Mr. Nobody

The disparity of wealth in Guatemala is old news, as is the fact that the gap, far from narrowing, grows wider every year. Casa del Migrante brought that to light in a very human, very personal way. Here were two people from Guatemala, on opposite sides of a line in the sand. One had arrived at the safe house in a comfortable van, in clean clothes, carrying a passport, a camera worth thousands of dollars and the knowledge that in a few hours, she would go home to dinner and clean sheets. Her biggest trauma at the end of the day would be hearing some harrowing stories. 

The other showed up after weeks of hitching rides on trains, being assaulted and robbed and generally risking his life. His clothes were filthy from the time spent traveling; he carried no passport and had left his home and family thousands of miles behind. His trip and the risks he took were far from over, as Casa del Migrante was but a pit stop on his trip across the US-Mexico border. He was also one of a handful of Guatemalan men in the house, all surviving the same trip from Central to North America. The ones in the house were the lucky ones; many men and women who attempt the trip are either killed, kidnapped, or turned back while crossing Mexico. 

It’s my natural response when I find out people are from Guatemala to respond, “me too” and determine what else we have in common. Nuevo Laredo and Casa del Migrante have changed that: all of a sudden, sitting on the concrete floor of the courtyard listening to these stories, it felt fraudulent to claim commonality.

The protesters’ day begins at 7:30 with breakfast and a prayer. They are 35 miles from their final destination, a distance that will take them three days to cover. As they prepare to hit the road, they load backpacks into the van, nurse tender blisters, scarf down a last tortilla and stretch tired legs. There are posters declaring “no wall between amigos” littered around the common room of the church they stayed at last night, and some people have taken permanent markers to their clothing to emphasize the message.

They call themselves the Border Ambassadors. This is day 7 of the No Border Wall walk, a 120-mile, 9-day trek from Roma to Brownsville, Texas, in protest of the planned U.S.-Mexico border fence. Nine core Border Ambassadors are completing the entire march, but at the end of the walk, they judge roughly 200 people will have participated in the demonstration against the controversial barrier. The protesters are students and teachers, professionals and laborers, young and old.

The Secure Fence Act was signed into law in 2006 by President Bush, authorizing 700 miles of double-layered fencing along the US/Mexico border. Proponents of the fence think it will stop illegal immigration and reinforce border and national security; detractors point to the division of communities, families and economies as well as the destruction of natural habitats as reasons why they think the fence will ultimately be a $1.2 billion speedbump at best. At worst, some people think the fence will simply force those trying to cross the border into even more risk and danger.

Some opponents call the fence “the new Berlin Wall,” and the debate surrounding it has intensified the extant debates on immigration and the border.

The No Border Wall walk is only one of a number of protests on this issue, some of which have turned violent. By contrast, the Border Ambassadors are explicitly nonviolent. They seek to perpetuate their message through positive energy and love, something that comes through while I’m watching today’s group of about a dozen people advance up US 281, cheering and chanting at the top of their lungs. People in passing traffic honk or wave at the walkers, giving them even more energy as they wave their posters in the air and continue toward Brownsville.