Saturday Departure

El Otro Lado officially started on Saturday at 1:00 pm.  We raced through check-in with no hitches, and then raced to gate 31...only to find our plane was delayed two hours in Salt Lake City.  Good thing.  Palladino had lots of time to get his passport.  


What should we do with a two hour delay? Maybe read a good book.  Mr. Thomas would be proud.

We finally boarded at 5:00 pm, with Luke and Ariadna running to the plane after visiting with the Montana group on the other side of the airport.  


This was Sam's first flight...ever!!!  And Asha couldn't help but crack how he was the first person she'd ever seen ACTUALLY pay attention to the attendant's flight instructions.

The flight was smooth, except when a Texas tie-wearin', smooth-talkin, wise-crackin, cowboy pilot decided to fall asleep on the landing.  It was a D+, according to Professor Palladino.  Lots of burned rubber.

After retrieving bags and chasing the bus, we lost Craig's wife Katie only to reunite minutes later followed by her wise words "Is this a race?" First lesson: Katie is always right. 

After finding the hotel, a quick unpacking job was followed by a delicious dinner of Thai food near the campus of Arizona State University. After Chad ate his and Lila's meal, a toast was made by Sutphin reminding us all to slow down, be present and experience this week, and to be flexible (especially with directions). 

Sunday, Phoenix

We were all feeling foggy, rather groggy so we decided to sleep in until about 8:30. Before leaving for church, Mary noticed a milk container in Asha's pocket causing everyone to smile. 

We left for Church, and a new nickname became established when 'u-turn Pally' once again missed the target, this time the Newman center. After Sutphin and his gang of five (Sam, Monica, Chad, Lauren, and Ariadna) quickly alerted us of our mistake, we spent an hour reflecting on the value of not worrying (it adds nothing to our existence, according to Jesus!!!).  The sermon was hysterical, and Fr. John had his own 70's rock band.  Very Berkeley.  

Thanks to Bob, Luke's dad, we scored some awesome tickets for the A's first spring training game.  Half of our group went to the game (just after a massive hail storm, the sun came out and the cactus league began).  The A's killed the Cubs, 15-6.  Thanks Bob.

The half of the group that didn't care about baseball went to "Ye Olde Wilde West Town" and watched a real gunfight.  Wells Fargo lost, but there was no bank bailout this time.  

We also saw Superstition Mountain.  Legend has it that a crazy Dutchman killed the Peraltans, a royal Spanish family, for control of the mountain.  He found a gold vein the size of the "A Train," and on his death bed revealed the info to his family.  Whenever anyone goes looking for the gold, one member of the expedition never comes back.  The curse of the crazy Dutchman.  

We finished the day resting in our private gazebo, eating In-N-Out and watching the Oscars and the meltdown of LeBron and the Heat.  Early to bed. El Otro Lado begins Monday morning.  

Monday EOL Begins

Another all-you-can-eat breakfast at the hotel before the 2 hour drive to Tucson.  Lila counted the cacti en route to Tucson, turns out it's a really big number, and she said her brain isn't big enough to contain it.  She fell asleep, along with everyone else.


Arrived in Tucson on-time and intact, even with another U-Turn.  We were greeted by Ms. Mejia-Garcia.  Everyone got hugs and she remembered everyone's name the first time.

We ate Little Ceasers with San Miguel students.  The San Miguel kids call Little Ceasars "The Food of the Immigrant."  $5.00 for a large pizza!!!

The San Miguel students took us on a tour of their school: it's beautiful, austere, modern, and full of little pockets of traditional piety.  

The EOL journey began with a trip to the T.O. indian reservation, where the San Xavier Mission is located.  The San Miguel students--and most of southern Arizona--call it the Dove in the Desert.  Its white building is like a beacon of faith for those immigrants traveling north.  It's a place of deep spirituality for both the Indians and the the Catholics.  At night, it's like a giant party.

As the sun began to set over the red desert, we climbed "A Mountain," a famous hill smack in the middle of the Tucson desert area.  Its a place known for quinceanera limo parties, watching fireworks, U of A parties; but most importantly, we made the trek to get an idea of the immensity of the desert.  It's range is enormous and its beauty overwhelming.  The immigrant journey is as enormous but also full of suffering.

After "A Mountain," we raced across town and meet with an immigration attorney who volunteers for "No More Deaths," an organization that attempts to end unnecessary suffering and deaths for migrant trying to cross that Arizona border.  Speaking with Chad later in the night, he, like all students, were amazed to learn that 75% of all deportations are because of traffic violations. Also, that it takes 18 years to legally enter the country from Mexico, an option many cannot take. 

Minds saturated, we needed fuel of a different kind.  San Miguel treated us to a home town favorite, something that Bay Area foodies would find repulsive.  Dinner at El Guero Canelo: amazing, the pinnacle of South Tucson, Sonoron hot dogs (aka, mexican comfort food).  Everybody goes there.  The mayor, the plumber, the newly arrived kids from Berkeley.  The community hot spot, cheap and delicious.  Started as Taco truck, eventually covered the patio area, then added walls (barely).  The American Dream, lived through a Mexican immigrant whose kids now attend San Miguel High School. 

If you thought today was interesting, wait for Tuesday!!!

Day Four, In The Desert

Before we tell you anything about Tuesday, watch this Fox News story that aired last night at 9:00 pm:


http://www.fox11az.com/news/local/Tucson-students-get-border-immigration-experience-117253923.html


On our journey to visit some memorial sites for migrants who lost their lives, Fox News heard about El Otro Lado program and asked to join us.  According to Alma, this type of objective coverage of the issue of immigration in Arizona is rare.  




After a quick breakfast and prayer service, we left San Miguel to join "The Samaritans," a humanitarian organization dedicated to helping migrants stay alive while crossing the desert.  We visited a "fresh layup site," which means immigrants recently used the site while waiting for transfer.  We peered into the forsaken belongings of those who were shedding their previous life in hopes of achieving their dream.  Here's an example of what we found...

Here's the trash we picked up.   

After we nursed Alfonso and Sam back to health (both had a fever walking in the desert), we raced to a remote ranch to meet two remarkable women who build memorial sites in the desert for bodies that are found.  Their ranch is adjacent to a popular migration route.  The desert was big, barren, stark, dramatic, hot, and made everyone feel their finitude, especially against the backdrop of an environment that took (and continues to take) the lives of so many people.

Everywhere we turned, we'd see the forsaken elements of the migrants.  Here's some pants and a shirt...

The first memorial site was of a young woman who died of hyperthermia.  Before she surrendered her life, she wrote a poem.  The poem was hanging on the cross, and Palladino read it to the group.  All you could feel was silence, the wind, and the sadness.  This trip was no longer simply about immigration, but human beings.

The trek continued for a few miles.  Dust devils, the sun, and a two more memorial sites left the group emotionally and physically exhausted.

After dinner and prayer, the students reflected on the gravity of their experiences.  We are beginning to understand the meaning of privilege.

And yet, Wednesday was even harder and more emotionally intense.  

Day 5 Into Mexico

We saw a different type of Santa Claus on Wednesday, but this one wore a cowboy hat and gave different gifts.

This is Father Peter, who two years ago started the Kino Border Initiative, a program that feeds and clothes immigrants who've recently been deported from the U.S.  To immigrants, Father Peter is Santa.

We parked the vans just north of the border and walked into Nogales, Mexico.

With passports and documentation in hand, we were ready to be interrogated by a militarized border, only to be disappointed by walking through a turnstile gate like the one you'd find at Great America.  Nobody noticed or cared what we were doing.  It was like the old porch dog that couldn't be bothered.  No Americans were crossing into Mexico; just us and few day laborers.


After walking less than a 1/4 mile, we were ushered into a make-shift shelter made of tarps and barbed-wire, with two walls carved out of the hillside.  80 worn-down, exhausted, confused, saddened migrants were quietly sitting at tables, waiting for us to arrive.  

It was overwhelming to look into their faces and feel the oozing sadness in their eyes; the tables were turned and we were the outsiders.  One student said "it was like getting punched in the solarplex."


Before the meal was served, Father Peter called an 88 year old women from the kitchen to answer the question: "Why does she do what she does?"  As she looked into the eyes of immigrants, she said "because you all are my brothers and sisters...everyone is my brother and sister."

The comment brought tears to the faces of many of the migrants, who for so long have been stripped of their dignity.  The love of this little women consoled them and feed them and blessed them.  She also taught Alfonso how to cut tomatoes.

We served the immigrants the meal, but once again the tables were turned: they served us in America, but now we are serving them in Mexico.  Some of us also helped prepare the next meal.

While they ate we were invited to sit with them and ask them to share their stories.  

Most were willing, and for an hour we heard heart-breaking stories that followed a similar trajectory.  Extreme poverty and/or violence in their home country; harrowing tales of walking for days with little food and water; finding jobs and creating families and communities; and usually ending with a traffic violation that led to deportation.


We left after lunch with a new mission, a short walk along the border adjacent to a cemetery where migrants sleep.  It's free and safe from scorpions and bandits, though not too comfortable.

Father Peter (aka Santa) took us downtown on a mechanical marvel, otherwise known as a Mexican Public Bus.  





We arrived in downtown Nogales in the basement of a hotel. What awaited us was a donation by the Mexican government of massive amounts of food. About a minute after our arrival we were soon busy separating the food into piles for greater efficiency. 

We then took a mile long walk back to the food shelter.  We walked along the border on the Mexican side and saw barrio living on the left and affluence on the hill to the right.  15 years ago this town had no wall; the border was a line in the middle of International Boulevard.  With the wall, families and communities were separated overnight.  We also saw this mural, which is a montage of all the lives lost in and around the Nogales district.  

If you look up from the Mexican side, all you'd see is massive security cameras and a constant border patrol/national guard presence.  Later that evening, Asha commented that "it's almost like we are watching them like wild animals in a zoo.  What are we so scared of...?"

On the American side, we drove past border patrol (everywhere) to take a short walk along the wall.  

We then ate dinner at a Mexican restaurant (we won't tell you on which side of the border).  Let's just say it was cheap and delicious.


We arrived back in Tucson and after a quick rest, we convened for an hour and a half long group discussion.  It was filled with tears and pain and confusion.  


Tomorrow we will get to hear from the otherside: we are going visit Border Patrol and witness Operation Streamline, a new initiative to speed up the processing and deporting unlawful entries into the U.S.