Caravan through Mexico

Katie D.

August 21, 2011 - 6:52 PM

In this blog, I want to write about the Caravana Paso a Paso Hacia la Paz, or the Caravan "Step by Step for Peace," which was a week of activism through Mexico, from the 24th of June until August 1st. I was part of the Caravan for three days, joining hundreds of activists from Honduras, Guatemala, El Salvador, and Mexico who were protesting the conditions migrants face as they travel through Mexico en route to the United States.

This is one of the most difficult blogs I have ever written, both because of the complexity of the topic and the emotional aspect of my experience.

First, some background.

Mexico is a major sending country for undocumented immigrants in the United States. When we study immigration in class, or debate immigration in our political forums, it is often focused on Mexican immigrants. But Central Americans also come to the United States, escaping poverty and violence in their home countries. This was the focus of my summer in Honduras: learning why they come to the United States, and what their journey means for those left at home.

What I learned was that the most dangerous and deadly part of a Central American migrant's journey to the United States is not the United States border. It is, rather, the 1,000 miles they must journey through Mexico, where they are pursued by Mexican migration police, victimized by Mexican gangs and drug cartels, and where they face incredible physical dangers due to their migration status.

During my research in Honduras, I met men who, while riding the cargo trains through Mexico, had lost limbs, and witnessed others lose their lives. I heard stories of migrants kidnapped and held hostage until their families paid thousands of dollars. I heard of police brutality in Mexico, and of the terror of Mexican prisons. Through an agreement with the United States government, Mexico captures and deports Central American migrants, and in fact Mexico deports more Central Americans than the United States.

So, the Caravana set out from the southern border of Mexico, demanding change.

Two groups of activists set off in buses, following migrant routes and demanding protection for Central Americans passing through Mexico. The leaders called for Mexico to recognize the deep hypocrisy of asking the United States to protect undocumented Mexican migrants living in the United States, while contributing to the suffering of Central Americans on their own ground. In our Caravan, dozens of the activists were mothers and family members of migrants who were "desaparecido," or disappeared. These family members feared that the migrants had died en route, or had been captured by Mexican gangs. In public events, they called for action by the Mexican government: speaking of the horrible news of mass graves discovered in Mexico, and the ever-present fear of gang violence and robberies along migrant routes. We marched through cities, we visited migrant shelters to share meals, and we asked the Mexican people if they had news of any of the missing migrants. Mothers carried photos of their lost sons, and they spoke before crowds, testifying to their loss and fear.

I was not a leader of this Caravan of activists. I was a guest, an honorary member of the Honduran group. I was a witness. I was present with these courageous, desperate people, and I accompanied them as they searched and demanded and protested and wept. I did not hold the spotlight, or the role of a leader. When the members of the Caravana slept on mats in churches, I slept among them. When no mats were available, I slept on my sheet. When people spoke, I listened. I witnessed.

My only active role in the Caravana was to take names. Mothers, siblings, cousins, sons, and neighbors came to me with the photos and information of missing migrants, and I took down the information to later search through US and Mexican detainee lists, hoping beyond hope that I might serve to locate someone long lost.

I have never spent a more powerful, or a more draining week. The events were inspiring and heartbreaking. A woman in the Caravan found her son, who had been out of contact for seven years. They reunited in Tapachula, Mexico. Young men and women who had been held hostage by gangs testified to their experiences, and two spoke of being captured first by Mexican officials and then turned over to the gangs. We called for change at the largest Immigration Detention Center in Mexico. The family members held press conferences, holding out the photos of their lost family members, in the desperate hope they would receive some news.

Through it all, I witnessed their hope and the fear, and felt a continuous sense of wonder at being so welcomed into their community.

When I left the Caravan to return to Tegucigalpa, I cried. I cried for the stories I now carry, and they new friends I left behind. I thought of Marta, from Guatemala, and the compassion and humor she had shared with me. I took leave of my Honduran friends, including the woman who had hosted me in her home for over two weeks. I promised again and again that I would search the internet for news of the desaparecidos, and reminded each family member that the odds were against me, and that I could only do my best in my search. I left the Caravana with a deep sense of losing my own direction, as the bus pulled away and the 120 activists continued Northward to Mexico City.

The Caravana did have one dramatic success, and Mexican officials will offer temporary legal status for migrants in transit. Perhaps, in concert with other reforms, this might mean greater safety for future migrants.

You can find news from the Caravana here [http://pasoapasohacialapaz.wordpress.com/] and here [http://ipsnews.net/news.asp?idnews=56674]. You can also find news of Julio Fernando Cardona [http://www.amnesty.org/es/library/asset/AMR41/051/2011/es/49d9946e-e439-4d40-b547-0a8ae12463ce/amr410512011en.pdf] , a young Guatemalan man I knew who left the Caravan to attempt to migrate to the United States, and was murdered in the town of Tultitlan. I knew this young man, and had shared part of his journey. Now he is dead.

I do not know how to write the truth of what I have witnessed. I can only say that it has changed my life and my understanding of human suffering and human determination to move toward compassion. I have never learned so much, nor have I been so close to such pain. I am profoundly changed. I was deeply wounded by what I learned, and inspired by what I witnessed.

Words fail me. Julio is dead, Marta's son is still missing. I did not encounter a single name in the US Border Patrol registries. There is so little I can do. I can only pray for the safety of the desaparecidos, and of the many thousands of others who leave for the United States, that they find shelter and avoid danger. That policies change and human rights are protected. I pray for these vulnerable members of the human race. I can hope for their safety.

And I can witness.