En el camino…On their way

June 29, 2018 0 By admin

Each person that passes through the doors of the FM4 is received as a part of the family “in the house that keeps dreams alive” and is treated with respect and dignity. With over 5,000 migrants and refugees passing through our house each year, I want to share with you all a part of their story, a piece of their lives while on their journey to a better life.

I could tell you the statistical profile of the migrants at the FM4. That 95% are men; the majority from Honduras; most are traveling North on la bestia, the freight train often used by migrants to cross Mexico, some on their first trek, others have journeyed before; almost all talk about their families, their wives, children, parents, brothers and sisters; some travel alone, others accompanied by family and friends. But I want to share more than will ever fit on the lines of this page. More than just statistics. I want you to meet them, to know them, to listen and to understand …

Many of the migrants traveling on la bestia come from the Northern Triangle of Central America; Honduras, El Salvador and Guatemala. Many communities in these countries are plagued with corruption and gang violence. The maras, the MS-13 and Barrio 18, control neighborhoods, extort businesses and families, and threaten the lives of those that do not join their ranks. Young men fear being recruited by these gangs, some are able to flee to Mexico as refugees when the gang gives the luz verde, an all-call for their assassination for rejecting the gang. Young women fear the maras when the gang members force them to be the novias, or girlfriends. Everyone in neighborhoods affected by the maras live in constant fear, limited in their daily lives to the paths they take and the hours they keep.

Some migrants are headed toward United States for the first time. They hold glossy eyed dreams from the television shows they’ve seen or the hyped up visions from previous migrants, dreams of supporting their families and making it, dreams of getting ahead. They have plans to stay a few years to earn money to send back to their families; to save up to build a house or start a business back home. Some plan to establish themselves in the US and later send for their wives and children. They face many hurdles and uncertainties ahead of them on their journey. For now, they have dreams in their hearts and on their minds as they pass through the FM4 Paso Libre.

Others have made their journey before. They have families and children in the United States; a four year old in Florida, three teenagers in California, a new baby on the way in New York. They’ve worked in roofing, construction, Chinese restaurants, long haul trucking, painting. They have attended high school in Los Angeles, California; Houston, Texas and even Madison, Wisconsin.

Some of those passing through the FM4 lived many years in the United States and have been recently repatriated. A 22 year old man was brought to Los Angeles when he was five months old and now has been forced back to a “home country” that he doesn’t know. A sixty year old man was released from serving a life sentence to be repatriated to a country he hasn’t lived in since he was seventeen. An army veteran from El Salvador that knew more NFL trivia than most ESPN commentators. There’s a certain connection that I feel with the guys that have spent most of their lives in the United States, our shared culture from the US is a mutual understanding. And even though our circumstances are vastly different, there’s a feeling of a shared culture and experience. For occasionally there’s even a shared awkwardness of second language Spanish, that US-Spanglish, that twinge of a different accent or an awkward phrasing of our grammar. When a person has spent the vast majority of their lives in a country, they often feel a forever connectedness and ownership of that place and for these guys, that’s the United States.

Some come back with stories of their experiences at the border and in the US detention facilities. One Mexican man shared his story about his crossing to the US, walking for seven days carrying a backpack with 58 pounds of marijuana for the cartels. Without thousands of dollars to pay a coyote, or human smuggler, this is how many migrants enter the United States. Increasingly, migrants’ only option for crossing the border is at the mercy of the cartels so they carry packs loaded with drugs destined for the US market across the desert. Just before arriving, his group was apprehended by border patrol and he was sent to prison for a year while those running this market remain unpunished. Another suffered a burst appendix while under the custody of the detention center. While he was only allowed Ibuprofen by the guards, he later required major surgery. He lifts his shirt to show the think jagged scar that stretches across his abdomen. They talk about the hieleras, the freezing cold detention centers of ICE or the months spent in the prison system in the US.

Some have spent time in the Midwest; a young Honduran man that attended East High during the same years I attended West High in Madison, Wisconsin; a Honduran man that spent more than twenty years working around rural Wisconsin on dairy farms; an El Salvadorian man that cooked delicious Chinese food after working at a restaurant in Minneapolis off Lake Street; a young Honduran man that worked a summer at an Italian restaurant in Wisconsin Dells. Many undocumented immigrants live for years in the shadows in our communities. My hope is that we can get to know our neighbors as the individuals and show them the respect and humanity we wish for our own families, regardless immigration status.

While many of these Central Americans are traveling north to the United States, or in smaller numbers, to Canada, others will remain in Guadalajara or in Mexico. The FM4 works with the UNHCR (UN Refugee Agency) to develop pathways to legal resident documents that exist in Mexico; via asylum or humanitarian visas. Asylum means that a person can not return to their country of origin due to “well founded fear of persecution” due to religion, race, or membership in a particular social group. At the FM4, we are witness to many refugees that can not return for fear that they will be killed. The MS-13 and the Barrio 18 plague neighborhoods where young adults are forcibly recruited, lines can not be crossed to attend school or go to work and residents experience violence on a daily basis. I have sat and spoken with young men that have been recruited, forced to flee the country as their friends have been slain, young women obligated to be the novias of gang members, men whose brothers, fathers, uncles, cousins have been murdered by the gangs. In a single afternoon, four seperate young men sat with me for their interview and described how their friend or their brother had been killed. Many of us are privileged not to have experienced such violence in our lives; however, for others this constant violence has become normalized in their communities and in their lives.

The journey on la bestia isn’t easy for anyone; but some are especially vulnerable to the terrors on the train. A small percentage of the migrants coming through our door are women. Eighty percent of Central American women are sexual assaulted in the journey. For this reason, unaccompanied women will often “join up” with a male protector to reduce their risk, some will take contraceptives during their journey, anticipating the inevitable rapes. At the FM4, we have access to emergency contraceptives, to HIV prevention (antiretrovirals), and to counseling. Some women are pregnant, traveling with small children; some on the train, others in busses. We sometimes receive entire families at the FM4; some stay for a day or two, one family stayed several months. This Honduran family was in a process of family reunification and won the hearts of everyone in the house. Their three year old son could be found playing in the arms of all the volunteers, riding tandem on a bike around the FM4, “swimming” in a laundry basin; while their infant daughter snuggled in everyone’s arms, volunteers and migrants alike.

Another vulnerable population of migrants are those that are members of the LGBT community. These migrants are more at risk to targets of physical and emotional violence. In addition to all the push and pull factors affecting immigration, many are fleeing from homes that are unsupportive of their sexual orientation. At the FM4, each person is treated with dignity and respect. Separate LGBT sleeping quarters are provided, pat downs are performed by a same gender volunteer. One young man opened up about his sexual orientation after a few days once he trusted he truly was in a safe place. I don’t often work in the roperia, but one fond memory I have from our clothing donation area is helping Danna, a transgender woman in her 20s, We laughed as we picked out new undies from our tub of functional granny panties as she exclaimed that “those could be a parachute” while we dug for something more appealing.

The journey through Mexico is strenuous and dangerous. By the time they reach the FM4 most migrants have been riding the trains; sleeping near the tracks, in crowded shelters, in abandoned buildings or in the forests, for fifteen to twenty-five days. Often they have gone two or three days without eating, more without a shower. Many have been robbed or assaulted by the time they reach us; by small gangs, by narcos or maras, by the private train security, by the local, state or federal police. In some instances, migrants have been kidnapped; held ransom for money from their families back home or in the States; or have been smuggled in human trafficking rings for their bodies, their labor or their organs. Many migrants have been injured by the train; chronic illnesses exacerbated by the journey, broken ankles or shoulders from falls, and many have been amputated. Many have lost an arm, a leg or toes when their bodies are sucked into the train’s undercarriage. The FM4 provides a safe home to rest and recuperate before migrants continue their journey, whatever their needs may be.

There’s never a dull moment at the FM4. Some days the place is packed; guys lined up on patio awaiting revision and interview, pulling out the extra chairs to fit at the lines of table for lunch. Other days are slow, with only a few newly arriving migrants. We spend our time talking, playing games, work on housekeeping projects.

We laugh. When we go rollerblading around the CAM back and forth around the warehouse, we laugh. When the nun records the tattoo as a “palm tree” but later when we notice it’s obviously a marijuana leaf that didn’t get recognized as such, we laugh. When we sing Rudolf the Rednosed reindeer in English at the patio in December, we laugh. We laugh and shout and laugh some more playing spades and conquian, to pass the time, to connect together, to just be.

We cry. When we sit on the floor and hold the hand of a young man separating from his brother, his only family. We cry, when we hold your hand as you said goodbye. You know you’re doing the right thing for your safety, your well being, but it hurts. We are here to try to support you as best we can in this despairing moment. We’re here and we cry with you. We pass you a tissue and we blink back our own tears as a father talks about his children back home in Honduras, and another sits on the patio explaining the urgency his feels, compelling him to return to his family to the United States. We hear the boy talking on the phone with his mother back home. We don’t have the right words. Even after two years, I don’t have the words, but I can listen. I am hear to listen when you need an ear. Away from home, we’re you’re family. We’re here.