by Maureen McGarry
All over the world, an increasing number of physical barriers between nations are being created. In my research, I discovered there are 20 walls between 50 different countries, and more are being planned. What is the purpose of a border wall? Do walls make people safer and more secure, or more separated and distrustful of each other? Are they only for protection, or are they meant to intimidate and promote fear? Do they improve or decrease our understanding of each other?
I have seen our wall before. Prior to the Covid-19 pandemic, I traveled to the U.S./Mexico border four times, visiting migrant shelters in Tijuana which housed people from all over the world. Most were from Central America at that time. The Trump Administration’s immigration policy created a humanitarian crisis, shocking even some conservative U.S. voters when family separation briefly became the law of the land. It was a shameful time, but very little has changed regarding our country’s immigration policy since then.
After a three-year hiatus because of the pandemic, I decided to return to the border in February of 2023, this time visiting a migrant shelter in Mexicali. I arranged to meet with my friend Hugo Castro in El Cajon, on the east side of San Diego, and get a tour of the border wall as it winds through the coastal mountains and desert valleys. Our plan was to drive along Interstate 8, then Highway 98 at the bottom edge of California. Hugo knows a great deal about the border wall and issues surrounding it. He has volunteered numerous times, along with others, to leave water in various places where migrants try to cross illegally into the U.S.
As we began to ascend into the southernmost tip of Cleveland National Forest, I was struck by the harshness of the terrain. The brushy plants are all low to the ground. Large boulders and smaller rocks are scattered on the dry, sandy ground. The road through this terrain gradually climbs to over 4,000 feet. It became obvious right away that there is no easy route across this western section of the border from the coastal city of Tijuana.
In a short amount of time, we arrived at a small community called Jacumba Hot Springs. It looked like a small ghost town. The border wall is behind a small cluster of buildings that make up this quiet community. As I pulled over to park, a border patrol vehicle drove past us, disappearing up the hill next to the wall. Hugo and I are both U.S. citizens, and were on the California side of the border. It was the middle of the morning. Illegal border crossings usually occur at night, under the cover of darkness. The agent did not seem to be concerned about us.
We walked up to the endless row of steel posts embedded across a large, flat area, then climbing at each end up over the hills and disappearing into the distance. These posts are 30 feet tall (made 10 feet taller by the Trump Administration.) The wall seemed impenetrable. On the ground, we saw a discarded pink jacket, undoubtedly belonging to a child. I shuddered at the thought of children climbing over that wall in the dark of night.
Among thorny bushes, which grabbed at my hair and clothing, we found a ladder made of welded rebar. The ladder was too short for these enormous walls and seemed to have simply been discarded as no longer useful.
Looking at the large expanse of divisiveness brought on sadness. If this is how we solve our problems, there is no chance for a more global civilization. Humans have come up with amazing ideas to make the world a better place, but this one is symbolic of failure to do that.
As we drove back onto the highway, I asked Hugo if the border patrol carry water, food, and medical supplies for migrants when they find them. He told me he was certain they did not. He had witnessed a migrant who had been picked up in the desert, and clearly needed water and medical attention. As Hugo came upon the scene, he asked Border Patrol agents if they would give the man some water, or if he could give the man some. They refused. (He filmed the entire incident with his phone. I have watched the clip, and it is horrific.)
As we continued eastward, and started our descent into the desert, it became clearer how life-threatening this journey can be. By creating a bigger wall, those who try to cross are forced to go to areas which are more dangerous and more remote. They have to travel slowly and without flashlights. There are snakes and tarantulas. And the smugglers (a.k.a. Coyotes) who guide them do not stop for anyone if they falter. I was experiencing the Imperial Valley desert in the most pleasant of weather conditions. The temperature was in the sixties. The stark landscape was vast and beautiful. But in the summer, temperatures can reach 120 degrees by mid-morning.
Driving across the desert to reach Calexico, we passed numerous border patrol vehicles. We saw a truck towing a row of tires which had been lashed together face down. This contraption was being dragged across the sand to smooth it so that footprints of migrants passing through this wide swath are exposed. In the distance, we could see the long straight wall cutting through the flat landscape. Anyone making this trek must be very, very desperate.
We arrived in Calexico and swiftly drove through the Port of Entry into Mexicali. About eight blocks in, we arrived at Posada del Migrante, an old motel converted into a shelter with currently 300 residents, 80 of them children. As we entered we were greeted by smiling and curious faces. Together, we all set up tables, and the children sat around them anxiously awaiting what came next. I began passing out art materials as Hugo explained in Spanish what we were going to do. With the generous support of donations from Humboldt County (and a large contribution from my niece in Los Angeles,) every child received a watercolor paint set and paintbrush, and a piece of watercolor paper taped onto cardboard. We passed out containers with water, along with pencils and erasers. I gave a few instructions about how to use watercolors. Then the painting began. The parents mostly watched from the sides, but a few joined in. Thankfully, we brought enough supplies for everyone.
We were there for about two hours, and it was all great fun! We took a group shot of some of the kids, but had to ask them to hold their paintings in front or their faces since they might be sheltering from some kind of harm from the outside. We had also brought donated bags of dry foods including beans, rice, wheat flour and corn masa. Everyone was very thankful and a bit surprised. This shelter does not get as much attention as those directly across the border from San Diego. Mexicali and Calexico are mostly agricultural communities, and are far from any metropolitan area and helping hands.
As we drove back to the wall and waited for an hour and a half to cross back into the U.S., we talked about why people migrate. According to Hugo, the two main reasons people migrate are for personal safety and financial security. He feels people would stay where they live if they had those two things. Most migrants know they won’t get high-paying work in the U.S., and are aware of the racism that exists in our country. But the violent threats by drug cartels are directly real to them, and can mean life or death.
While we waited in the procession of cars inching toward the Port of Entry, Hugo told me about a family he had met in a shelter. When asked if they had a compelling story for claiming asylum, a man with a wife and three children proceeded to explain. He had a cattle ranch in Michoacán with a nice home, many acres, and numerous cattle. One night he became aware of activity next to his property that seemed suspicious. He reported it to authorities. A couple of weeks later, some men came to his property, placed a bag over his head, and transported him somewhere away from his home. They put a gun to his head and told him he was going to die, but that he could make a last wish. The man told his captors they could have all of his property – house, livestock, and land- if they would spare his life and leave his wife and children unharmed. His captors agreed, but told him he had 24 hours to sign over the deed and get his entire family out of Michoacán. That is what he did, and the family fled to the border. Eventually, they were granted asylum in the United States because there was a paper trail proving his story and the threat of harm. This is just one of many stories of migrants seeking asylum. It is a sobering reality and explains the reason for their flight from their homeland.
Hugo and I parted where Mexico and California meet, and I sped onto the freeway, heading north. As I blasted my way toward freedom, I thought of all those I was leaving behind our border wall in a crowded shelter in Mexicali, hoping for that same freedom someday.
Maureen McGarry 