CPTnet
22 June 2005

ARIZONA/SONORA: Raising awareness on the Migrant Trail

by Genie Durland

Telesforo Santos Arroyo died in the Sonoran desert of southern Arizona at
the age of thirty eight, sometime in the summer of 2004. I know nothing more
about him, but I carried him with me as I walked seventy-five miles through
the wilderness that took his life. His name was painted on a small, white
wooden cross that I held as I walked. My husband, Bill, walked with me
carrying the name of Maria Florinda. From time to time, we --the
walkers--called out the names of our dead brothers and sisters and shouted
presente for them. Was it enough? Surely not. But it helped us to keep
their memory foremost in our hearts.

I could not share Telesforo's experience because I had strong companions,
adequate water and food, safe camping in a tent, and no reason to fear the
Border Patrol. But I experienced a powerful sense of community with my
fellow walkers. Strangers to each other on the first day, we nonetheless
bonded firmly around our grief and concern for the deaths in the desert.
Community was enhanced by our close-knit sharing of chores, pains, blisters,
tears, laughter, and music. But the community was made complete by the
presence of Telesforo and the others whose names we carried, as well as the
many desconocida (unidentified) and those who are never found.

I tried to imagine Telesforo as I walked. He may have been the Catholic son
of a devout mother, hence his name: Santos. Maybe he had a family, a wife
and children. Perhaps they were close to starving for lack of adequate
employment. Why else would he leave his home and loved ones to risk his life
in an inhospitable wilderness? Only desperation leads to such journeys.

My participation in this year's Migrant Trail Walk (from Sasabe, Mexico to
Tucson, Arizona over a period of seven days) does nothing for Telesforo and
the countless others who have died, are dying and will die on that perilous
path. Indeed four more died as we walked and we only heard about it later.
We never saw them; we never touched them. Our purpose was to mourn them,
because perhaps their families back home will never know what happened to
them. Our purpose was to see and feel what they face from a safe distance.
Our purpose was to mourn our own complicity with the global forces that
drive them from home and strip them of dignity. Our purpose was to try to
raise awareness--first in our own hearts, and then through outreach--in the
larger society, in our home communities, our churches, our schools. Perhaps,
if enough of us hear the message, perhaps then the policies of greed,
exploitation, and plunder that dehumanize workers everywhere (not just in
Mexico) will begin to change. That is our prayer, mine and Bill's, and that
of our compatriots on the Migrant Trail Walk 2005.