Teresa VanHorn – January 27th, 2020

Waking up on a chilly, January morning, in a warm, comfortable bed. I get up and raise the temperature on the thermostat, click a remote to ignite the fireplace, and push a button to boil water for my tea. Outside my window, the sun is coming up over my suburban neighborhood, serving as a backdrop to the American flag that hangs proudly on the house.

While I decide if I want to eat breakfast, thirteen miles away in Mexico, families are stirring on the floor of their tents inside a cold shelter. There is no thermostat or fireplace, and breakfast will be whatever is served if anything at all. The flag that is flying over the city is foreign to them, it is not their country, and they are a world away from their homes.

Two hours later, I am part of a caravan traveling south to the U.S.-Mexico border. We drive across the border with ease, no one stops us or questions us, we drive in carefree. It is the same experience I have any time I travel into this country.
In Tijuana, there are families who had traveled to the same border. They are living their lives in limbo in 32 shelters throughout the city of Tijuana. Over the past three years, they have traveled north in caravans with hopes of going to the United States to start a new life. Tens of thousands of men, women, and children have made this treacherous journey, trekking thousands of miles, with the hope of a better tomorrow. The trip was harrowing, and with no guarantee that the United States will take them in, but for all of them it is worth the risk. Many families are fleeing gang violence in Central America. Countries in this region have the highest murder rates in the world. Others have traveled to leave behind poverty caused by destruction from natural disasters and/or poor economic conditions.

When we arrive at the shelters with our donations, we are well received. We are greeted by young parents with happy, healthy, children that look very much like our own. If you were to meet any of these people on the street, you would not even begin to imagine their stories or the journey that brought them to this place.

I was fascinated with the new mothers and their babies. What bravery. It is difficult enough to bring a baby into this world, and the women did it in spite of all the uncertainty that lies before them. There is so much injustice in this world. My grandson will be born in a few months in South America, and he will have dual citizenship. He and his parents will be able to travel uninhibited back and forth between countries, very unlike the families I was interacting with that day. I have friends who are obtaining their citizenship from the home countries of their parents and grandparents. They will have dual citizenship in countries like Canada, Ireland, and Italy. My friends want the security of knowing that if they have to leave (or want to) they will have the option. My friends have the DNA, foresight, and the money to do it if they choose. Life would be so different for these families if they had the same options.

Waiting in the car to cross back into the United States, I whined about the long line of cars ahead of me. I was annoyed that it took 25 minutes to cross the border, on a typical day, it takes 10 minutes because I had purchased a sentry pass that moved me ahead of the regular lines of cars waiting. There were 30 lanes open and it would still take hours for the others to move through the crossing. Above, pedestrians waited in long lines across the bridge waiting to obtain permission to enter. Reflecting back on the experience, it has put a lot of things into perspective for me. I don’t think a lot about my privilege often or enough and it is something that needs to be considered more often.

Waiting in the car to cross back into the United States, I whined about the long line of cars ahead of me. I was annoyed that it took 25 minutes to cross the border, on a typical day, it takes 10 minutes because I had purchased a sentry pass that moved me ahead of the regular lines of cars waiting. There were 30 lanes open and it would still take take hours for the others to move through the crossing. Above, pedestrians waited in long lines across the bridge waiting to obtain permission to enter. Reflecting back on the experience, it has put a lot of things into perspective for me. I don’t think a lot about my privilege often or enough and it is something that needs to be considered more often.

The immigrants are being used as political pawns. It is not just about them and their need for asylum. The long arm of the U.S. continues to play with people and their lives. They are stranded at the border with no opportunity to cross anytime soon. The families do not know how long they will be in Mexico, but they know that they should not go back home. They have risked everything to make the trip with no guarantee that in the end they won’t be deported. How many years will it take for them to even have the opportunity to tell their story to a judge? Who will help care for them while they wait? There is so much more that needs to be done and I need to decide what I can do using my privilege in a manner that that will matter.