At the Zapatista Caracol - Nasim Chatha

A part of the travel seminar that I keep coming back to mentally was the visit to the Zapatista Caracol, the location of their Junta de Buen Gobierno in Morelia. Like much of the things we did we just piled in to the vans and went, unsure what to expect. We had studied Zapatistas but were unsure how to actually talk to them, unsure what daily life as a Zapatista could be like.

When we arrived we started to write a list of questions for the Zapatistas. In general they were very theoretical and about international capitalism, militarism, Women In the Movement, or the future of the movement. There were about twenty of these, things I really in fact thought would be nice to know. I didn't know how to engage with the Zapatistas in any other way, either, because all of our prior experience was from reading documents and articles. I thought that the Zapatistas talked the way the articles were written. With a heavy hint from our teacher we came to understand that the Zapatistas would really not want to authoritatively answer these things, and that they probably did not spend lots of time thinking about them. This didn't mean that they were not the experts of their experiences, or that they were not theorizing about the movement. We moved to asking more questions about life. How has the life of the Zapatista woman changed since 1994? How does the school system work? What kinds of questions mostly come up in the junta?

When we sent these questions to them, they took 3 hours to decide collectively how to answer. I was very honored that they took so long. For me it's a rare experience to have someone deliver very carefully considered and collective words to me. The collective nature of the messages they delivered was especially interesting- nobody was the sole representative, they were all speaking for each other. This turned simple speech into a serious and worthwhile act of communication. Through their answers, I also began to understand more about what daily life in a movement is like. The common denominators seem to be simply staying nonhierarchical and peaceful, eating, and holding territory. They also talked a lot about problem solving- which was their particular area of expertise as the junta.

For me, the most beautiful and strange part of the platica was when the tables were turned on us. We offered to answer their questions, and when they asked us what we had learned from them, we glanced at each other unsure what to say. They gave us overnight to decide how to answer collectively, and a couple more questions. We wanted to answer them as well and honestly as possible, and so we spent time talking about our ideas, then dividing responsibility, and then the speakers practiced. The end result was some combination of collective effort and spontaneity. The Zapatistas didn't speak perfect Spanish and neither did most of us. The whole thing came to be about slowness and reciprocation for me. Slowness, in particular. Julio Cesar, our guide, told us the story of the snail, or caracol. The snail used to be a messenger, because he was so speedy. He ran to and fro, without any chance to look to either side. When he finally stopped, he saw the whole world had changed. Now the snail is slow, as are the Zapatistas, so he really pays attention to what is happening around him.

Infographics - Sarah Fox

I made these "infografics" after hearing a talk from Gene Lefebvre, visiting Border Patrol in Nogales, and visiting Operation Streamline in Tucson. I wanted a way to present some of what I learned visually, possibly to be included in future zines or made into posters to be distributed at Earlham or in other places. My hope is that they function as ways for people to quickly absorb information while also being able to make visual connections. For me, they were a good way to represent and reproduce the connections I am making during this semester. More to come...

These are 5 connections I learned about when visiting the Border Patrol facilities in Nogales, AZ.

1. Reading is FUNdamental

http://www.nogalesinternational.com/community/bp-agents-take-time-to-read-to-rd-graders/article_a6f50452-46a2-11e1-a40f-001871e3ce6c.html

Why would Border Patrol agents participate in Reading is FUNdamental? I was told by my tour guide that they don’t want kids to be afraid of them. It’s also obviously community service as a publicity stunt.

Should Border Patrol be allowed into school when in uniform? Most Border Patrol agents consider themselves agents even when they are off duty or plain-clothes. It is illegal for schools to inquire into children’s immigration status. The tour guide told me that one child at a school told him “You deported my uncle.” Schools are not safe spaces if Border Patrol is visiting in my opinion, even if they would not inquire into a child’s status.

2. McDonalds…or Burger King…(both tour guides said something different) brings in a truckload of lunches for the young people being detained at the facilities. I don’t know if Border Patrol thinks that we will think that is some kind of special treat for the children but I see it as nutritional torture techniques. These children have most likely gone weeks without a full meal, are not used to eating greasy, fatty fast food burgers in their places of origin, and their stomachs will probably not be able to handle these lunches. Part of degrading someone can be deteriorating their health.

3. Fords makes many of the vehicles used by Border Patrol.

4.Border Patrol uses Google Earth for training and in their surveillance facilities. They have a contract with Google Earth.

5. AT&T is called for an interpreter when someone who is being detained cannot speak English or Spanish. If a Border Patrol agent can't speak a language other than English or Spanish, such as Chinese, then they are constantly being called to do interpretations. Also, detainees are sorted by Mexican and OTMS=Other than Mexicans, and then are sorted by country.



Many people I have met in Tucson say “as goes the border…so goes the rest of the country” and that the border can be seen as a laboratory. For example, SB1070 was passed in AZ, then what happened? The same legislation popped up in Indiana, Georgia, and Alabama.

Read more on Operation Streamline:
http://www.borderbybicycle.blogspot.com/2011/11/operation-streamline.html



Read more:
http://www.southsidepresbyterian.org/
http://www.nomoredeaths.org/
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sanctuary_movement
http://www.tucsonsamaritans.org/
http://www.nomoredeaths.org/Information/civilinitiative.html

The BSP Loves Bikes!!!

The local tv news came and did a piece on our students and their bikes. Check it out.

http://www.kvoa.com/news/2-wheelin-in-tucson-taking-school-outside-of-the-classroom/#!prettyPhoto[gallery]/0/

The Virtual Border - Otis Wortley

So far this semester, I’ve found myself often pondering and citing the idea of the “virtual border,” given to us by the author David Spener in his book Clandestine Crossings. In this writing he goes on to explain how this virtual border is characterized by a “social space of illegality,” becoming a boundary between migrants and American society that follows them even into the furthest depths of U.S. territory. By labeling migrants as “illegals” or “aliens” this border is reinforced by suggesting criminality or otherness, stigmas already deeply embedded in the American social thought process. The reality of this discriminatory, segregating and all too real concept has been increasing apparent in my day to day experiences here in Tucson, but I have also come to realize that social space occupied by migrants, their families and the generations to come have implications that must be both considered and challenged.

This virtual border is an instant reflection of identity. No doubt that recent legislation like Arizona’s LB 1070 and the ban on ethnic studies (HB 2281) not only condone blatant racism, but also target the legacy of Mexican-American families and their heritage as some sort of threat to national security, virtually militarized to mock the real international border. Sure, Arizona is a border state; we call it the Borderlands, and “border issues” ripple out from the border itself. But Spener’s virtual border has permeated even beyond the Borderlands buffer region, as evidenced by the immigration enforcement that has spread throughout the country. Alabama’s HB 56 and the prevalence of ICE activity are examples of ways both State and Federal officials employ their power to expose this invisible social border and enact fear into the US’s 10-12 million undocumented migrants, their “legal” family members and friends, and even those of us who consider ourselves advocates or allies.

Nonetheless, even I am to blame. I can call myself an advocate or an ally, if it helps to settle my conscious about the realities facing our nation. But I am as guilty as most for allowing a sort of normalization to occur, where we engage in the discourse of illegality concerning the migrant population, and speculate on the legality of others. When Yendi Castillo-Reina spoke to us the other day, she made clear the thought-process of many Americans: “As long as it is not us, it’s ok.” We may not condone structural violence or militarization of the border, but our silence says otherwise. I grew up nearly 3,000 miles from the U.S.-Mexican border. The Hispanic population of the State of Maine is negligible, especially in comparison with most other states in the nation. Before Border Studies, I had little consciousness as to how the larger structural issues contributing to international migration and the response by the American government might affect me. And I suspect a lot of people feel the same way, even some of those who live as close to the “actual” border as I do now. Ignorance doesn’t afflict those who are physically distant from the border, but those to decide to remain distant consciously.

For me the virtual border emulates the way in which a cellular membrane absorbs nutritious particles and deposits waste through a process known as endocytosis. The border, or the membrane, folds in on itself, encasing the particle. Elements of that particle may diffuse through the border for the benefit of the cell function. Migration is necessary, and migrants contribute to the U.S.’s necessary low-wage workforce. Border militarization and the response by the U.S. government generate revenue for private industries, ensuring, at least for some, capital gain. Then the heathen cell spits out the remains—the unwanted—or the men and women tried inhumanely through Operation Streamline.

The permeability of this virtual border is debatable, however. While the system seems to want to control what goes in and what goes out, it would be ignorant to say that has been widely successful. From my perspective, on the ground, riding down 6th Avenue in South Tucson, or eating dinner with my host mother, the imprint of the region’s various ethnic heritages cannot be denied. Our historic attempts toward Anglo-centrism have been resisted by swaths of vibrantly painted murals, taco shops, and the Sonoran corruption of the American classic—the hot dog.

Operation Streamline - Sophia Yapalater

I want to write about everything that is happening, but it’s all so intertwined that I’d have to have a stream of consciousness thing going on all day every day. And so I’m worried that I won’t explain everything well enough or give all the necessary background information to understand a certain happening and so on and such forth. Especially also because so many of the things that we have been seeing are emotionally draining and are hard to express in a coherent manner.

Anyway, bear with me.

Today was one of those hard to bear ones that was simultaneously very important. We have been peeling back the layers of the border, peering into the cracks that no one really wants us to peer into, and seeing what lies behind the expansive idea of the US/Mexico border. Last weekend we went to Border Patrol, as I wrote about a few days ago, and then drove to Altar, a town south of Nogales where people trying to migrate into the US meet coyotes and guides, spend the night (or nights), form groups to travel in, etcetera. We stayed overnight at CCAMYN (Centro Comunitario de Atencion al Migrante y Necesitado), a migrant shelter that provides breakfast, dinner, and housing at no cost.

I was already pretty down after spending time at Border Patrol and sat on a bench outside the dining area watching men (there were no women that night or in the morning) of different ages come through the gates to wait for dinner to be served. A young looking guy sat down next to me. We started talking and ended up having a long conversation that lasted through dinner. He was twenty-three and had worked for a year in Mesa, Arizona, and then was apprehended by Border Patrol and sent to a prison in Florence, Arizona- a town made up entirely of private prisons (also meaning that they are for profit institutions) before being deported to Mexico. He was now in Altar with two other men waiting for the other people they had been deported with to meet them so that they could attempt to cross the desert again. He was upbeat the entire time and kept making jokes about my name because he was really into that actress Sofia Veraga from Modern Family. Before he left, he asked for my phone number so that he could call me if he ever made it to Tucson. I saw him again the next morning at breakfast. He seemed a bit less upbeat but still joked around with me. Then breakfast was over, and he left.

The most upsetting thing about that whole experience is that I have, and will have no idea if he makes it to the US. I will probably never see this person again. Or if I do, it will be in a context that would be highly more upsetting. And then knowing all that he, and all other migrants from south and central america, are up against whether or not they end up in the US. It felt bad. I wished him luck when he left and safe travels. But I don’t even know what those things mean in this context.

I was thinking about him today as we made our way into the federal court house in Tucson to observe Operation Streamline. I was terrified that he might be there getting prosecuted for trying to enter the US and that I would have to face him again, this time in the country where I was born into citizenship. Operation Streamline is a program that calls for ‘zero tolerance’ border enforcement policy and makes crossing the border illegally a federal offense. Furthermore, people are prosecuted in large numbers under operation streamline. Individuals apprehended while crossing the border or within the United States are detained in Border Patrol facilities, fill out detainment paperwork, and then one morning (a day, two days, a week after) meet with a lawyer, who is also responsible for seven to ten other people. they are all advised to plead guilty to the charges of illegal entry or reentry, which hold baseline sentences of thirty to sixty days in prison. they are then brought to court, where they are shackled, arraigned, and sentenced along with usually around 70 others.

We got to the court house and went through the metal detector. One of the security guards looked at us all and said “Let me guess, Operation Streamline?” We nodded. He laughed a bit. “What, there aren’t any trees left to hug.” We shifted around uncomfortably, not sure how to react. “I heard there’s an endangered owl outside that needs saving, actually…” he continued. Upon not getting a reaction he told us to go to the second floor.

When we got into the court room we shuffled into a couple of the back rows. On the left were rows of men in shackles and wearing ear phones in order to hear the Spanish language translator. In the middle were women, also shackled and wearing ear phones. Behind them were well dressed individuals who seemed to be the lawyers. We sat mostly on the right, behind a group of people from Samaritans, a humanitarian aid organization, who told me that they come to observe the hearings. There were a few customs/border patrol agents wandering around and joking around with each other for whatever reason.

The rest of the hearing went like this: the judge would call about seven names and the lawyers who represented them, and they would go up to microphones before the judge. The judge would then ask each of them about when they were apprehended and if they were Mexican citizens. Then he would ask them to answer all together to a few questions about understanding the criminal proceedings and then ask if they pled guilty or not guilty. After the last question there would be a chorus of voices saying “CULPABLE” (guilty), the judge would read them their prison sentence, and then tell them good luck as they were then escorted out of the court room by the court marshall.

This happened over and over and over again. It was impersonal with no room for discussion, dissent, or really anything besides yeses and nos and "guilty"s and 30 days 90 days 60 days 105 days. Sometimes one the lawyers would exchange laughs with the border patrol agents or high fives. At one point, a woman was being sentenced and her lawyer asked if she could see her husband, who had already been sentenced, because she was being deported and he was going to prison. The judge said that they could speak but have no physical contact. At the front of my row, the marshal sat her down and brought her husband out. They sat near each other and spoke for a little while before the marshal came between them and shoved them apart. They had not been touching.

The lawyers left quickly after all of their 12-hour clients had been sentenced. We left soon after. Everything still feels wrong. It’s unconstitutional at “best,” to sentence people en masse and send them off to private prisons where they fill thousands of beds to make money for corporations. It’s inhumane at not nearly “worst.”

Land of Contradictions - Nora Berson

Since coming to the border, I've been stuck by all the contradictions of this place. Watching the sun set over the saguaro cactus and Tucson mountains is calm and beautiful. Seeing the rusted metal of the border wall and the huge fleets of border patrol vans shows me the ugly side of this place. I am increasingly realizing the role of militarization, and the interests behind it.

In learning about many different issues, economic motivations come to the fore again and again. Nearly all of the migrants we talked to in Altar, Sonora mentioned the need to find work as their primary motivation. They were coming from Central America and southern Mexico, making the perilous trek north, across the desert, because they needed jobs to feed their families.

While having food to eat and a dignified place to live should be basic human rights, many people have an interest in criminalizing and dehumanizing people who migrate to meet these needs. Businesses in the United States have much to gain from having a large pool of undocumented laborers that they can underpay and exploit, knowing that fear makes these workers unlikely to speak out against abuse. U.S. citizens benefit from the cheap labor of undocumented migrants who do jobs like pick lettuce, pack meat, wash dishes and mow lawns.

While some businesses profit from the labor of undocumented migrants living in the U.S., other companies profit from their criminalization. The Corrections Corporation of America is a private company that earns is money by managing prisons. They contract out a certain number of beds in the prisons to Immigration and Customs Enforcement, which thanks to current laws has many opportunities to target and imprison the migrant population. Many people make their living from the institutions that “defend border security,” from Border Patrol agents to lawyers assigned to represent deportees in Operation Streamline en masse trials. While I recognize that people doing these sorts of jobs are also human and also need to make a living, it seems unfair that a lawyer should make $125/ hour participating in formulaic deportation trials, when they migrants they are defending left their homelands to work for below minimum wage.

We've learned about other border phenomena not directly a part of human migration, but also intimately linked to economic motivations. In one of our classes, we've been reading about the drug war, and how Mexican drug trafficking organizations, as well as the Mexican police and government have been responsible for over 47,000 deaths (according to the Mexican government). The so called “War on Drugs” has been perpetuated by the desire for black market profits, both of the Mexican drug traffickers and the private U.S. firms responsible for manufacturing arms and providing security services.

Along the U.S./ Mexico border, since the passage of the North American Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA), assembly factories called maquilas have sprung up. They employ most young women to work long shifts for low pay, assembling cables for electronics or other repetitive tasks that turn raw materials into goods for export. While some in the U.S. and Mexican governments laud the maquilas for providing employment opportunities, very little money from these operations actually bolster the Mexican economy. Instead, the finished products are exported duty-free from Mexico, to be sold at a profit to the multinational corporations. Even some of the wages paid to Mexican workers filter back into the United States, when Mexicans cross the border to shop in Walmart and such stores in the U.S., where goods are cheaper.

In connecting all these issues, I can see that we are facing something bigger than an “immigration problem.” Immigration is merely a symptom. We could point to capitalism, or imperialism as the cause, the these issues can't be fixed by simply building a taller wall or putting more guns on the border. In this way, what I've learned so far is both discouraging and illuminating. There are no easy solutions, and at times the problems seem so huge and systemically entrenched I feel powerless to make change. But then I think about all the people I've met and will meet, who are working daily, making small chips in this formidable edifice of oppression. I think about how education and awareness are the first steps toward change. I am thankful for this opportunity to spend time on the border, seeing difficult things, and thinking about what my role in all this is.

Working in Florence - Kira Cohen

I figured I should give an update on my field study: Its in the town of Florence, Arizona.

Florence, although I'm still exploring it, is definitively a prison town. It's located about an hour and a half northwest of Tucson, and there are about eleven prisons total within its borders. Some are state facilities, some are private and run by CCA (Corrections Corporation of America), and some are run by US Immigration and Customs Enforcement. I'm still learning to keep track of all of them. The ICE facility in Florence is the biggest one in the nation.

In town is also the organization where I'm working, the Florence Immigrant and Refugee Rights Project. The Florence Project provides free legal assistance to detainees and provides free workshops about legal rights. The office is one of the brightest spots in town - full of young, motivated women who stay incredibly positive despite the frustrating nature of their work. I've been helping translate documents that provide evidence to support detainees' claims in court, and doing research on country conditions to show the judges that people would not be safe if they were to be deported.

Even though I'm only at Florence a few months, I'm still struggling with the idea of feeling motivated to do this work long-term. I believe that this struggle will be a theme for me this semester. On the first day of Katie's class, I said this was what I needed to learn: how to see work like this, that seems never-ending, as part of a larger movement. I know that it's all good and necessary, and even though I've only been in Florence for two days, I can see that even though the organization can't single-handedly tackle the entire complex detention system, change is definitely being made every day in the lives of individuals.

But I guess it's this thought I still have that there is a small but relevant difference between between doing good and changing the world. This is not to discount the work that's being done here, the work that I'm doing. I guess it's a broader question. How can you commit yourself to this work day-to-day when the system you're working against just keeps getting stronger, and probably will continue to do so despite all your hard work? Something to think about long term. Many of the people I work with at Florence seem to have a positive spirit, which I've been internalizing more and more. I'm also doing my best to not get desensitized to the things I'm seeing every day. I don't want to normalize the prison industrial comlex, but it IS normal in Florence. Anyway, of course I'm coming up with tons of questions, but I feel really lucky to be doing another piece of learning here, and to know that I am needed and useful in my field study.