Humane Borders

Meet Lois Martin and Gary Wolf. They’re volunteers with Humane Borders, a group in Arizona that puts water stations in the desert so that migrants who are traveling into the US will not die of thirst. Their work is legal — they emphasize this repeatedly because, apparently, some people think it is illegal to give out water to prevent death.

Dehydration is the leading cause of death in the desert and hundreds of people die every year for lack of water in the vast Arizona desert.

There were about 15 of us in the community developers group who visited the water stations. Two among us told how they had crossed these very same borders from Mexico, in the cool of the night, running, one as a girl and the other as a young woman. They are now both documented US citizens.

The Humane Borders volunteers reminded us that people cannot be “illegal.” People are people. Rather, they are people lacking documentation.

Mural on the wall at Humane Borders

Most migrants come from countries beyond Mexico. Imagine the journey.

This was the first day of the “Let’s Get Radical” event for community developers in Scottsdale, Arizona, when more than 70 community developers traveled to Tucson to visit this group, Humane Borders.

Rev. Robin Hoover, Humane Borders President, First Christian Church Pastor, taking a group to the Mexico/US border, discussing immigration, compassion, providing water.

A handful of our group went into Mexico with the Humane Borders president, across Nogales, AZ to visit the tents of compassion, weigh stations run by Catholic nuns, who minister to those who are ejected from the United States, dumped back on the Mexico/US border, with blisters on the feet and no money in their pockets.  The nuns and volunteers do what they can.

Bishop Minerva Carcano of The United Methodist Church spoke about working in the tents of compassion. She told how she met a family in the tents — a father and two young children, Melvin and Joslyn. The bishop played with the family and laughed with them.

“It is an amazing journey that these brothers take. They take the journey depending on God. We do stand on the word of God. Leviticus 19:  ‘You shall not oppress the immigrant. You shall welcome that immigrant as a citizen. … and you will remember you were an immigrant in the land of Egypt.’

As she left, she gave money for the small family to the father. As she walked away, she heard others say, “Gracias, mi hermano.” The father had given the money to other migrants in the tents.

“I felt I had seen the face of God,” the bishop said. Having so little, that father shared so much. (This, like many stories at the community developers’ event, made us cry.)

Community Developers group -- Mary Beth, Monte Payne, Tonia Rios, Humane Borders volunteer Karl Tucker, Malik Saafir, Rhonda Robinson

I was with the group that visited the water stations. The blue flags that mark their locations may be torn or full of bullets but the Humane Borders workers continue to check the water supply underneath the 100 or so flags in the desert. At times, they move the water stations to optimize giving (and perhaps avoid entrapment of migrants by the minute men or border patrol?)

“Minute men are right-wing whackos….Its an evil, evil, evil mess,” Karl Tucker, our volunteer, said.

We ended the day-long trip with a visit to Sasabe, Arizona. There were no people anywhere, except for about six border patrol officers, one of whom wielded a huge gun.

Community developers approach the wall.

The diminutive, yet powerful Lois Martin requested and the officers agreed, to let us approach the wall.

It was shameful that this is how we, the US, ‘welcomes the immigrant’. We give them a wall and tell them to keep out. Whatever happened to:

“Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, The wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”

No, there is no lamp beside a golden door. There is a wall. At least there is water. And people like the Humane Borders volunteers who give small comfort. And in so doing, they save lives.

http://gbgm-umc.org/global_news/full_article.cfm?articleid=5846 is another article about the day to Humane Borders posted on the General Board of Global Ministries website.

Went Missing

My young adult novel, “The Missing Twin,” went missing. I had been using my Swiss Cheese method of writing — punching a hole in the ‘durn thing for 10-minutes a day for several weeks. I’d written it in the flurry of NaNoWriMo last November and been editing in dribs and drabs since then.

I want to write another novel this November so I desperately want to put last year’s novel, “The Missing Twin” to bed. But the editing is hard. And my baby won’t go to bed, she’s not even sleepy.

NaNoWriMo was simply one of the best writing experiences I’ve ever had. It was communal. Tens of thousands of people are writing a 50,000-word novel for 30 days. You can chat with people on Twitter who are going for the same word count. But, alas, writing is more than word count. Sadly for me, because I can pile up words pretty quickly. I type superfast. Even faster than I can think. But editing takes time and thought.

I have to get back to telling you about missing my “Missing” novel. But it’s hard to write right now because the flight attendant is pleading on the loud speaker, “Is there a doctor? Nurse? Medical professional on board? We have a medical emergency.” Sheez, this is stressful, wondering what’s going on. Hoping it’s not serious. But the urgency in the flight attendant’s voice says it is.

Okay, stay focused. So, I thought I packed my novel in my bags when returning to NYC on Labor Day. I’d been traveling with the white binder back and forth up to the Adirondacks every weekend of August. I would do my 10 minutes a day, then put it away. I’d read and marked up about two-thirds of the blasted thing. But I couldn’t find it anywhere in the apartment.

Update on the medical emergency: the flight attendants are getting the big black CPR Kit box out from the luggage rack. I’m kicking myself for not ever training to become an EMT. There seemed to be no doctors or nurses on board just two young-ish, reluctant people, a 20-something Asian woman and a 20-something clean-cut White guy, came forward shyly. Medical students, I’m guessing.

So, the other day on the phone, I asked my husband, Chris, to look around the Big House for my novel. (He was directing the play, “Good Night Desdemona/Good Morning Juliet” at the Depot Theatre and stayed in the North Country.) I thought I left it on the floor near the couch in the bedroom (all important things lands on the floor near a couch!).

“No. Can’t find it,” he said.

Update: The flight attendant and the medical-type people appear to be giving oxygen to the young man in medical distress.

Just before the flight took off, I checked my messages. Chris left me a voicemail, “I found it. The white binder was on the floor in the closet.”

Chris found my “Missing” novel. (He’s good at finding lost things!) It’s got to come out of the closet! I kind of wished I’d lost it for good. Then I’d have a good reason to abandon it.

I do want to find out how it all ends. So I guess, I’ll return to reading, rewriting, editing the novel. Right when I get back from this business trip.

Final update: “He’s doing better,” says the young woman to the flight attendant who’s now carrying pillows back to the galley where the medical and flight team are huddled. Thank God. Turns out this teenager hasn’t eaten or drank anything for several days.

Advice for the traveler: Everyone, please hydrate before you fly.

And keep your novels close at hand.

This is where I am as I upload this, early morning Scottsdale, AZ.

10 minutes a day

I work on my unwieldy novel most days for so little time. It’s the Swiss cheese method of writing. You just poke a tiny hole in the task. You punch a moment into that insurmountable infinity.

I read this method in Alan Lakein’s book, “How to Get Control of Your Time and Your Life” a long time ago when I was Barbara Weaver’s assistant in the Women’s Division. Sometimes I wish I was somebody’s assistant again. More often, I wish that I had an assistant!

“The underlying assumption of the Swiss cheese approach is that it is indeed possible to get something started in five minutes or less. And once you’ve started, you’ve given yourself the opportunity to keep going…Swiss cheese is supposed to lead to involvement,” Lakein says. I’m not so sure.

I start my Stopwatch app. And I glance at the numbers. Occasionally, I will go past 10 minutes, but usually, I watch the time flip over to 10:00 and then I go, “Phew.” I put the novel away. The Swiss cheese method has not led me into the zone. I do love to enter the flow of writing — when time passes without being noticed. When writing is bliss. I like that. But it’s okay when it’s Swiss cheese too. It’s something. It’s edible.