,294 “colonias” or unincorporated subdivisions. While colonias exist in New Mexico and Arizona, Texas with more than 400,000 people, has the most residents living in colonias. More than 65% of colonia residents, and 85% of those under 18, are U.S. citizens. So what does an “unincorporated subdivision” mean? Well, much of the land that the colonias were/are built on is what Texas Secretary of State, Hope Andrade, calls “worthless land”—land that is too full of pesticides to continue to farm, or is located on a floodplain. Starting in the 1950s this unusable land was sold, lot by tiny lot, to low income families with little or no infrastructure in place. Developers, not required to provide potable water or sewage connections, leave new residents to fend for themselves. The result is often dirt roads, home-built outhouses or shallow septic tanks, hoses and extension cords snaking through windows to share water supplies and electricity between neighbors and makeshift homes barely holding together even in the best of weather. Residents build their homes on this land using scrap materials, tar paper, packing crates, old RV’s and whatever else can be found. This land, while cheaper than most, is sold at much more than it is worth and families who can not pay for it outright (and most cannot) face interests rates as high as 30%. Decades later, many families struggle get out from under the burden of this debt, and find themselves still unable to improve their homes. During floods it is these communities, the Valley’s poorest, who will suffer the most. Outhouses and makeshift septic fields are prone to overflow. Roads wash out. Roofs leak and whole houses collapse in the wind and rain. Today’s news warned that low laying areas can expect 3-5 feet of water tomorrow.

During our stay in the Valley, Carolyn and I will be working with Proyecto Azteca, a non-profit that helps provide affordable homes and repairs to families in the colonias using a combination of 0% interest loans, sweat equity hours, and small repairs grants. We will be walking door to door with Proyecto Azteca staffers administering questionnaires to determine what condition homes are in and what level of assistance they qualify for. During our visit in January 2010 we were privileged to witness as family, a mother and her two young sons, visiting their new home as the finishing touches were being applied. The boys raced around the house laughing and explaining to anyone interested that “this is our new home”.

Ann Cass, Proyecto Azteca’s executive director called us a few hours ago to let us know that they would be closed tomorrow and most likely Thursday and Friday because of the storm. Staffers who are able, will be joining Valley volunteer teams at local shelters to care for those that are displaced by the storm. She promised she would call on us as soon as soon as the worst of the storm had passed, expressing gratitude that two extra sets of hands would be on board.

Yesterday a front running gubernatorial candidate was murdered along with three aides just over the border in Mexico (one of 23,000 is the last 3 ½ years who’s lives have been lost to the drug related violence in Mexico). Tonight patches of blue sky are still visible and hummingbirds flit around the orange tree as neighbors return home with gallons of extra water. An hour away along the coast, people continue to watch for oil to wash up on Gulf beaches. As the sunset over the borderlands we sit and wait for what tomorrow will bring. Grateful to be here, bearing witness as life unfolds.

- link to video made in January about the colonias by a Union student:

Texas is an interesting place. My brother even before I left New Jersey said, “Everything is big in Texas.” He is right, but Texas is also a place where particular groups have been written off and denoted as “invisible.” This is a problem for me! How can I as a Christian, a preacher, a seminarian sit back and just “watch, hear, witness” the profane treatment of what I consider G-d’s creation? We are all G-d’s creation right? With papers or without papers? Spanish or English speakers? Passport or no passport? Male or female? Young or old? Rich or poor? Aren’t we all a part of the kin-dom of G-d?

Over the past few days, my colleague, Tamara and I have been getting acclimated to our new home, work station for the next 6 weeks. Of course, we have to adjust our temperatures, but also realize how close to home separation, invisibility, supremacy mark the world that we are a part of.

It’s been uplifting over these first few days to reconnect with Rev. Ed Krueger and his wife, Ninfa, long time activists and justice workers who have put their lives on the line in order to serve women factory workers (maquiladoras) in Mexico and women here in the Valley who desire to be recognized by the US government as “citizens.”

There is a lot of hope being spread through the work of Proyecto Azteca and their Executive Director, Ann Cass, who is out in the field, in the Valley, helping families build homes with access to running water, a bathroom, electricity in the colonias. Things are happening here in the Valley perhaps not at the speed of a New York minute. But, something is happening to break open the reality of injustice and discrimination that has plagued the Valley for so long.

The first of many lessons that I have learned is that there is something about sticking with it, keeping the course, demonstrating fortitude even when conditions, government, friends and family say otherwise. “It’s not about winning, it’s about being faithful” are kernels of wisdom that Ann Cass shared with Tamara and me on Friday. These words have been haunting me over the past few days … they even came up indirectly during Mass yesterday at Holy Spirit Roman Catholic Church in McAllen. How can I not be so concerned about crossing the finishing line but rather more concerned about the progress made along the journey? How can I accept the fact that standing up for those considered “less than” may mean no glory or honor but perhaps shame and shun? How can I endure the journey knowing that I maybe alone in this work to speak truth to power? How can I be satisfied in working through my call to be a justice worker? How do I remain faithful to what is right even when it hurts?

We have been called to be faithful … to be faithful to our resources that G-d has given us … to be faithful to the call of Jesus to do unto others as you would do for Jesus … to be faithful to the commandment to love our neighbors as we love ourselves … to be faithful to our founding document as a nation that declares that all men (women) are created equal .

We have been called to be faithful to the call, standard and expectation set for us by Jesus even in desperate and dire conditions and situations. The next few weeks that are before me provide me … Carolyn … an opportunity to demonstrate my faithfulness to the call of justice, mercy, understanding but also join with others who have made FAITHFULNESS their order of the day.