Late Night Thoughts

I am spending my Saturday evening in the Migrant Resource Center as I do every Saturday. At first I was hesitant about “giving up” my Saturday night. I don’t see myself as that sort of really good person who would give up there beloved Saturday night for some sort of service. I wasn’t all that keen on the idea in the first place anyway. The bottom line, however, is that there really isn’t anything else to do. I don’t have a car and so I am certainly not about to girly myself all up so I can hop on my bike and go to a movie or what not. And so I ended up taking the Saturday 6 to midnight shift, and here I sit in flip-flops, cutoff Camp Judson Sweatpants and a modified-to-fit CRREDA t-shirt.

It is an odd place to be after dark on a Saturday. I watch cards bump over the metal circles that form speed bumps as the roll through Mexican Aduana. It’s relaxing to be on this side. I don’t even give a second thought to passing into Mexico from Douglas, whereas passing into Arizona from AP can make even the most innocent person nervous. It is quite tranquil here at night. There is a little bit of rain falling at the moment. Besides the dripping of the rain and the revision bell occasionally ringing for random searches of vehicles, its fairly quiet. I just went out to the pop machine for my mid-shift diet coke. 5 Pesos later I have decided to shake it up a little and get a Fresca instead…. Sabor de toronja (grapefruit flavored). I feel like my extended family used to be really into drinking Fresca. It was a weird eclectic soda that you could only get at the better stalked Giant Eagle. Well call Mexico eclectic… it’s everywhere.

I love my time here in the evenings. It is an escape for me. I am mostly alone except for when groups of migrants come through. None of the foot traffic constantly coming by like during the day. Watching the people that walk by IS pretty interesting though. When you lookout the door here, you see everything and everyone that enters Mexico- on foot or on wheels. Just now a quad-cab beastly diesel truck with shiny rims and tinted windows bumped by. The next car? A rusty Honda with no bumper and plastic for one of the windows. The foot traffic is even MORE interesting, especially considering the night and time. Agua Prieta is MUCH larger than Douglas and so it has much more to do on a weekend. All the cool cats from Douglas doll up and walk across to the nearby clubs on the AP side. So in ten minutes of looking out this window I will see quite a variety. A mother and two children coming back from walmart hauling big nylon weaved bags of groceries and such, trying to get to the bus before it makes its last run for the night. Bethany, an American woman who lives in AP (who spent so much time on so many drugs that her mind has been scarred for the worst) walks by and asks for some change. She catches me up on what she’s been doing and introduces me to the puppy hanging out of her purse. The next moment some teens from Douglas walk by, dressed to the 9’s hair up, heels high and jewelry shining, heading towards Metropolis to dance the night away. After them a cluster of migrants who have spent hours in the holding area at the Border Patrol station, now re-entering Mexico in a strange area, in the rain and darkness… and then passes another expensive car with an impressive system- its bass shaking the very desk I am sitting at.

I don’t condemn any of these people for their lives or actions. This view I have learned to appreciate is an unexpected blessing. We each live our lives from different ends of the world, rarely seeing how the others live. My life is very real…but how easily we forget that others’ lives are just as real. Our circumstances are all so very different, but we all share the same bit of earth. Sometimes that is so hard to see since we are so geographically separate. Think about your neighborhood, friends, work, CHURCH…. Are we with people that are like us? How much diversity do we actually see? Certainly we will gravitate towards people who are like us, but I think that makes us prima candidates for encapsulation. The door out into the rainy sidewalk is like a window into reality sometimes for me.

With the rain comes a reminder that the roof here is in desperate need of repair. I spend a good little while spreading out the old plastic ice cream buckets to catch the dripping. My time living in Cabin 9 taught me about how strategic fan placement can dry a floor out pretty well, so I put that into action too.

I haven’t had any migrants in here tonight. I can only hope that the Border Patrol saw the horrible weather and decided to keep the people until it cleared up a bit. That would be good of them since there really is nowhere for people to go after 12 or so. When I got here, there was a woman named Elva here waiting with her two daughters. The girls were sleeping on mats in the corner. Hermila, the woman who is here before me on Saturdays, said that she had been there since 8:00 AM waiting for the Border Patrol to release her husband, Fidel Alvarez. As of 8:00 PM there was still no word. Elva took her daughters to a Casa de Hospedaje for the night, leaving a note and some money for her husband when he is finally released.

Correction, I just had a few migrants pass by, 4 entered: 2 women and two girls. The one woman was in custody for 14 hours, the other for over 24. Neither were given anything to eat. They don’t complain about it to me, I actually have to pry to find out. They just assume that they were breaking the law and so whatever they get they deserve. I am afraid that the Border Patrol abuses this mindset. It seems to depend on who is working that night though. Some nights the migrants say the Patrolla was just fine. They gave them food and treated them well. Other nights, it is a completely different story. What could drive someone to care so little about another human being as to deprive them food? I can’t help but think of the Standford Prison Study. It is amazing what that sort of situation can do to someone’s psyche: be it from the migrant OR officer’s side. The power or subordination determines how you will react. If you aren’t familiar with the study, look it up. It was headed by Philip Zimbardo… whose name I probably misspelled.

Today’s proverb was Proverbs 19. Verse 4 reads “Whoever is generous to the poor lends to the Lord, and he will repay him for his deed.” This is just another of the constant reminders that it is Jesus we serve. I suppose I have it really easy being here at night when it is cool and calm. Being here in the hot daytime when the place is packed with migrants who, after 3 days in the desert sweating with no showers or hygiene of any kind available, aren’t smelling so great and are all in this small, badly ventilated storefront. Do not think well of me for my time here, but do remember in your prayers those who give their lives and time to those hot and wretched days in this resource center. I wish I were that strong.

Another thing that looking out into the night does is to remind me how it is to get sucked into one side of life and forget that we are all children, whether lost or found, of a loving God. The migrant is hopeless and aching, but that doesn’t make the diva headed to Metropolis any less deserving of the love of God. It seems too easy for us activist types to turn up a nose to those who have much in favor of those who have little, or to look at the situation as a good guys/bad guys sort of thing. It isn’t that. It is a horrible broken system which people have to adapt to. That is a good measuring stick I use to test why I am doing what I am doing. If it has just become a job, then I am not seeing people as Gods creations anymore. God loves the migrant. God loves the Diva. God loves the Aduana officer. God loves the Border Patrol agent. God loves the coyote. God loves the burnout…. God loves me.

I want to learn to love like He does.