Borderlands Peace Camp

Pictures from Peace Camp: https://photos.app.goo.gl/CcWkyCXb6XU1LuFM8

From January 19th to 25th I participated in a young adult retreat organized by the Mennonite Central Committee (MCC) in El Paso, Texas and Ciudad Juarez, Mexico. This “Borderlands Peace Camp” focused on the topic of immigration along the US/Mexico border.

Our group of 22 trip organizers and participants included a Canadian cohort (who faced much more grueling travel days than I), a college friend of mine who attended virtually due to an unexpected cat health crisis, and Galen, who works for the MCC Washington, DC Office.

Galen and I didn’t keep our shared parentage a secret, but we also didn’t make a big deal out of it, so there were widened eyes, muffled gasps, and concessions that “yeah, I guess you do look alike” as people learned the truth throughout the week.

During presentations, group activities, and outings we explored themes such as biblical responses to migration, root causes of migration, current realities, and on-the-ground work of organizations supporting people on the move.

Peace Camp coincided with the week of the inauguration, MLK Day, and the 500th birthday of Anabaptism. As Trump signed a slew of executive orders seeking to remove protections for newcomers and dismantle pathways to legal status, we grounded ourselves in the example of changemakers and peacemakers past and present. I left El Paso feeling encouraged, and I hope that by reading about the experience, you will too.

“Sometimes we arrive at the edge only to discover that it is the center” -Sami, Executive Director of Abara

Our group was hosted by Abara, an organization that facilitates educational border trips and seeks to cultivate a space where people move in humility across divides. The word “abara” means “ford” in a number of semitic languages, signifying a natural place where a river is shallow enough to cross. Not a place where you can keep your socks dry, but a place where you can get to the other side.

We had some of our sessions in the “Abara House,” the organization’s social hub located in the 3rd oldest building in El Paso that sits near one of the oldest known crossings of the Rio Grande River. It is also just a stone’s throw from a section of the border wall.

To enter into conversation about the stories that coexist there, and whose stories get commemorated, we took a tour of several memorial markers on the property.

We learned that indigenous people utilized the adjacent river crossing for millennia.

Then, in the 1st wave of European colonization of what is now the US, the Spanish crossed in 1598, propelled by avarice. They were led by Juan de Oñate, who was instrumental in a massacre of the native Acoma people, and who has an honorary statue in the El Paso airport.

Next came the East-West expansion of Anglos in pursuit of their “Manifest Destiny.” The location at Abara House is the lowest snow-free crossing through the range of the Rockies. Mexico’s loss of half of its territory to the US in 1848 facilitated the use of this route.

Abara House’s building was a beloved local restaurant but before that was the house of Simeon Hart, who enslaved the only three Black slaves on record in El Paso. Hart owned a flour mill and provided supplies to the Confederacy during the Civil War.

The property lies along the El Paso railway, completed in 1881 by crews of Chinese laborers. The Chinese Exclusion Act was passed in 1882, which prohibited new Chinese laborers from entering the country and exacerbated discrimination against those who already had.

Today, El Paso is a city that migrants from Central and South America and around the world take great risks to cross into as they seek a better life in the US. Too many go missing, face mistreatment, or die along the way. Sometimes their fates are never known by their family members in their home countries, let alone the American public.

The air around Abara House hung thick with these stories of people on the move. Some are remembered as explorers or pioneers, others labeled “illegal” or “criminals.” The narratives we prioritize matter.

Media attention focused on our “immigration crisis” motivated my desire to go and see the border with my own eyes. It is an edgy space, crowded with messy realities, but it is also a place of concentrated courage and compassion. And a place to center the story of Jesus, who was born, lived his life, and continues to show up most clearly on the margins of society.

“What is stronger, grass or cement?” -an MCC worker who serves in Mexico

Throughout the camp we did group activities that helped us to visualize truths about supporting or empathizing with people in situations of mobility.

We repeated the “eye contact activity” on various occasions during peace camp. We stood in a circle and whoever was chosen to start tried to make eye contact with someone else around the circle. When they did, the other person would say “yes,” and as the original looker walked to take that person’s spot in the circle, the person who said “yes” was now on the hook to make eye contact with someone else so they could move out of the way. As we got faster, we tried replacing saying “yes” with nodding, and then we were told to try to communicate our “yes” with just our eyes. This activity goes smoothly if everyone keeps track of who is looking to move and makes their eyes available. It makes a point about offering others hospitality; the prerequisite to meeting a need is to first truly see someone.

One evening we did a “zombie activity,” which involved everyone sitting in chairs scattered around a room, except for the zombie, whose goal was to reach and sit in an empty chair. The non-zombies (who were allowed to run and not just lumber with arms outstretched) could prevent this by moving from the seat they were sitting in to whichever chair the zombie was currently vying for. A winning strategy is for someone sitting far away from the chair the zombie is approaching to relocate. The strategy we most often followed was for someone sitting nearby to panic and move, only for the zombie to nab their former spot. As we debriefed the activity, we mused that it is hard to get motivated to move when you feel far away from the zombie threat. In a time when immigrants are under ICE threat, how can those of us not at risk step in to support them and advocate for their safety?

A third activity was a “migration simulation.” We split into small groups and created backstories. We were all Guatemalan citizens, and we had to decide whether to stay in our communities or to try to make it through Mexico and into the United States. Each group took turns rolling a die, and the number we rolled corresponded to a scenario that determined our immediate fate. As the game wore on groups lost money to robbers, members to kidnapping, or reached the U.S. only to be put in a detention center and told they don’t qualify for asylum. The activity illustrated the capriciousness and difficulty of many migration journeys.

We were encouraged by these activities to be people who see with eyes of empathy and are willing to take risks for the wellbeing of others. To be grassy people.

Because what is stronger, grass or cement? On the face of it, cement seems much stronger, but anyone who’s seen grass growing through cracks in the sidewalk (or worked for any amount of time weeding fields in Ecuador) knows that grass is not to be trifled with. No matter how much injustice and oppression is poured down, hope is always pushing up through the cracks thanks to the actions of people who dare to do good in the hard times and places.

“It takes one second to get to know someone and a thousand years to forget” -an asylum seeker we met in a shelter in Ciudad Juarez

We went on excursions during the week, braving the Texas cold snap of temperatures in the 30’s. (I look incredibly cold in all of the photos and am eternally grateful to all the caterers who made us soup. The local schools even had a delay one morning because of the chill.)

We drove to an overlook where we could see that El Paso and Ciudad Juarez are really just one big city. Many people drive across the border every day for work, school, shopping, or medical care and have family members living on both sides of the wall.

We visited two memorials for the 23 victims of an August 2019 shooting in an El Paso Walmart.

We drove to a section of desert in New Mexico, passing multiple border patrol vehicles and a border patrol blimp on the way. We found a small, pink Nike t-shirt that said “Just do it” in the sand, and one participant placed it in the center of a prayer circle we formed. As we prayed for people making journeys through such unforgiving territory, a surveillance helicopter flew loudly over us several times, no doubt suspicious of why a large group was hanging out in the desert at sunset.

But our most impactful outing was the day we crossed the border into Ciudad Juarez.

It was a short drive from our accommodations to the international bridge that crosses into Mexico, and we passed over without so much as a passport check.

We stopped at a grocery store so we could compare food prices. After converting from pesos, we gathered that prices are lower, but food is more expensive when considering average wages. (Side note: Did you know that in Mexico Mennonites are known for the cheese they make, called “queso menonita” (Mennonite cheese)?)

Over lunch, we learned about the work of an MCC partner organization called Somos uno por Juarez (We Are One for Juarez). It is a shelter network that supports 13 faith-based migrant shelters in the city. The presenter called Ciudad Juarez the most “beautiful border in the world,” highlighting the incredible hospitality its residents show to people on the move and pushing back on the city’s reputation as a dangerous and hostile place.

Then we visited one of these migrant shelters, where only a few people were staying at the time. Just a few days earlier, Trump had terminated the CBP One App, which had been the only way for people seeking to cross legally at the Southern border to get an appointment with Customs and Border Protection and claim asylum.

Now these people, from Ecuador, Cameroon, Ghana, and El Salvador, who had been trying for months to get an appointment, were stuck. The donuts and Jenga we brought were an affront. “No offense,” they said, “But if you are not here to tell us how we can legally enter your country, we are not really in the mood to play games.”

I appreciated their honesty, and I felt ashamed and uncomfortable. (Later, our group debriefed the visit and had an honest discussion of the ethics of this kind of experience.) But we went around and introduced ourselves and explained our motives, and slowly we began making connections.

Eventually, we were eating, playing, and talking together, and the migrants were remarkably open with us. Many had been kidnapped along their journeys, and one man showed us his scars from being beaten up recently in Ciudad Juarez, targeted for being visibly “not from around there.” As we were saying our goodbyes, this man gave us hugs and shared the quote at the top of this section.

Before we drove back to El Paso, we stopped to take a look at the bridge spanning the two countries, arching over the border wall. One of our trip leaders said, “notice how the bridge is made out of the same materials as the wall,” and shared his conviction that one day the wall will fall, and we will dedicate our resources to bridge building.

We were told we might have to wait in line for several hours to get back into Texas, but it couldn’t have taken more than half an hour, with a quick, uneventful passport check. The juxtaposition of the ease of our travels compared to the travails of our neighbors at the shelter was at the forefront of all of our minds.

“Physical walls stem from walls in our hearts and minds” -Saulo Padilla, MCC’s Migration Education Coordinator

Peace Camp left me with many questions: What will my role be in supporting newcomers and fighting the current administration’s policies when I’m back in PA? How will I continue to center myself on the stories of helpers and not become paralyzed by fear and anger? What can we do to dismantle the walls in our hearts and minds? Did I actually see Beto O’Rourke on my flight back to Austin?

On our last evening in El Paso, as some of these questions were swirling, the group held an impromptu hymn sing. It felt good to lift our voices together in power and hope. One hymn we sang was the Canticle of the Turning, which is based on the Song of Mary in Luke 1 (and is, I think, a badass hymn, pardon my language).

I’ll leave you with some of my favorite lyrics:

Though the nations rage from age to age, / we remember who holds us fast: / God's mercy must deliver us / from the conqueror's crushing grasp. / This saving word that our forbears heard / is the promise that holds us bound, / 'Til the spear and rod be crushed by God, / who is turning the world around.

My heart shall sing of the day you bring. / Let the fires of your justice burn. / Wipe away all tears, / For the dawn draws near, / And the world is about to turn.