Celebrating (written Sunday August 1st)

I really enjoyed myself yesterday.

The morning and early afternoon were wonderful, in spite of (and in part due to) a torrential downpour.

I've been metaphorically beating my head against the wall trying to decide whether to write about this or not.

I'm still deciding whether to post this.

For now, I will just write.

Yesterday morning I went to Ciudad Juarez with four other volunteers. We went to the Mercado Cuauhtémoc in downtown Juarez...about a five minute walk from the Paso del Norte International Bridge.


As the five of us crossed the bridge, a US Customs agent pulled Fabian aside. The agent started asking him why he was going to Juarez, whether he had $10,000 or more on him. Apparently the blond skinny German with us looked suspicious. To be honest, I think the agent (who happened to have a super-thick Afro-Caribbean accent) might have just been wondering what a bunch of gueros were doing going to Cd. Juarez. As we proceeded over the bridge, the agent told us "Be careful, it's crazy over there."

After we crossed the bridge, I noticed that the streets seemed even more empty than they had been the first time I went.

We went to the Mercado and ate lunch upstairs. Stepping outside of the building, we noticed that the clouds had gotten thicker and darker. It smelled of rain.

Before leaving, we we decided to go to a poster/art shop so that Andrew could get a specific print. Just as we got there, it began to drizzle, then rain, then pour. Estaba lloviendo a cántaros.

We sealed our loot in plastic bags so that it would remain dry. Then, we braved the rain. For some reason I couldn't stop myself from smiling. It seemed utterly ridiculous to be running down the streets of Cd. Juarez with four good friends in a summer rain storm. My shoes were squishing and I could feel my toes turning to prunes. My shirt stuck to my back and I had water running down my face. Strangers smiled as they saw us dashing down the flooded sidewalks.

By the time we made it back to the bridge, the rain had let up a bit. When crossing the bridge there are two lines--one for US Citizens, and one for non-citizens. The line for Citizens was non-existent, whereas the line for non-citizens took close to an hour. We went in the non-citizen line because we didn't want to leave Fabian on his own.

US Citizens kept stopping as they saw us--a bunch of white people--standing in the non-citizen line. You know you can go ahead, right?

I'm getting a little tired of people assuming certain things about me just because I am white.

Note to the Juarez reporter who interviewed me at the protest: not all white people are in favor of racist legislation

Note to citizens crossing the bridge: not all white people are US citizens.

To be honest, I liked standing in the line with everyone else. Skipping ahead of everyone else makes me feel like a privileged jackass.

We waited with Fabian all the way through the non-citizen line. There were drug-sniffing dogs in both lines (there wasn't really a line so much as an open runway for citizens), but they seemed much more wary of people in the non-citizen line. The agents in charge seemed pretty rude to me. They kept giving this one teen a really hard time for no apparent reason.

Each of us went to a different customs terminal after waiting in line. The only person who got any trouble at customs was Kyla. The agent who checked her passport was very rude. He asked her the typical, "What did you do in Juarez, what did you buy" etc. He told her it was very suspicious that she waited in the non-citizen line although she is a citizen. What difference does that make? ALL of us were in the non-citizen line, and she was the only one given a hard time. He also wanted to know why she didn't have two forms of ID. I only had form of ID on me. Taking my drivers license and passport to Juarez seemed like a reallllly bad idea. If I lost one, I would probably have lost BOTH.

Anyway, I was annoyed at the US Customs for racial profiling while we were waiting in line, and also for unwarranted rudeness while at the terminals.

I have a lot of love for Cd. Juarez, especially the innocent people caught in the middle. I was happy to be able to go and support them. I thought a lot about whether going was too dangerous, or not. I read article after article. I scoured English and Spanish news sources for any new specific threats. At this point, any legitimate or even fake threats are directed specifically at federales or police. When we (the volunteers) decided to go one more time, we figured out exactly where we were going beforehand, what our purpose was, and agreed to steer clear of any police, federales, or other officials. Granted, bad things can happen even when you are careful, but that is true of anywhere. Also, although I don't like that this the reality, I felt safer going with male volunteers.

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Last evening we went out for Kyla's 21st birthday at the New Old Plantation (the OP), the largest gay club in the state of TX, which also happens to be only 4 blocks from Annunciation House. The night started off slow with the club nearly empty, but as it got later, the club filled up and we all had a good time dancing together. While I was outside taking a breather from the loud music with Jens, a new volunteer who just arrived, we began talking with this one guy who is stationed at Ft. Bliss. [Background info: the club offered free cover to all military, so there happened to be a lot of straight, average military guys there.]

I ended up giving him an earful first about being tolerant and respectful of gay people, and then more about "illegal" undocumented people. I didn't mean to be preachy. I think I might have actually given him some compelling arguments that he considered. It seemed pretty strange to hear myself talking about such serious issues outside a club, but oh well. It's about winning hearts and minds, right? :-P

While we were inside, the MC basically forced me and Kyla to enter a dance competition, and while he was going down the line talking about each contestant in a patronizing manner, he basically said he couldn't believe two white girls like us would dare go into Segundo Barrio (the name of the downtown El Paso neighborhood that is heavily immigrant) on their own on a Saturday night.

We set him straight. Not only do we have fun in Segundo, not only do we work in Segundo, we LIVE in Segundo.