The No More Deaths tent is set up at the Mariposa St. border port in Nogales, Sonora Mexico. There is a small patch of dirt next to the government offices. The government officials don't seem to do much, but neither do they bother us. The organisers have made an agreement with the Comission Estatal de Attencion de Migrantes (State Commision for Aid to Migrants), and they allow us to use their offices to store water, make food, and for volunteers to sleep, eat and basically live while working with the project.
Buses stop on the US side of the border, and up to 40 deported Mexicans (and sometimes Central and South Americans with fake Mexican papers) get off and walk over to where we are waiting. They are usually limping, some because of blisters, some because they have been beaten by the Border Patrol, but all because their shoe laces had been taken from them on arrest. We give them a small package of burritos, a bottle of water, and ask them if they have blisters or need medical care. Most refuse help, either because they are feeling ok, or because they are too proud to admit they are in pain. But there are always a few that accept. We sit them down under the tent and wash their feet, clean and bandage the blisters and let them rest for a while before setting out on their next mission.
Many immediately try to cross again. This is the main reason for the project. In previous years, the project was to walk in the desert, looking for migrants who were dehydrated or heat stressed because so many of them die every year trying to cross. The organisers realised that many of the serious cases were the ones who had tried to cross multiple times, and became more and more dehydrated and weak with each attempt. So we are in Nogales to try to send them off in slightly better shape, whatever their plans.
One fellow was trying to get over the fence close to the port. He was on his third attempt the other night and had made it over when the National Guard spotted him and gave chase. He ran and jumped back onto the fence. He slashed up his left arm on the razor wire, but managed to evade arrest. He came straight to us, where the nurse treated his cuts. The nurse knew him from previous attempts, and knew he was going to try again. So after closing up the wounds and wrapping the arm in gauze, he wrapped an extra layer of duct tape.
We have had problems with the coyotes - the men who take money from hopeful migrants to get them across the border illegally. For the most part, they are portrayed as ruthless capitalists who treat their clients like cargo, and they probably are. The fellows who have been hanging around our tent, however, have made an effort to be helpful and pleasant to us. They help us set up and take down, and most importantly, they help us talk to the migrants and get statements of abuse by the Border Patrol.
But they also do business, and this has become a problem. NMD does not want to become associated with particular coyotes, no matter how nice they are. Not only is it a crime in Mexico to be a coyote, but we have no idea what happens to the people if they do elect to hire our man for their next crossing. There was the case of Jonatan, who had been deported and was helping around the tent. We all thought it was out of gratitude, until someone spotted him recruiting for a coyote. It was tense because we all liked him, and he was being extremely helpful, but we could not make an exception for one, for fear of starting a turf war.
We still have not come to a clear policy on how to deal with Mexican volunteers, some of whom are legit, others who are using our goodwill to make a profit. But then I realised that they were here first. We are encroaching on their turf rather than the other way around. The coyotes have told us that they pay the chief of police US $20,000 per week to protect their turf. If any other coyotes try to recruit from the deportation port, they will be arrested.
The dynamics of the border are surreal, and yet predictable. I'm told that there are holes in the fences that have been there for decades. The authorities leave them open and unpatrolled most of the time, and the highest paid coyotes know when they are patrolled. But when political pressure comes down on the Border Patrol, and they have to look like they are doing their job, they know that they can just go to the holes, as conveniently as going to their own refrigerator, and grab enough to appease the appetites-that-be.
