Humanitarian Aid is Never a Crime

Hiking through the rocks that sometimes serve as a riverbed through a remote canyon, the abandoned socks, shoes, backpacks and empty bottles that I passed all represented to me a person in pain. Each belonged to a person struggling through rugged terrain in hopes of reaching the U.S. in safety. Along with coordinators and other volunteers, I hiked into the desert to drop six gallons of water along a path commonly walked by migrants. I fell in love with the desert, and am so grateful to have encountered its scenery—green, and spattered with flowers, no two the same color—but I came prepared and stayed for only a few hours. My sunburnt shoulders attest to the dangers of even a day trip. Thinking about those who make the journey through the harsh Sonoran desert to escape the problems at home, it is hard to imagine just this gallon of water will offer any relief—but I hope it does.

Sitting around with coordinators of No More Deaths the night before, I heard stories about families making this journey and facing the frightening decision of leaving a brother behind because he had blisters on his feet and could not continue along the exodus. In my mind, each article left behind symbolized a cousin or friend that was exhausted from heat and lack of water, dying alone and despondent in the desert that is at once both magnificent and fierce.

One story I heard was about a family who had left behind a brother named Jesus. Upon reaching their destination, family sent word back that Jesus could not walk any farther and had been left by a body of water. Volunteers went looking for him and dropped water jugs as usual, but did not find Jesus. A few weeks later, a man came into camp holding one of the jugs that had been deposited during the search. He had been ready to give up, he couldn't go on, when he found the water jug. What an inspiration-- the volunteers had failed in rescuing Jesus, but were able to help this man instead.

We hiked out a little more than half a mile to visit a migrant shrine. Flanking a small rock cutout were nearly 50 lamenated Saints cards, each with a prayer on the back. Rosaries and candles hung or rested nearby as well. I shivered, thinking of those who had become like shadow people, moving through the night in desperate search of deliverance, holding onto the faith that God is with them even then. My prayers have never been as profound as those that must have gone up to the heavens from this spot.

I am not very knowledgeable about the contentious issues and challenges surrounding immigration into the United States. I have no founding on which to base an opinion on right or wrong regarding the tactics for dealing with Latin Americans attempting to enter the country through the border south of my new home; but I do know that my heart and my faith lead me to believe that I am charged with easing pain in the world whenever I see it.

In all the heated back and forth among protestors or congress members about what is the correct course of action along the border, what gets lost is the suffering of the immigrant found dead by the side of the road near a ranch. While talking heads have hypothetical conversations, real people die in droves. As I continue my self-education on border issues, there may come a day when I come down on one side of the fence or the other. It is important to keep in mind that I am privileged to deal in the abstract when it comes to this question. For many men, women and children, the reality is death, and I think that all too often is forgotten.

We are all called to be good Samaritans, regardless of our judgments of one another.

For those of you interested in learning more about No More Deaths

Please visit www.normoredeaths.org.

From the web site: A morally intolerable situation inspired a remarkable humanitarian movement inSouthern Arizona in the spring of 2004. Driven by economic inequality, thwarted by ill-conceived US border policy, and ignorant of the harsh conditions of the Sonoran Desert, more than 2,000 men, women, and children have died trying to cross the Mexican border into the United States since 1998. Most of the deaths occurred in the brutal heat of the summer months. With another summer of inevitable deaths looming, diverse faith-based and social activist groups—along with concerned individuals—felt compelled to act to stem the death tide and attempt to save at least some lives. The result was the converging of hundreds of volunteers—local, regional and national—who came together to work for one common goal: No Más Muertes: No More Deaths.