There are rotting human remains in the Brawley Wash.
I have seen them.
By Elaine Higginbotham-Schramm
I live in southern Arizona in the U.S. I do a public access TV show and a community radio show. I am not a journalist, per se, but I truly appreciate those that call themselves one, with all the responsibility that duty entails.
I live in the "corridor," south of Tucson, Arizona, on the eastern edge of the Brawley Wash. This is where hundreds (and don't believe any other numbers unless they are higher) border crossers actually walk to their various destinies every single day.
Out back, my four-acre "yard" is littered with water bottles, shirts, amazing articles of personal hygiene, and hundreds of little plastic packages that held caffeine tablets -- the Mexican version of No-Doz, I assume.
I have four "water stations" I set up for the crossers. I refill them every day and wonder at people who can find anything refreshing in the gallon water bottles that have been out in the 110° (today) heat. I guess if you have nothing, having walked so many miles, hot water can be something for survival. My neighbors are of a like mind.
The ones I have fed come from Mexico. Guatemala. El Salvador. I will not deny a human being or animal food or water for any political reason. The ones approaching my home are few and far between. They don't want a ride, a shower or to steal my things. They can barely speak. They are hot and tired. Their interest is only to their destination. If they show up at my house, I know they are desperate.
There are rotting human remains in the Brawley Wash. I have seen them.
The Brawley Wash runs from Mexico to Phoenix, Arizona. For those that don't know, a Wash is a dried up river. It is a river-run of sand that is different from desert sand. One way you can tell it from the desert proper is by the footprints, if the border patrol has not raked it so that new footprints can be seen. Then you can tell it by the rake marks.
But, some of these folks make it to town. They get fake IDs and Social Security numbers, which means when they find work, they contribute to a fund they never can claim. In the meantime, they pay city and county taxes on their purchases. They don't vote or go to hospitals, for fear of being discovered.
If the border patrol were really looking for them, they would either look at the groundskeepers businesses in town, or roofers, where they can make $20 a day, in 100°-plus heat, or at the post office on Friday when they line up to purchase international money orders to send back home to feed their family. But, they don't look. The government doesn't want to find them.
So, yes, it is all for show, and my neighborhood is militarized with hydraulic lifts, drones, helicopters and border patrol Humvees with sirens screeching as they catch two of them, while letting hundreds go.
What the border patrol really wants is hundreds of pounds of pot. That is the only crime our attorney general cares to prosecute. I am quoting him. Until they get permission to build those private prisons in Mexico, anyway, for border crossers. No, I won't call them "illegals". Starving people deserve better, since our government policies created their hunger.
In the meantime, the border patrol follows my bumper with inches to spare, pass me with NO room to spare, and when I finally stop at the General Store in Three Points, Arizona, there they are, the same boys, at the deli and pizza counter. They are just little boys in uniforms. They won't talk to me, however nice I appear. Faces like planks in an old bridge and I'll bet they aren't 30 yet.
I have border crossers here, on my property, in my neighborhood, in my community, every day. My experiences show that since free trade has decimated their ability to make a living farming, they have few choices. Stay and starve, or make a run? What would you do? They used to grow corn. We lowered the price until they had to sell their homes to the maquiladoras. So they sold; the money ran out, and now there is no place to go. I realize this is too simple and unsophisticated reasoning. It's simply my experiences in trying to talk to them without proper Spanish and being here for almost twenty years and attending free trade talks. I can make it more complex, but why? I see the results daily.
Most I have seen on my property are men, 16-50 years old. They speak little to no English. I speak little to no Spanish.
But we all know what "food" and "water" mean. And "thank you" and "God bless." It doesn't matter what God. Not out here. There is no God when it's 120° at noon and you have been walking for five days or more. I never trust the fingers held up in answer to that question.
If I see someone walking along my dirt road, I cannot pick them up and give them a ride, unless I am prepared to say to the border patrol (that WILL stop me) that my passenger must go to a hospital. The Samaritan law is hard-assed here in southern Arizona. It isn't enough to be starved and thirsty. You must be dying and show it, to save my ass from aiding and abetting possible terrorists. And why would they want a ride? For all they know, I am taking them straight to the border patrol.
I don't subscribe to any particular political party or organized religion. I wanted to speak for once about something I deal with that you may not understand. I don't think myself an expert, nor am I expressing some belief or disbelief in someone else's policies. Living here on ground zero, my mission is in transforming righteous anger into peaceable solutions.
Posted by jules_siegel at May 25, 2005 07:44 AM | TrackBack