Hello, Alice Ollstein speaking. I'm in Tucson, Arizona, on the Border Studies program run through Earlham College. Now you might be thinking that Arizona isn't exactly abroad and Tucson isn't exactly on the border (it's an hour north), so let me explain. I was accepted to this program months ago, when it was supposed to be in Ciudad Juarez, Mexico. When the drug war escalated there and shootings in broad daylight became commonplace, the program was moved to the smaller, calmer town of Nogales, Mexico. Then, recently, the drug war made its sinister way to even the smallest and calmest of border towns, shaking up Nogales with random acts of violence, and the program was moved to Tucson. Now initially I was upset. The program had become something I had not signed up for. I wanted to be immersed in Spanish and Mexican culture and be challenged on a day to day basis. I didn't want some safe, easy program in the U.S. where I could study immigration from a distance and not really experience it.
But ever since arriving to this unique program, my fears have been washed away. Starting in a few days, I will be living with a Spanish-speaking host family in the south side of Tucson (which I've heard described as "more Mexican than Mexico"), working with an organization called Border Action Network that does community organizing and resistance among migrants in Tucson, and
taking a month-long journey throughout Mexico with my program, visiting communities that are important to the immigration story.Today, after meeting my fellow students at the airport (by the way, there are only six of us, and we're all women) we ate incredible Mexican food, held an orientation explaining the days and weeks ahead of us, hiked up a saguaro-studded hill to watch the sunset, ate more incredible Mexican food, got to know each other and talked about how we had all chosen this program, then crashed (that's where I am now, typing as my eyes droop).
The next day, we found out that you don't need your passport to cross the border, only to return. We drove from Tucson down to the ugly metal wall that divides Nogales, Arizona from Nogales, Sonora, told the officer we were going for the day, then cruised on through. There were no lines, a sign of how the increased drug war violence has led to a sharp dive in tourism. We then went to a station of Grupo Beta, a Mexican government organization that helps deported migrants by giving them food, clothes, a phone call and a couple of nights of shelter. We sat on metal benches outside and talked with a group of men who had recently been detained in the U.S. and shipped across the border. I talked to one man who had tried to cross four times, but now wants to go home, saying the attempts were a waste of time, money and his health. By far the saddest was Felipe, a man that had lived in Phoenix for 22 years, and one day the ICE (Immigration and Customs Enforcement) knocks on his door and drags him and his wife away, leaving a 13-year-old and an 11-year-old alone in the U.S. Then he was separated from his wife in the detention process and has yet to find her. One girl on my program lent him her cell phone to call to check on the kids, which he did, but
we all left feeling helpless.We then visited a center for deported minors, mostly 15- or 16-year-old boys, called the DIF. It was a brand new building, much nicer (apparently) than the ones in most border towns, but the kids were just sitting around, bored, waiting for a family member to come claim them. There was a paved outdoor area with a basketball court and room to run around, but the door was chained shut. Maddie explained that they were afraid the kids would try to escape. She said the only time the kids were allowed outside was while the DIF was filming a promotional video about what great work they do and how happy the kids are. There were also framed pictures all around the center of the governor's wife posing with kids (obviously models and not actual deported children) and pictures of kids frolicking on grass. There was no grass.
Lastly, we walked back and forth across the border to compare prices in grocery stores and discuss what those numbers mean. I'm an English and Latin American studies major, so I had a hard time wrapping my head around it, but basically, even though prices are "the same" on either side of the border, because of differences in wages there is a great inequality. An American has to work only half an hour to buy a gallon of milk, but a Mexican has to work five. This means thousands of people cross the border every day just to buy groceries in the U.S., then return home to Mexico. So American factories move across the border because of cheap labor and non-exi
stent environmental regulations, and most of those wages go back to the U.S. to buy groceries. So much for the myth that the maquiladoras are boosting Mexico's economy. I look forward to learning more about this in my classes.We rounded off the intense day with a delicious dinner cooked by our program assistant and a late-night ice cream run. Nothing takes your mind off dysfunctional U.S. policies like Ben and Jerry's.
The next day we toured the University of Arizona for the first time, because one of their expert faculty members will be teaching our Research Methodologies class. With 50,000 students, the U of A is a bit overwhelming. Everyone on my program is from a small, liberal arts school, so we looked like hicks in the big city as we wandered wide-eyed through U of A's brick buildings. I think I'll miss Oberlin's weirdness while I'm here.
Our last activity of the day was Spanish conversation with Jorge, a Cuban artist at a local café. We talked about everything from our travel experiences to Cuban politics to issues of gender. He was sweet and hilarious and I can't wait to meet with him again.
I'm so happy I chose this particular program. With four incredible staff members for the six of us, I've never had so much personal attention in my life. Oberlin's small size has meant a lot of personal attention (from my professors, advisers, TAs, etc.) but nothing compared to this, where I'm driven from place to place and asked if I need a cup of coffee or a snack. Just so you don't think I'm a spoiled brat, know that this cushy treatment will end tomorrow. From then on out, I'll be getting up at my host family's house in South Tucson and busing to class and work. As our director Riley said, “Camp is over, girls.”
