Juan is 22. He is from rural Guatemala. The violence there killed his mother when he was very little. His father fled to the U.S. He hasn't heard from him since. Juan was raised by his grandparents and spent some time in an orphanage. At 15 he headed north. When he got to the border, he worked for a bit to get the money needed, then paid someone to help him get across the border. They put a tire around him and pulled him across the river. Once in Texas he would find bits of work and kind people. Eventually was picked up at 17 and sent to a detention center, where he spent a month. "I was put in this white rabbit suit. It was one piece and had a hood. But they treated me pretty good because I was a minor." Once back in Guatemala, he did his military service, then returned to the U.S. A priest helped him hop a train by showing he when the surveillance camera was pointed away and gave him some money to help till he found work. When ICE brought dogs to search the train he rubbed his whole body with garlic. Men nearby were picked up, but he made it undetected. He found work, found a place to say, then got an apartment. It was looking good till for a moment his youth got the better of his good judgement and he was picked up for an open container on the street and deported. This time he was warned that if caught again he would spend a year in jail.
So here he sat, one of the thousands of migrants from Central America making their way through Mexico. It was clear he felt Guatemala held no future for him. He had no family. No community. The jobs he had at 14 and 15 paid less than $3 a day which was not enough to live on let alone feed a family. In the U.S. he could work in kitchens or do agricultural work for $100 a week or more which, even with higher costs, seemed doable to him.
We asked if he had any questions of us. Yes. If caught, would he spend the year in jail or detention? We answered most likely jail. He nodded. We asked if knowing that he would still go. He shrugged. Yes. There was no reason not to try.
Juan will stay with me for a long time.
We met Juan at a shelter for migrants in Oaxaca. There are a number of these facilities across the country along the main migration routes. While they primarily serve people traveling north from other Central American countries they also sometimes assist internal migrants. They try to educate, to make sure people know what they are getting in to, assisting them with medical needs (common after the swampy crossing on the southern border of Mexico).
Memories flooded in of people I met at a similar shelter in the north who were so frighteningly unprepared for a dangerous crossing, the faces of my Guatemalan friends at home and the haunting memory of my friend Giovanni, who was killed shortly after returning to Guatemala in the very violence he had fled in the first place. It was a powerful morning.
This afternoon included a visit to RASA (food sovereignty and security in urban Oaxaca). Through mutual aid and networks people in the city support each other in community projects that involve food sovereignty, which they see as the ability to decide for ourselves what we will eat and how it will be produced. They are part of the indigenous network addressing food sovereignty throughout Mexico. Their work is so exciting.
As we reflected on our visits so far many of us commented that these amazing projects give us hope but that they seem so small in the face of the huge tsunami of neoliberal globalization.
Tomorrow we travel to Teotitlan de Valle, about an hour south east of the city. We will be visiting the Vida Nueva Cooperative, a women's weaving collective. We will spent the night in the homes of women who are in the collective and return to the city on Friday, so I won't be writing here tomorrow night.
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