The Sleeping Giant Behind the DREAM Act Decision

On Saturday December 18, the U.S. Senate failed to pass the DREAM Act, thereby blocking the legislation that would have given undocumented students brought to this country as children the chance to study in US universities and get on a path to citizenship. This is a devastating loss for the entire country. Under the DREAM Act, more youth from our communities would have been able to attend college and advance their education; our workforce would have gained more motivated doctors, lawyers, nurses, teachers, and other professionals; and our economy would have been bolstered by the additional contributions of DREAM students. This most recent setback for the DREAM Act is a loss for all of us in the US, but I would argue that the negative implications of the Senate’s decision are even broader than these immediate impacts. While it’s troubling that the DREAM Act didn’t pass, what’s perhaps more troubling is the rhetoric that was used to ensure it didn’t pass, along with the fact that the American people were willing to stand for that rhetoric.

Senator Kyl of Arizona, in his long list of reasons to oppose the DREAM Act, included the following point: “Chain migration… would result from this legislation because once the citizenship is obtained the individuals would then have the right to legally petition for a green card for their family members. And that means that the numbers here could easily triple from the 2 million plus that are estimated right now.”

What’s the underlying assumption driving this argument against the DREAM Act? It assumes that opening up a pathway to allow more immigrants (primarily immigrants of color from countries of high emigration) is essentially a bad thing, and bad for our country. This logic is misguided at best. Currently, our immigration system is firmly rooted in the values of family reunification; it’s just how the system works. What lends credibility to an argument like Kyl’s is not the facts of our current frameworks for legal immigration, but rather a harsh anti-immigrant, and arguably racist, sentiment. He assumes that more immigration from traditional sending countries (such as countries in Latin America) is threatening and should be avoided.

Regrettably, the reason rhetoric like Kyl’s holds political water is that many people in the American public have similar assumptions. As anti-immigrant narratives become more mainstream (and are reinforced through the media and political campaigns), many Americans come to accept them as truth, and become blinded to their racist undertones. Even some who would purport to be charitable towards the needs of immigrants often buy in to the dominant ideology. It is this domination of anti-immigrant sentiment, the implicit assumptions that make it acceptable to spout off arguments like Kyl’s, that I find most troubling in the aftermath of the DREAM Act decision. Of course, there are detractors, but I would argue that the public conscience, as a whole, seems to accept anti-immigrant, racially-driven arguments, especially when they are cloaked in rhetoric.

But that’s not to say that there can’t be a rapid shift in the public conscience. Most of the anti-immigration arguments out there are based on misconceptions about the visa system and the history of immigration to this country. Americans need to be educated about immigration; to understand its roots and the true benefit immigrants bring to our society and economy. The rising power of a mobilized immigrant community, combined with the support of citizen allies, will be critical in carrying out more widespread public education, and shifting mainstream public opinion towards a richer understanding of the realities of immigration to the US.

With empowerment and education, we can make a difference. Thirty six years ago, Senator Richard Russell stood up on the Senate floor and claimed that he would block the implementation of the Civil Rights Act, stating that, “We will resist to the bitter end any measure or any movement which would have a tendency to bring about social equality and intermingling and amalgamation of the races in our (Southern) states.” Now we look back and clearly see the racist assumptions underlying his statements. Public opinion has shifted considerably. If a Senator were to stand up on the floor today and say those comments, there would be instant public outrage among the American people.

I hope that soon, our public conscience will drive us to respond in a similar manner whenever anti-immigrant sentiment begins to hijack the national political agenda. Whenever racist ideologies are at work, I hope to see people of all colors and from all different backgrounds standing up, demanding that the human rights and civil liberties of everyone residing in the US be respected. In the meantime, I will not sit back and wait. The moral compass of the US will not shift unless we make it.

Dream Act Set-back is a Loss For All

Click here to see my letter in the Boston Globe!

RE “IMMIGRANTS lament Dream Act’s defeat’’ (Boston Globe Metro, Dec. 20): The disappointment about the Senate’s failure to pass the Dream Act reaches far beyond the immigrant community. I’m a US-born citizen, one of a majority of American voters who support the Dream Act. Many citizens are also lamenting the Senate’s decision, not just for what it will mean for our immigrant friends and neighbors, but for the impact it will have on our communities and the future of our nation.

As a medical student and someone who deeply values higher education, I have worked hard for the passage of the Dream Act alongside students, teachers, church leaders, and community members from across Massachusetts. The many citizens involved work in solidarity with immigrant neighbors to ensure a brighter future for our communities, our own families, and ourselves.

Under the Dream Act, more of our nation’s youth could attend college and advance their education; our work force would gain more motivated doctors, lawyers, nurses, teachers, and other professionals; and our economy would be bolstered by the additional contributions of Dream students.

This most recent setback for the Dream Act is a loss for all of us in this nation, and we should all lament its defeat.

Check out the link to the report: "Universal Language Access in DC Healthcare," the culminating document of my work from last year: VIEW REPORT

Confessions

As a white citizen raised in the US, I'm often asked the question: "So why are you so interested in immigrant rights?" Usually I answer with a rambling tirade about social justice and the global order of things - real big picture thoughts. But I've been thinking a lot lately about the deeper reasons for my involvement, and I admit have a confession to make. At the heart of the matter, my reasons for engaging in this work are actually a lot more personal than it might seem at first glance:

I was raised in a family where I was taught to value diversity, fairness, and the contributions of immigrants. 7 of my 8 great-grandparents were immigrants to this country from Europe and the stories about their early struggles and later successes in the US were always a prominent part of the stories I was told as a child. Also, 2 of my siblings were immigrants, adopted from Latin America when they were young. My parents were excited about diversity and would always seek out immigrant neighborhoods and interesting restaurants near our hometown on Long Island, New York and bring us along. And lastly, my parents cared deeply about fairness and justice. While my parents weren’t very vocal about these intentions, I always noticed how they treated others with dignity, how they devoted their lives to serving others, and how I would sometimes be brought along to the occasional protest for a social justice cause.

Growing up in my household, it was only natural to accept immigrants as valuable members of our society, as people that needed to be respected and appreciated for their unique contributions.

Maybe that’s why I was so stunned to learn, in the early 2000s, about the rising anti-immigrant movement in the towns around where I grew up. I learned about immigrant beatings and other hate crimes carried out by people as young as high-schoolers. What would make some of my neighbors have such deep-seated hatred against other neighbors of mine, just because they were immigrants? How could this be happening in my community? It made me sick to my stomach. I felt a sense of responsibility for addressing the issue: to play my part to root out the anti-immigrant sentiment and to work for justice for immigrants in the communities where I lived (although at that time I didn’t really know how I could do it). I also was curious to learn more about these immigrant communities. Who were these immigrants and where are they coming from? Why were so many immigrants in the US undocumented – why didn’t they come via legal channels? While I was taught to value diversity growing up, my hometown was actually pretty homogenous white middle-class. I had had exposure to immigrant groups, but I didn’t have many personal relationships and lacked this deeper understanding.

In college, I started working with immigrant populations in the city where I lived, volunteering at the local high school and in a health clinic, and also made friends with classmates of mine who were immigrants themselves. I learned through their stories about the barriers, struggles, and racism immigrants in this country, particularly immigrants of color, experience. I also learned that, while there are some legal channels that certain immigrant-hopefuls could follow in order to “get in line” and come to the US with papers, most immigrants from traditional immigrant sending countries had virtually no legal channel available to them. This was especially true for unskilled workers, hence the root of many of my city’s immigrants’ “undocumented-ness.” Lastly, I learned that immigrant populations brought beautiful diversity and also economic advantages to our city.

I felt committed to continue to work with immigrant groups, so I went to Mexico for a year to get fluent in Spanish. While there, I worked in a migrant shelter in southern Mexico, where I met migrants on their journey to the US and learned about the dangers and exploitation they face while traveling. These experiences strengthened my resolve to work to combat the injustices faced by immigrants and their families. When I came back from Mexico, I got a lot more political and I started getting more outspoken about the need for policy change to protect immigrant human rights. I felt like I owed it to all the people I met in the shelter who were generous enough to share their stories with me.

So that's where I'm at now. I want to work in solidarity with immigrant groups and also help educate and mobilize people from communities like the one I grew up in to take a stand for the cause. I'm committed. I'll do it until we truly achieve "liberty and justice for all" - both at home and in immigrants' home countries. There's a lot of work to do.

DREAMing for a Happy Thanksgiving

This Thanksgiving, as I reflect on the past year, I realize that one of the things in my life for which I’m most grateful is something I used to take completely for granted: I am thankful for my citizenship.

More specifically, I’m thankful for the privileges that come with my citizenship. I am thankful for being able to study, and work in the country where I was raised and have built my life. I am thankful for the many opportunities I have to develop my skills and knowledge base and to give back to my community. I am thankful for being able to plan for a future with my family and friends.

Right now in the US, these privileges are more readily available to citizens than to immigrant members of our communities. Undocumented immigrants in particular face significant barriers to enjoying them. However, legal citizenship is often different than effective citizenship. While all undocumented immigrants lack the legal documents of state-recognized citizenship, many of them are youth who grew up in the US and are effectively “American.” These youth urgently yearn for the most basic and noble privileges of citizenship or legal status in this country: the opportunity to study, work, and give back to the country where they grew up.

In the next few weeks, Congress will have the opportunity to decide whether or not the opportunities outlined above will be granted to the over 2 million undocumented students. The DREAM Act would give these youth the opportunity to study or join the military so that they are fully able to give back to their communities and serve the country where they grew up. With these additional contributions, the nation as a whole would benefit. Hopefully, if we all stand up and voice our support for undocumented students, next year at this time, these youth, their families, friends, and communities will be able to look back at this winter and give thanks for the DREAM Act's full passage.

I have a DREAM

When I first started medical school this past fall, I decided it would be a good idea to find some mentors at my school who shared my interest in immigrant health. So, modern girl that I am, I hopped online and entered “immigrant health Harvard Medical School” into my search browser.

Two of the first hits I had were for news stories on Dr. Alfredo Quinones-Hinojosa and Dr. Harold Fernandez, both immigrants to the US, graduates of Harvard Medical School and now prominent physicians in the field. But that’s not all they have in common. As I read further, I learned that both of these physicians shared one other important feature: they both lived many years in the US and attended college as undocumented immigrants.

I was shocked. I had never really thought about what an undocumented immigrant would do if they wanted to go to medical school. Wouldn’t they be afraid of being found out and being deported? And yet, these prominent physicians had motivation and drive. They were able to make it through school, regularize their status, and now dedicate their lives to advancing medical practice in the US.

Today, there are many undocumented students throughout the United States who, like Drs. Quinones-Hinojosa and Fernandez, are intelligent and motivated to pursue higher education. However, not everyone is lucky enough to have access to the opportunities that these men did. Many institutions refuse to admit undocumented students, and the federal government refuses to provide them with financial aid. As a result of these barriers, only a fraction of the 65,000 undocumented students that graduate high school each year goes on to pursue higher education. The rest are left with few options: to work without papers, remain unemployed, or go back to their country of origin. For most undocumented high school graduates who were raised in the US and have their families here, even this last option is hardly feasible.

Fortunately, it doesn’t have to be this way. The DREAM Act, a proposed federal law with broad public support, would provide undocumented students who were brought to the US before they were 16 and have been in the country for 5 years or longer, the opportunity to attend college or join the military without the barriers that come with being “undocumented.” It also provides a pathway to citizenship for youth that successfully complete their service or studies, to help ensure that they can work in their areas of specialty and continue to benefit our country. According to the Migration Policy Institute, an estimated 825,000 individuals would be affected by this legislation.

As I start off in my medical career, I feel privileged to have the opportunity to study and fulfill my own dreams. I am grateful for the social security number I was issued upon birth; I am grateful for the federal loans and grants that I depend on to get through school, an investment in my future. At the same time, I realize that many of my peers, over 2 million youth, have not been afforded the same opportunities due to their undocumented status. These youth are my neighbors, friends, and future colleagues.

So now, I have a new dream: that the DREAM Act be passed. With the DREAM Act in place, all of us will benefit. We will have more excellent doctors in our communities, more youth in school, and move one step closer towards recognizing the value and humanity of undocumented immigrants in our society.

La historia de la clínica de Guarjila

Sembrando salud y un sentido de comunidad:
La historia del proyecto de salud de la comunidad de Guarjila

Al llegar a la Clínica Ana Manganaro de Guarjila, de inmediato se nota algo especial en el aire. Puede ser la actitud de colaboración entre el personal, las sonrisas y preguntas de los pacientes, o simplemente puede ser el pensamiento compartido entre el personal tanto como los pacientes. Todos saben que esta clínica es muy única- que viene de la comunidad y es para la comunidad.

Este sentido comunal se encuentra en todo lo que se hace en la clínica - desde las charlas comunitarias, las visitas a casas y las campañas de nutrición y higiene. Por tener el enfoque comunitario así y las buenas cifras de la salud que la acompañan, la clínica Ana Manganaro es un ejemplo muy especial en El Salvador, y ha sido reconocida por muchos profesionales de salud como un “proyecto modelo” de salud comunitaria.

¿Pero cómo empezó a trabajar así la clínica Ana Manganaro? Para entender bien el éxito de la clínica, es importante también conocer sus raíces, su trayectoria de desarrollo y las personas claves que formaron parte de su historia.

Inicios de la clínica

La clínica fue establecida en el año 1987, el mismo año que la comunidad regresó a El Salvador desde los campamentos de refugiados en Honduras. Muchos salvadoreños buscaron refugio en Honduras ya que desde los principios de los años ochenta, El Salvador estuvo envuelto en una guerra civil entre la fuerza armada (y las personas derechistas en el país) y un frente popular que buscaba reforma agraria y más derechos para el pueblo . Debido al carácter popular y campesino del movimiento izquierdista, el gobierno adoptó una estrategia de persecución hacia los pueblos campesinos en las zonas del país con más actividad guerrillera. Cómo resultado, muchas personas en las zonas campesinas corrían mucho peligro a ser atacados, hasta ser matados, aunque no formaran parte de la guerrilla. En el departamento de Chalatenango, muchas de estas personas huyeron a los campamentos de Mesa Verde, justo cruzando la frontera con Honduras.

Fue en este campamento que se sembraron las primeras semillas de la clínica Ana Manganaro. En el campamento, se formó una directiva de la comunidad y se elaboraron proyectos para ayudar a la gente. Había una escuela y talleres de hojalatería, sastrería y zapatería, entre otros. Además, había una unidad de salud. Marlene, una de las enfermeras actuales de la clínica, empezó a trabajar allí cuando tenía sólo 12 años. Su tío trabajaba allí y la invitó a participar. Otra promotora, Angélica, empezó a trabajar en la unidad en 1986. Ella se incorporó en el trabajo del laboratorio. Para ella, le convenía incorporarse en el equipo de salud porque ya había trabajado cómo sanitaria en la guerra. Hubiera seguido con este trabajo en El Salvador, pero se embarazó
y se salió al campamento para tener a su bebé.

A pesar de que la gente pudo organizarse bien dentro del campamento, tampoco fue una vida digna. Hacía mucho frío y no había mucho servicios higiénicos. La gente vivía amontonada y se compartían pocas letrinas entre muchos. Además, había mucha represión por parte de la fuerza hondureña. No los dejaban salir afuera de la cerca que los encerraba. Dos veces, desaparecieron a personas de este campamento por haber salido sin permiso.

Debido a esta situación, los habitantes del campamento decidieron que preferirían regresar a El Salvador y tratar de vivir allí, aunque estuvieran en plena guerra, que aceptar la opresión que sufrían en Honduras. La directiva de la comunidad organizó el traslado y colaboró con los grupos internacionales que estaban allí apoyándolos para tratar de hacer el viaje lo más seguro posible. La directiva reconoció la importancia de mantener disponible la atención médica y pidió a Marlene y Angélica que llevaran un botiquín con ellas para atender a las personas durante el traslado. Angélica y Marlene estuvieron de acuerdo y se prepararon para el viaje con mucho gusto.

Llegando a Guarjila, el nombre que le dieron al lugar dónde se asentaron en El Salvador, la comunidad enfrentó nuevos retos. No había nada en el lugar, y las personas traían muy pocas cosas. Casi no había agua, no habían letrinas, no habían casas y no había nada de infraestructura. No había servicios de salud porque el ministerio de salud había salido de esa región. Aunque la comunidad enfrentaba muchos retos en este nuevo hospedaje, todos ellos colaboraban y empezaron a construir casas, hacer trabajo colectivo y desarrollar su comunidad. Por ejemplo, justo llegando al asentamiento, Angélica y Marlene prepararon un área de salud comunal. Pusieron una carpa arriba, para servir como techo, y abajo pusieron las cosas que se habían llevado en el botiquín. Ellas dos empezaron a atender los problemas de salud de su comunidad.

Se expande el proyecto de salud comunitaria

Había mucha necesidad de atención médica. Por eso, poco después de que llegaron a su nuevo hogar, la directiva eligió a otras promotoras de salud para que se ampliara el equipo. A algunas de ellas, cómo Esperanza del equipo actual de la clínica, las eligieron porque ya habían tenido experiencia cómo sanitarias en la guerra. El equipo de salud creció aun más porque la guerrilla mandó a algunas sanitarias a la región para apoyar al nuevo proyecto de salud. Por ejemplo, otra promotora actual, Marina, se vino a colaborar en el proyecto de esta manera. En poco tiempo, el número de promotoras había crecido a 16. Durante este tiempo, Angélica salió del equipo de salud, pero seguía yendo con los grupos de sanitarias para atender a los guerrilleros en el combate.

En estos primeros meses, la clínica se instaló en un lugar más fijo. La comunidad construyó una casa para servir cómo la clínica. La casa era un sólo cuarto con una mesa larga. Las promotoras daban consulta en esa mesa, una al lado de otra con poca privacidad. Atendían las necesidades de salud de las personas de la comunidad y también a personas heridas en la guerra. A veces, cómo muchas personas del pueblo tenían hijos guerrilleros, se los traían después de un enfrentamiento para que fueran atendidos. También, las personas civiles de la comunidad llegaban con heridas causadas por la guerra y por los ataques aéreos que el pueblo sufría. Las promotoras ayudaban mucho a la gente, pero cómo no tenían mucho equipo, medicamento ni capacitación formal, no podían hacer mucho para atender a los casos más complicados. Por ejemplo, al inicio, sólo tomaban temperatura y presión y hacían curación.

Las promotores trabajaban duro y muchas horas, pero cómo era trabajo comunal, no se les pagaba. Vivían con sus familiares y sus papas y la comunidad les daba frijol y maíz comunal.
De hecho, al inicio, no les daban la comida comunal tampoco, aunque hacían trabajo para la comunidad. Algunos miembros de la directiva eran machistas y no valoraban bien el trabajo de las mujeres. Pero ellas organizaron una huelga y dejaron de trabajar. Sin tener acceso a los servicios de la clínica, la comunidad se dio cuenta de la importancia de las promotoras y los de la directiva fueron a hablar con ellas. Hicieron un acuerdo y después de eso, la directiva empezó a darles comida comunal a las promotoras de salud. También se organizaron para que un hombre entrara al equipo de promotoras.

Después de haber trabajado por algunos meses con puras promotoras de salud, la clínica empezó a recibir apoyo de afuera y de otras personas. Por ejemplo, la iglesia católica y luterana se fue enterando del proyecto y les ayudaban con abastecimiento de medicamento y otros bienes. Sin embargo, muchas veces era difícil conseguir este medicamento, porque la fuerza armada no les dejaba pasar las cosas en la carretera. Por eso, varias veces el equipo de salud tuvo que pasar el medicamento a escondidas, durante la madrugada.

Se incorpora la doctora Ana Manganaro al proyecto

Otro apoyo muy importante para la clínica fue la colaboración de la monja y médica Ana Manganaro. Ana llegó a trabajar con la clínica de Guarjila a través de la recomendación del padre español Jon Cortina, quien había acompañado a la gente de Guarjila desde que se regresaron a El Salvador. Padre Jon reconocía la importancia de la clínica y la calidad de trabajo de los promotores. Pero también, se dio cuenta que la clínica podría beneficiar mucho si tuviera más recursos y más apoyo. Cuando conoció a Ana en un lugar que se llama Calle Real, la invitó a ir a conocer el proyecto de Guarjila. Ella fue y le impresionó mucho lo que los promotores hacían y lo que habían logrado aprender con poca educación formal. Sin embargo, veía la necesidad de quedarse para darles más capacitación y para participar en el desarrollo del proyecto. Ella hizo su casa a cómo cien metros de la clínica, y empezó a trabajar con los promotores de salud.

El estilo de trabajo de Ana era de apoyo y enseñanza. Ella siempre insistía que las promotoras de salud fueran las que atendieran a los pacientes. Ella las apoyaba con casos difíciles y las enseñaba. Servía más cómo maestra y socia y menos cómo “jefa.” A las promotoras les daba muchas capacitaciones para que aprendieran destrezas cómo curación, cosas y higiene y primeros auxilios. Cómo la comunidad no tenía muchos recursos, Ana usaba los materiales que estuvieran disponibles. Por ejemplo, les enseñó a poner puntos usando las gallinas del almuerzo. Las abrían y ponían los puntos y después las cocinaban y comían. Así aprendieron.

Las promotoras valoraban mucho la manera especial de enseñanza que tenía Ana. Marina, una de las promotoras actuales de la clínica, describe cómo Ana le enseñó partería:

“Cuando no tenía mucha experiencia todavía, Ana me llamó para hacer un parto de nalgas. Yo tenía mucho miedo porque nunca había hecho nada así. Pero ella me decía, ‘Sí, puede. Tienes que aprender.’ Y me explicó cómo hacerlo. Me dijo, ‘ponga la mano adentro y encuentre el cuerpo.’ Así fui, sacando el bebé. Después la barbilla pegó y no sabía que hacer. Me puse muy nerviosa. Pero Ana siempre me ayudó. ‘No se preocupe, está bien,’ me dijo. ‘Usted puede; sólo busque su boca y ponga el dedo adentro.’ Entonces, así lo hice y por fin me salió ese bebé. Lo había hecho sola, pero siempre
con Ana como maestra.”

Ana no sólo era maestra y líder destacada, sino que realmente se incorporó cómo miembro de la comunidad. Todos los sábados, Ana llevaba a los promotores de salud y a sus familias a comer pupusas a la ciudad de Chalatenango. Decía que los hijos de los promotores eran sus nietos. Con tantas personas, casi no cabían en el carrito blanco de Ana. En ese carro los llevaba a pasear a los lagos y parques cercanos. Otra cosa especial que hacía Ana era que cada vez que nacía un bebé en la comunidad, le regalaba a la familia un ramo de flores de su jardín de rosas y claveles.

Tal vez por su mismo compromiso con la comunidad de Guarjila, Ana a veces causaba problemas para el ejército. Una de las promotoras se acuerda de una vez cuando el ejército vino a sacar a Ana de la comunidad:

“Cuando venía el ejército, toda la comunidad vino para apoyar a Ana, para que se pudiera quedar. Tocaron la campana en la capilla. Esa fue la señal que toda la comunidad tenía que venirse. Hicimos un gran círculo alrededor de Ana. Ella estuvo en el medio y no la podían alcanzar. Le hablaban con un gran megáfono. ‘Ana, ¡venimos a liberarla!’ Decían que ella estaba presa con las guerrilleros. ‘No,’ les decía Ana, ‘Aquí me quiero quedar.’ ‘Pero aquí es peligroso,’ le contestaron. ‘Pero aquí me voy a quedar. Esta gente me necesita.’ Ellos ya no la podía convencer y tampoco podían alcanzarla. Así que, se fueron.”

La gente sufría mucha represión por parte del ejército y el gobierno, pero Ana siempre luchaba por los derechos de la comunidad. Por ejemplo, si una persona de Guarjila requería de una atención más avanzada en un hospital, muchas veces a los empleados de salud del gobierno se les negaba la atención de salud. Decían que formaban parte de la guerrilla y por eso no los querían atender. Ana tenía que luchar para que los atendieran. Una promotora se acuerda de un caso de una niña de 7 años:

“Una vez llegó una niña de 7 años a la clínica. Le habían caído balazos de los aviones. Estaba muy mal con los intestinos (afuera?) y todo herido adentro. No había mucho que podíamos hacer para ayudarla. Necesitaba que la atendieran en un hospital. Ana la llevó un su carrito blanco al hospital. Ellos en el hospital no la querían atender a la niña. Decían que era de la guerrilla. Pero Ana venía preparada. Se había llevado la constitución de El Salvador con ella y se la enseñó a los médicos. Les dijo “Miren, aquí en la constitución dice que las personas tienen el derecho a la salud.” Insistió que la atendieran, y en fin, lo hicieron.”

En este caso la niña sobrevivió y se recuperó. Sin embargo, siempre lleva en su cuerpo la memoria de la guerra porque se dañó su matriz para siempre y ahora ya nunca va a poder tener hijos. Pero si no fuera por Ana, se le hubiera dañado muchísimo más.

Se desarrolla la misión de la clínica

Bajo el liderazgo de Ana, la atención de la clínica se mejoró y se diversificó. Se seguía atendiendo a las personas en la clínica original. También, en la casa del padre Jon, se estableció una guardería para los niños de los promotores y un cuarto para enfermos y heridos. El padre Jon y Ana tenían sus casas muy cerca de la clínica, y estaban disponibles a cualquier hora para apoyar a los promotores de la clínica.

Durante este tiempo, la misión de la clínica también se expandió. El equipo de salud empezó a mirar la necesidad de hacer trabajo de prevención de enfermedades, no sólo de atención a los problemas de salud. Se empezaron campañas de higiene y aseo, proyectos de nutrición y charlas de salud. Con estos proyectos, se logró bajar mucho la incidencia de enfermedades transmisibles en la comunidad.

Junto con el servicio y los proyectos de la clínica, los promotores de salud también desarrollaron sus capacidades. Ana daba capacitaciones del primer hasta el tercer nivel. Así, las promotores llegaron a tener un conocimiento médico bastante avanzado. Cada uno de los promotores tenía su propia área de especialidad que le tocaba. Por ejemplo, cuando Angélica volvió a trabajar en la clínica en 1988, se enfocó en el trabajo de laboratorio y de prevención. Esperanza, por su parte, siempre hacía curación. Y Marlene ha trabajado más con la coordinación de la clínica.

Al ver el éxito del modelo de promotores de salud en Guarjila, Ana empezó a ayudar con la formación de promotores en toda la región de Chalatenango. Ayudó a crear una red de 300 promotores en Arcatao, Las Flores y Los Ranchos. En este sistema, los promotores daban consulta a la gente. Ana iba a visitar a las comunidades y los promotores le decían cuales eran los casos más difíciles que habían visto últimamente. Ana iba a visitar a estas personas en sus casa, acompañada por dos promotores. A estos promotores les explicaba y les enseñaba para que fueran aprendiendo y desarrollando sus propias destrezas. Siempre los promotores daban la consulta y Ana los acompañaba, enseñando y coordinando.

Se nace la nueva clínica

Este sistema funcionaba bien, pero después Ana vio la necesidad de construir una clínica central. Su visión era tener una clínica de referencia y contrarreferencia para que los promotores pudieran mandar los casos complicados a la clínica para que Ana y los promotores de cabecera los pudieran atender allí. Esto le facilitaría el trabajo a ella y le ayudaría al equipo atender a más gente. Pero para construir una clínica así se necesitaba muchos materiales.

En 1991, Ana fue a hablar con el padre Jon Cortina para preguntarle si fuera posible hacer una clínica así. El padre tenía un amigo en los EEUU que tal vez estuviera interesado en apoyar el proyecto. Ellos pedían $5 mil dólares, que en ese tiempo les rendiría muchos colones. Este amigo le contestó y le dijo que sí quería apoyar, pero que no quería dar $5 mil dólares sino que quería dar aun más dinero - unos 25 mil dólares. Esto fue un sueño hecho realidad para Ana y el equipo.

Ana y el padre Jon fueron a pedir permiso del cuartel de Chalatenango (¿?), que les dejaran pasar los materiales, porque todavía estaban en guerra y tenían que pedir permiso. Al inicio les negaron el permiso. Entonces ellos fueron a pedir a niveles más altos, con la fuerza armada del estado. Después de someter el pedido, ellos no escucharon nada por 15 días. Ya no querían esperar más, así que decidieron pasar los materiales a escondidas durante la noche. Ya teniendo los materiales, la comunidad y el equipo empezó a construir la clínica con mucha felicidad. Cuando por fin les llegó el permiso del estado, ya estaban por terminar la construcción de la clínica.

La clínica empezó a funcionar de inmediato. Durante la inauguración, el obispo de Chalate fue para ayudar con la ceremonia. Pero en fin de cuentas, la clínica empezó a atender a la gente antes que fuera inaugurada. Marlene, una enfermera y promotora en la clínica, describe la situación:

“Ese mismo día, vinieron algunos guerrilleros heridos porque hubo un combate en Las Mercedes y ellos requerían atención médica en la clínica. Entonces, tuvieron que hacer la ceremonia afuera de la clínica, para que el obispo no se diera cuenta de lo que estaba pasando adentro. Mientras el obispo hablaba, se estaban operando a estos compañeros dentro de la clínica.”

Cambios en la clínica

El 6 de enero de 1992 se firmaron los Acuerdos de Paz para poner el fin a la guerra. Después de eso, el personal de salud que había trabajado con la guerrilla se fue a varios departamentos para trabajar allí. Una de estas personas era Victoria, una doctora alemana. Ella se vino al proyecto de Guarjila y empezó a colaborar con Ana. Juntas, ellas llevaban la clínica y el nuevo sistema de referencia y contrarreferencia con las comunidades, siempre dando prioridad a los promotores y trabajando como respaldo para ellos. Junto con este modelo, el equipo de salud de Guajila seguía con las actividades de promoción de salud, como las campañas de aseo y higiene y de prevención de enfermedades. Cuando las promotoras de salud no estaban en la clínica, estaban siempre en la comunidad, haciendo visitas a casas o dando charlas en las escuelas.

En este tiempo, el gobierno quería integrar el proyecto de salud de Guarjila al sistema de salud del ministerio. Pero el gobierno quería poner su propia gente y despedir al personal que ya trabajaba allí. Por eso, el equipo quiso mantener la clínica independiente, basado en el trabajo de las promotoras. Además, ellos podían mantenerse independientes porque la clínica tenía mucho apoyo de organizaciones extranjeras, cómo CAFOD de Inglaterra, el gobierno de Luxembourg, el Tamarindo y el grupo Viva Guarjila de Alemania. Este apoyo también les ayudaba a dar una atención gratuita (o de muy poco costo) a la comunidad.

La despedida de Ana

En abril de 1993 Ana se fue para los EEUU por problemas de salud. Antes de que ella hubiera venido a El Salvador, le habían diagnosticado cáncer de seno le quitaron los senos Ella iba una vez al año a los EEUU para recibir un chequeo para asegurarse de que no se regresara el cáncer. Pero una vez que fue, se regresó a El Salvador con malas noticias. El cáncer había regresado y Ana les dijo a las personas del proyecto de salud y de Guarjila que se tenía que ir a los EEUU para que la dieran atención médica allí. Para despedirse, les regaló a las promotoras una rosa de su jardín. Ella esperaba recuperarse y volver a trabajar en Chalatenango. Pero a 40 días de que se había ido, la gente de Guarjila recibió la noticia que Ana se había muerto por el mismo cáncer. Apenas tenía 45 años.

Cuando Ana murió, Victoria retomó el proyecto de salud y las promotoras seguían trabajando, pero siempre recordándose de Ana. Ana dejó una huella my importante en la clínica y en toda la comunidad. Nunca quería imponer sus ideas en la comunidad, sino apreciar las habilidades especiales de las promotoras y los otros miembros de la comunidad y ayudarles a florecer.

El proyecto de salud actual

Ahora el proyecto ha crecido aun más y se han desarrollado proyectos de nutrición, atención prenatal y manejo de enfermedades crónicas. Nuevas promotoras, cómo Reinady, Thelma, Estela y Magdalena se han incorporado al proyecto.

Con el enfoque siempre en la atención primaria y la prevención, se han logrado en Guarjila unos índices de salud bastante altos. Por ejemplo, la comunidad tiene tasas de diarrea (1.6%) y de parasitismo (4.3%) muy bajas, comparadas con otras de la región. También, desde 1997 hasta 2007, se logró tener una mortalidad materna de cero, algo que es poco común hasta en países desarrollados. Por el mismo éxito que el proyecto de salud ha tenido, muchos lo ven como un “proyecto modelo.”

La clínica Ana Manganaro realmente es un proyecto creado por el pueblo, dirigido por el pueblo y con un enfoque hacia las necesidades del pueblo. Salió de muchos años de sufrimiento, solidaridad, apoyo mutuo y trabajo comunal. Es el resultado de la organización de la comunidad y del sudor y sabiduría de mujeres de mucho valor y mucho conocimiento. La historia del desarrollo de la clínica Ana Manganaro nos muestra que el éxito de la clínica se debe a la esencia comunal del proyecto. Esta “esencia” ha tenido un papel clave desde el inicio de la clínica y ha seguido siendo una parte fundamental de sus actividades.

The Dark Cloud Over Tucson

Greetings from sunny (and scorching hot) Arizona! I’ve been here for the last two weeks with the organization No More Deaths, participating in and learning from their organizing efforts to build pro-immigrant support in the local community in response to the threat of SB 1070. Through this work, I’ve had the opportunity to talk to a great number of local people about the law – from business owners to homeowners to people calling in to an information hotline. These interactions have made it all the more clear to me just how harmful anti-immigrant legislation like SB 1070 is to communities. This legislation needs to be struck down and never repeated in other states. It’s critical that we learn from the experience of Arizona, and it is for this reason that I’m writing this post – to share some of the stories I am hearing day-to-day. Unfortunately, I doubt they will send very unfamiliar to any of you working in communities that have special agreements with DHS…

During outreach to businesses in a primarily Latino neighborhood, the business owners tell us they are struggling to get by. So many people have moved away since this law passed. They have moved away out of here. Those who do stay don’t want to come out and shop. The owner of a store that sells party supplies says he has it particularly rough, “No one wants to make a party anymore.” Another owner tells us that the police comes and picks-up immigrants on the corner near the business. At another stop, a business owner tells us with tears in her eyes that her brother is undocumented, and he had to leave to go back to Mexico on his own already because he was too afraid of getting deported. Now, his wife and children are here without him. And he is back in Mexico, with hardly any family and with no job. She says the law is wrong. We must do something about it. And many of the businesses are doing something. They are putting out the “We Reject Racism” signs that No More Deaths and its partner organization, Tierra y Libertad, are promoting. They are showing visible resistance, even amongst the hate that is out there from some community members. One business got its window broken and its sign damaged, most likely by SB 1070 supporters, but they were happy to put up another fresh sign and continue the resistance.

On the hotline number at a partner organization of No More Deaths, the phone rings off the hook with questions and pleas for help. One woman wants to know if she could be arrested for driving her relatives, who are undocumented, in her car once SB 1070 comes into effect. I have to tell her that yes; the law allows for arrests of that nature. I want to follow up and tell her some additional piece of information; something positive that could give her some hope in this situation. I am at a loss for words.

Report back from Tijuana

A FLUID AND CHANGING BORDER

Faride, my host in Tijuana, takes a long draw on her cigarette and looks down the beach towards the line of posts stuck in the Pacific Ocean and the metallic boundary that adjoins them, marking the border between the U.S. and Mexico. I ask her what she thinks about the wall of separation. She snorts and replies, “I haven’t seen any wall. It’s just that metal stuff, easy to jump.” She goes on to tell me that the US authorities had started building a bigger wall at one point a few years back, but that they stopped. Instead, she’s calls this barrier by a different name, “the line.”

In many ways, the border between Southern California and Tijuana, Mexico is just that – nothing more than a line in the sand. The border stretches across 1969 miles of land between these two countries, traversing desert, mountain ranges, rivers, canals, and cities. Despite the political division the boundary creates, cultural and economic exchange occurs frequently across the border. The result is that the two sides “look” alike in many respects. Mexico’s Tijuana is the next-door-neighbor to the U.S. city of San Ysidro, which lies about one hour south of the major metropolitan area of San Diego. Tijuana, San Ysidro, San Diego, and other cities in the region share many of the same characteristics of cultural and economic life. For example, people on both sides of the border can trace their lineage back to the same ancestors. Also, the foods and restaurants on both sides both exhibit a strong northern Mexican flavor, and the same music styles and radio stations are heard blasting from cars and pick-ups.

Cross-border Culture

Magda, a friend of Faride’s in Tijuana, personifies the cultural and economic cross-border relationship. When I meet her she tells me her boyfriend, like many Tijuanans, commutes every night to San Diego, to work as a janitor in a movie theater. He used to live in San Diego, but the rent is cheaper in Tijuana, so he decided to move back to his native Mexico. Now, he makes the 1-hour commute (up to 2 hours with traffic and/or a long wait at the border) in his car, however others can the trolley, which goes straight up to San Diego and leaves every 20 minutes. Thankfully, he has a special border-crossing SENTRI pass that allows him to enter the U.S. on a regular basis. Since he drives, he can get through the border faster in the SENTRI lane, which provides him with EZ-Pass-type capabilities. This situation is not uncommon. Many Mexicans who live in Tijuana have these special visas that allow them to go back and forth between the U.S. and Mexico frequently to shop, see family, and work.


The line to get in to the US - backed up into Mexico. Women and children walk amongst the cars, selling items to the people as they wait.

Similar border-crossing tendencies can be found among people who reside on the U.S. side. Viri, a friend I met at UC San Diego and was gracious enough to invite me to brunch at her home in Chula Vista, tells me that her family travels frequently to Tijuana. She has a lot of extended family members that live just south of Tijuana, and she and her parents often go to visit and enjoy the beaches of Baja California. As U.S. citizens, their family has no problem going back and forth. “And there’s also the shopping!” her mother doesn’t hesitate to remind me. Due to price and commerce differences between the two countries, there are a number of things Viri’s family prefers to get in Mexico. Viri tells me, “There’s a yogurt I like that’s a third of the price when we buy it in Mexico.”

The southern California region has a long history of this type of cross-border transculturalism. One hundred years ago, the cultural and economic exchange across this border occurred without restrictions. During that time, people used to cross back and forth easily, visiting family and engaging in commerce. The exchange of culture, customs, and conditions was practically seamless and the border region developed its own, distinct culture, unique from that of both Mexico and the US.


Business and supermarkets in Los Angeles carry products familiar to Mexican Americans and immigrants.

Despite the continued prevalence of cultural and economic exchange across the border, the border region today looks greatly different than it did one hundred years ago. Over the years, fluidity of exchange across the border has greatly decreased due to increased political restrictions placed on cross-border movement of peoples and exchange of goods.

Options for Legal Entry

Although some people who live in the region, like those mentioned above, enjoy the freedom of having visas to enter and leave the US as they please, they are unique compared to the overwhelming majority of Mexicans. My host Faride, for example, was able to get her visa because she was able to “prove” she doesn’t plan on living in the U.S. The fact that she is from a northern state of Mexico, that her family is fairly well off, and that her father had a visa and a history of not defecting to stay in the U.S. are big factors that helped her get the coveted visa. Also, her family had the money to pay for the visa application process, which costs about 150-300 US dollars, depending on the type of tourist/border crossing visa, and has to be reapplied for every few years.

For most members of Mexican society, going through the visa process proves quite difficult. Generally speaking, most working class Mexicans without family in the US and without significant savings and property have virtually no chance of being approved for a travel visa. Temporary work visas are a possibility, however only around 5,000 of these are issued each year, which doesn’t even come close to matching the demand (for example, an estimated 500,000 undocumented immigrants who may have qualified for temporary work visas enter the US each year). Even if someone does decide to take the chance to apply for a visa, the interview fee can prove prohibitive, especially because it is not refunded if the request is denied. Also, to complete the application process, applicants must be able travel to a site of the embassy, of which there are few in the country.

The Last Resort – Entry Without Documents

With no visa to enter the US legally through a port of entry, Mexicans who hope to find work in the US have sought other ways of entering. They hop the border fence, use a fake ID, pay a smuggler to bring them through underground tunnels, or hide in crossing cars and trucks, praying not to get caught at the border checkpoint. For years, this “unauthorized” crossing happened with frequency, and may have contributed to the transcultural phenomenon at the border. However, in recent years, US immigration policy has responded to the situation, and sought to crack down on unauthorized crossings. In addition to developing more elaborate screening policies at the ports of entry, they’ve also deployed more Border Patrol agents to monitor the border line. The current policies can be traced back to a turning point in 1994, when the US government instituted its program entitled “Operation Gatekeeper”, which dramatically increased the number of Border Patrol agents and the use of enforcement equipment and technology within the region, all with a distinct focus on “sealing off” the border. This policy set the tone for future border enforcement activities, which have continued to escalate enforcement and border militarization in the region.


Thousands of white crosses line a portion of the Mexican side of the border fence, representing the number of migrants (over 3,000) who are known to have died attempting to cross the border since 1994.

But even with the increased enforcement of the division at the border line, there’s been a consistent “push back,” as people on both sides attempt to continue the interaction across the line, even since 1994. Undocumented immigration continues, and Tijuana continues to be a “jumping off point” for many Mexicans hoping to enter the US without a visa. Mexicans arrive in Tijuana from various parts of the nation. They either find a smuggler (or “coyote”) to guide them across and into the US, or they work in the maquilas (factories in the region that are known for their low wages and exploitative conditions) to earn money to eventually pay the coyote’s fee.


Many migrants don't make it across the desert. Others leave personal items along the migrant trail.

Maintaining Ties – Friendship Park

Another clear example of the “push back” against forced division along the border line is the case of Friendship Park. The “park” lines on the Pacific Ocean, split down the middle by a post fence representing the political boundary. For years, this park was a site of intense cultural interchange. Families without immigration privileges would come from both Mexico and the United States to meet at the fence, exchange stories, talk in person, even kiss. Friendship Park was a striking example of how cultural connectedness can assert itself, even in the face of political division. Nevertheless, now even the ability of people to interact at the fence is being chipped away. In June 2009, the Border Patrol started a new “no touching” policy at Friendship Park. Now, people must maintain a certain distance from the fence on the US side, and cannot embrace and talk face to face as they had done before. Another barrier to communicating at Friendship Park is the difficulty in finding the place. When Viri and I visited, we drove down a long road for about ten minutes before getting to a fairly deserted parking lot. There was a lone sign saying that we were in state park land, however there were no clear walking paths or instructions on how to arrive at Friendship Park. Thankfully, someone else was there in the parking lot and we were able to ask for directions. He directed us down a long concrete path which took us down to the beach. He also told us that the lack of directions and signs is a more recent development and part of the broader strategy to limit people’s use of the park.

And the strategy seemed to be working. The beach was deserted – save a few lone horseback riders from the local ranches, and the Border Patrol vans. Viri and I walked along the coast, southward, towards the border fence. As we approached the fence, we started hearing honks. We realized they were coming from a Border Patrol van, located up on the hill away from the coast. Shrugging our shoulders, we continued walking towards the fence. The honks got more frequent, then louder, as we realized that the agent was driving down the hill towards us. He was motioning with his arm excitedly. We stopped walking, partially in shock. He motioned us for us to move backwards and we realized what had happened – we had gotten “too close” to the fence. We took a few steps back and the agent seemed to be satisfied.


The border patrol watches over Friendship Park.

Now at an “acceptable” distance, Viri and I looked over into Mexico. On the Mexican side, children were playing in the water right up next to the fence – their mothers observing them from the beach. On the hill above them, Mexican tourists took photos of the border, talking excitedly. All Viri and I could do was look on solemnly, from a distance. We saw a seagull circle above the posts and land on the Mexican side. A young man in a bright red shirt and a baseball cap came up next to us and joined us in our gazing over into Mexico. I wondered what it was he was looking for – the familiar shape of a relative’s body, his own features represented in the face of his child? He stood watching for five minutes, then turned around and headed back along the beach. A few minutes later, we turned around and headed back too.


The border "line" from the US side of Friendship Park.

Barriers in the Border Region

The policies and immigration control mechanisms put in place in Tijuana have clearly placed limits on the extent to which cultural and economic exchange can occur across the border. In addition to the growing political barriers, another major deterrent to cross-border interchange is the drug and gang-related violence of Tijuana. Due to recent surges in violence on the Mexican side, many people in the US are hesitant to go to Tijuana. This is true even for people with longstanding connections to Tijuana. It’s this violence, for example, that’s caused Viri’s family to sharply decrease the number of trips they take to Tijuana now. For Viri, her recreational activities have also changed. She explains: “I used to go to party with my friends when I was in High School – we’d go dancing, run around Calle Revolución (the main strip in Tijuana), eat tacos… but now I never go for those things. Now, we just go, do what we need to get done, and come back.” A large change, especially when you consider that the border is just 20 minutes or so from their home. What caused the change? Viri attributes to it to a terrible tragedy that occurred a few years ago to a girl from her town, a friend of her sister’s. The young woman was partying in Tijuana when she was kidnapped, killed, cut open, and stuffed with drugs to smuggle across the border in a car. When Viri learned about this incident, she was shaken to the bone. And clearly her fear still remains. As she told me the story driving back from Friendship Park, I could note the fear in her eyes. It was the same sort of fear that I saw in the eyes of many people in San Diego before I left for Tijuana when I told them I was going there.


Gang "tags" mark many of the buildings of Tijuana, such as this one.

These fears are not based purely on imagination and hearsay. Local media is plastered with stories of gang violence and drug-related crime in Tijuana. Most likely as a result of increased coverage of violence as of late, there have been significant reductions in vacationing and recreational travel to the Tijuana by US citizens and residents. A local paper details the lamentations of Mexican rental car company owners who are suffering greatly from the recent decrease in business. And perhaps this fear is part of what’s kept many people who live in the area from even visiting Mexico in the first place. “I don’t really know why,” my cousin who lives just north of San Diego tells me when I ask him why he’s never been to Mexico. “I guess I never really had the interest.”


A wish for peace in the volatile border region. "Soplarán los vientos de paz" = "The winds of peace will blow."

Immigration and Vulnerability in Tijuana

While clearly distinct in nature, the two reasons I’ve outlined for decreased cross-border interchange – the fear factor and the border enforcement – are in many ways interrelated. For example, the smuggling industry is partially fueled by the money and labor of migrants who come to Tijuana seeking passage to the US. “Coyotes” charge upwards of $3,000 dollars to help people make the trip. Since the industry preys upon poorer and more vulnerable migrants to do their “dirty work”, poorer migrants are especially prone to engage in illicit activities they need to find ways to raise a lot of money in a short amount of time. When faced with this type of situation, doing a small drug run or getting involved in potentially lucrative sex work becomes more attractive, even to the most innocent.

Migrants themselves at times also get involved with using drugs. As Antonio, a man I met outside of a migrant shelter in the city, told me, “There are a lot of bad things happening here. I’d like to go back to my family but I just am so into the drugs now. It’s going to be hard.” Antonio’s been away from his family for about ten years, and has been living in Tijuana, doing whatever he can to get by. That particular night, we got to talking because he offered to wash Faride’s minivan, in exchange for a few pesos. As he rubbed his dirty rag over the car’s passenger window, he told me that he first turned to drugs when he was living as an immigrant in the US. Part of the reason he starting using, he tells me, was that it was just too depressing and stressful for him to be away from his family as a migrant, especially because he couldn’t easily travel back and forth between his family and the US. Drugs provided him with a kind of release from this loneliness. This use of drugs as an “escape” proves to be a strategy for many other migrants in the region.

Another major link between immigration enforcement and the drug trade and dangers of Tijuana is that mass deportations into Tijuana from the US also provide fuel for illicit activities in the region. When Mexicans are apprehended trying to cross the border or if they’re picked up in communities in the U.S., they are processed by U.S. immigration authorities. Depending on where they are from, the number of times they’ve been apprehended, and whether or not they sign a voluntary removal, they are either sent back home immediately or detained. For people being deported from California, the port of entry at San Ysidro, California and Tijuana is commonly used. The number of these deportations is rising, as evidenced by the line of deportees waiting on the U.S. side of the border division at San Ysidro to be repatriated. When deported migrants are dropped on the other side of the border, they often have no money, no identifying papers, nothing to help them orient themselves to life back in Mexico. This leads to another situation of intense vulnerability for migrants. Some find refuge in the various migrant shelters that exist in Tijuana. Others grab a bus back to their home states. Others seek out a different route to cross the border, such as the Arizona desert. And some (perhaps the most unlucky) just stay in Tijuana for a time, thinking about if and/or how they’ll cross again. For those people, many of whom are lacking money and ashamed of returning home empty-handed, the illicit activities that make Tijuana infamous are all the more appealing.

Deportations on the Rise

As was mentioned above, captured border-crossers are but one of the categories of people being deported to Tijuana. Now, more and more, Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) are deporting people from inside the country. Raids and partnership programs with local law enforcement agencies such as the 287(g) program and Secure Communities, and now the most recent Arizona law, are funneling more and more people into the deportation pipeline. In 2009 alone, 387,790 people were removed from the US by ICE, up 5% from the previous year and more than double the number of those deported for the same period in 2004. The number grows dramatically when we consider the amount of “voluntary departures” (generally people who are apprehended in raids or at the border that agree to be sent back voluntarily). These immigrants who are sent back include people who have been living years and years in the U.S., people who have established families, jobs, and whole lives in the US. Some of them haven’t lived in Mexico since childhood, and speak weak Spanish. Some of them haven’t committed a single crime against the United States, but were simply rounded up in a raid, or arrested by the police on a false charge. Compared to the people apprehended at the border, these deportees might be even more vulnerable and even more likely to turn to illicit activities, because their lives are in the United States and they have less to return home to in their areas of origin. Thus, although the violence of Tijuana restricts cross-border interaction for reasons that go beyond policy reasons, the violence is clearly linked to various aspects of US immigration policy.

Unnatural Boundaries

Back on the beach in Tijuana, Faride and I saunter down the beach, dodging big boulders with our sandaled feet. I point over to the fence and show her where I had been standing, just two days prior, on the beach on the US side of Friendship Park. Through the metal-paneled wall that begins past the sand, we can see the Border Patrol car prowling over the line, constantly keeping watch and ready to pounce. Now on the Mexican side, I get up right next to the wall. I take photos freely of the graffitied “Angels of the Border” and the phrase “Not one more death,” reminding us of the thousands of migrants who have died trying to cross the border. I run my hands over the white crosses strung up together on a panel of the fencing, each one representing a migrant death. Faride jokes about jumping over the fence to see what would happen, mocking the stolid vigilance of the Border Patrol agent on the other side.


A view of a border patrol van from the Mexico side of the wall. In the foreground, a mural of "angels of the border" representing people who have died attempting to cross can be seen.

Further up the hill, the Binational Garden is in full bloom. A brightly-painted sign proclaims the history of the garden – how schoolchildren planted it years ago in a gesture of international solidarity. The wire fence along the border line partially obscures the shape of the plants on the other side. I squint to make out the shape of sprawling desert flowers. These flowers curve and bend. Their vines snake through the gaps in the fence. Their buds sprout through the cracked desert sand on both sides of the fence, connected at the roots.


The binational garden was created as a symbol of friendship and connectedness between the two sides of the border. Unlike the roots of these plants, most people cannot cross so easily between the two sides of the border.

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