I'm counting this as a Christmas miracle.

IT'S SNOWING. Like, real flakes and stuff. I'm so excited.

File Under: Bad Solutions to Immigration "Problem"

Ms. Lauren Brown has a new post up (http://laurenbrown.typepad.com/weblog/2006/12/esta_gran_nacin.html) about the recent immigration raids on meat plants in several states, including one in Greeley, CO. As an extra incentive for all you Longmont folks, she even links to the Daily Times-Call!

Go read it, it's great stuff.

Meet Your Neighbors: Biloxi, Mississippi Edition

Attn: Becca Weaver

My new friend Salvador should be arriving in your neck of the woods before 2007. His journey was delayed yesterday after he almost broke his ankle jumping over the fence between the U.S. and Mexico, which now reaches over twenty feet in some places. Salvador has lived in Biloxi for the past 5 years and returned to Mexico recently to visit a sick relative. Now that he's injured he will have to stay in Agua Prieta until he recovers enough to make the much more dangerous crossing through the desert. He told me that he was excited to get back to the United States because he really liked the work he had been doing- rebuilding after "la Katrina."

As much as I love my bicycle, I wish I had a biodiesel truck.

Here´s a really cool little interview between Aaron Weiss of mewithoutYou and Jeremy Enigk, formerly of Sunny Day Real Estate. They talk a lot about faith, music, and yes...biodiesel. Enjoy.

http://www.synthesis.net/music/story.php?type=story&id=4961

Am I the only one who thinks that "Crossfire" was just a modified version of Hungry Hungry Hippos?

Just because I love these videos and I love all of you:

John Stewart on Crossfire.

p.s.- Tucker, he's right about the tie. It was never cute.

The Quarter Life: Friends and Community

My good friend Bryce Perica and I are starting up a project that we are calling "The Quarter life." The Quarter Life is a new series about, well...life, I guess. More specifically, it's about the experience of life that we have had in our 20's. Bryce and I chose some topics that we both wanted to cover, and over the next few months we are going to be posting pieces on things like family, work, finances, etc. The first installment of The Quarter Life begins today with a post on friendship and community. As always, Bryce's stuff is up at http://sixhoursonsunday.blogspot.com.


In Mexico it's not uncommon for children to never leave home. The first time that someone told me this I couldn't believe it. "Never!?," I thought to myself. But it turns out that, by and large, it is true. The ideal family situation in Mexico is one where the children grow up, go to college, come back home, get a job, get married, and finally move out of their parents house. And by move out, I mean move into the house that they built across the street from their parents.

This contrasts sharply with the way that I was brought up to think about my own family, and especially how I was raised think about friends and community. As a (white) American I have always had this sense that, while being really important, friends, and even sometimes family, were not necessarily permanent fixtures in life. I don't think this played out any more clearly than in my decision to head off to Pomona College in sunny Los Angeles, CA. For a starters, I didn't know anyone at Pomona College. No professors, no students, no staff. It never occurred to me that it was strange to leave all of my family and friends behind and set off for a place full of people that I had never met.

Of course I now have plenty of friends from my Pomona days, and another big group from an assortment of related adventures, but I have yet to regain the community that I had back in Longmont growing up. Intuitively, that makes a lot of sense. I have spent the last five years moving around from place to place, never spending more than several months investing in any one thing, or one cohesive group of people. Not surprisingly, I have missed the community that I used to have, and for all sorts of reasons. In many ways I think that my life has been less fun and more difficult because so many of those people were not around.

And I think that this is pretty common. My sense is that twentysomethings experience a great deal of loneliness and isolation as they strive to form new communities and friendship groups. I have talked to countless recent graduates, and even friends who graduated years ago, about how much more difficult it has been to form friendships and community in the "working world" than it was back in college. So many of us, myself included, spend the majority of our time in strange new places working demanding jobs or trying to secure another degree (that will hopefully land us more demanding jobs). All this while trying keep up with the friends and communities that we left behind.

The issue of keeping up with friends from high school and college is so challenging that many people (myself included) begin to intentionally prioritize these friendships. I prioritize my friendships using the context of weddings. Why weddings? Well, for starters, weddings are expensive. I'm not even talking about having a wedding, I'm talking about going to weddings. Flights. Food. Gifts. Clothing. It all adds up. It's even more expensive if you are fortunate enough (no sarcasm) to be included in the wedding party. It is simply impossible for any twentysomething without a trust fund to attend all of the weddings to which they are invited. As a result, my friendships have become classified by the existence of theoretical weddings, theirs or mine. Here's my hierarchy of friendships as evaluated through weddings:

1. Friends who will be in my wedding
2. Friends whose wedding I will be in
3. Friends whose wedding I will attend
4. Friends who will attend my wedding
5. Friends who will not attend my wedding
6. Friends whose wedding I will not attend.

I'm not a big fan of using formulas or rankings on people, but that's a little disingenuous to say right now since I do use them in this context. Things like visits, gifts, e-mails, phone calls, and a whole other set of "friendly" gestures are doled out based on where people fall on the wedding scale. It's not meant to be mean spirited, just to make sure that the people who are most important in my life both feel and stay just that, important. It's also far from perfect. The truth is that I tend to neglect important people no matter what (currently I am badly neglecting many dear friends who still go to Pomona), but it's a way to be more accountable. It's also been a helpful way for me to realize when new friends become really important to me. If I try to think about my wedding without them and I just can't see it, that's probably a good sign that I should work extra hard to stay in touch.

All of these thoughts, beliefs, and assorted musings leaves me feeling convicted about two things. The first is that I simply don't value my friends enough. I think this is most evident in the ways that I make decisions about my life. In college, what I did over summer vacation or any other break was much more influenced by what seemed inexpensive or fun than by its particular proximity to my friends. That wasn't always the case, but it was a lot. More important, however, is that I have yet to make a serious sacrifice in order to be closer to my friends. That is to say, I have yet to give up a good job, or something I hold to be of similar value, to seek a deeper and more meaningful relationship with my friends. If I am serious about becoming a more faithful, more compassionate, and more balanced person, I should be more serious about spending a lot of time with my friends. Friends, at their best, are the catalyst for change and growth in your life. Obviously they should be fun to be around, interesting to talk to, etc., but mostly they should be someone who can hold you accountable, and who will let you do the same for them. Without that I just don't think it's friendship.

Community, especially Christian community, is a whole 'nother animal. It is, as we see it best modeled in Acts, a physical manifestation of the Kingdom of God. Unlike friends, who we have some say in, community, no matter where we are, is given to us without the choice to opt out. Community, even more than friends, pushes us outside of our comfort zones and into a place where we might be required to confront Jesus. It is often the people we don't like, and especially don't like to love, the people who make us uncomfortable, the people who make us feel awkward, and even the people who make us feel awful. That's community. And community, as far as I am concerned, is best faced in the company of friends. And this is where I feel convicted once again. As much as I have tried to contribute to a number of different communities- Pomona, urban Los Angeles, Uganda, Douglas/Agua Prieta, etc., I have never been able to contribute as fully as I would like to. This is, I think, partially a function of the relatively short amount of time that I have committed to the people in those places, but is also due largely to the fact that I experienced most of those places, and the people in them experienced me, almost totally in the absence of my closest friends.

So, like many twentysomethings, I face the decision of accepting my relationships with my friends and my community as they have always been, or of being proactive in imagining how I want them to be in the future. I am trying to take strides to choose the latter. For example, I recently made a commitment to a friend to live with him after I leave Agua Prieta. I don't know if this will be immediately after, as there are considerations with my family as well, but it is a commitment I intend to keep regardless of what other opportunities come up. I wish the details were more specific, but it's a start. In addition to the benefit I will receive by enjoying his company, decisions like this, I believe, will allow me to be a more meaningful participant in new communities in the future. In the presence of my closest friends I will be able to love and serve in a greater capacity than I am currently able to. That, I think, is a major lesson of Jesus and his disciples. And for me, the prospect of loving more and serving more is a terribly exciting thing.

Note: Special thanks to Maite, Lexie, Chris, Mike, Laura, Grace, Thandiwe, Brian, Bryce, Erik, Chris, Wes, Kyle, Collin, Brianne, Travis, Ben, and Maile for having a profound impact on my thoughts about friendship and community. I'm sure that I'm leaving out many others. Sorry 'bout that.

That's just adorable.

Please join me in welcoming Jane Elizabeth Hamilton into the world! The Hamilton family has been very near and dear to my heart since I worked for Rachel in Los Angeles at the Center for Student Missions. I'm so happy for them.

Meet Your Neighbors Glendale Edition

Welcome to another great edition of meet your neighbors. This is a special edition meant for all of my Los Angeles area friends out there, and, due to the location, Ms. Beth Winton in particular.

Tonight I would like to introduce you to my new friend Samuel. Samuel is a 17 year old amigo hailing from Mexico City (or the D.F. as it is referred to here). I met him this afternoon along with three fellow travelers after they came into the Migrant Resource Center looking for some much needed food and rest. The four of them had crossed through the desert in New Mexico and had been walking for two days and nights when they were arrested by the Border Patrol. They told me that they plan to cross again tomorrow.

Samuel has been living in LA since May, but had to go home this month to take care of some things with his family. He´s anxious to get back to LA because he's a student at Belmont High School. He doesn´t like LA as much as Mexico City, but he likes learning English and playing on the soccer team. Keep your eyes out city of the angels, he's a determined and optimistic kid and I'm sure he'll arrive their very soon.

Qwack Qwack

Dear Cathy,

I did not fall off the edge of the earth. Well, not physically at any rate. I have pretty much neglected all of my Pomona friends however. Sorry 'bout that. I'm still working on how to make that one better. It is incredibly cold here as well and I have not finished installing my heaters. Seven blankets just doesn't compensate for no central heating and all tile flooring. Hugs and kisses.

Aaron

I went to college with a girl who did a really good impression of Mothra vs. Godzilla

Boundless Magazine is a webzine targetting college students and twentysomethings that was started by James Dobson's Focus on the Family. I read it regularly, and disagree with it more often than not, but I always find it a really enlightening glimpse into more conservative Evangelical Christianity in America. A really good way to keep my finger on the pulse, if you will.
There's a new post up over there written by Boundless regular Matt Kaufman called "Gays vs. The Garden Guy" (http://www.boundless.org/2005/articles/a0001402.cfm) I'm feeling too tired to summarize both the article and the event which sparked it, so please head over there and at least skim the post if you are going to read on.

From the start I was worried about what I would find in the article, largely because I took offense to the way that Kaufman used "Gays" in the title as a catch-all for everyone who identifies as homosexual. Really, all gays are against The Garden Guy? All? Also, did you know that Christians were in a war "vs." Gays. I didn't. Turns out we are. Actually, I thought Christians were supposed to be peacemakers, ones who would be called children of God, but apparently that's off base as well.

There are really two major problems with the way that Kaufman addresses this situation. The first is that he labels the actions of the Farbers and their company an appropriate Christian response. For a direct contradiction to this I would have him check out Matthew 9 and Jesus' relationship to a tax collector. Apparently refusing to interact or do business with people is the 21st Century version of loving your neighbors. Who knew.

The second major problem with Kaufman's assessment is that he gets all bent out of shape about the way in which "gay activists" are trying to steal freedom away from the Farbers. Now, freedon isn't a bad thing. Look at Galatians 5 (yeah Erik H.) to see Paul's very enthusiastic comments on freedom. No freedom isn't bad, but freedom isn't the be all end all for Christians either. Jesus is. So when Kaufman rails on about how the Farbers would be less free if they were forced to work for gay men, he misses the point entirely. The Farbers always had the freedom to love those two men, and they willingly gave it up. The Farbers always had the oppurtunity to love like Jesus, and they took a pass. All Christians do that far more often than we would like, but celebrating it is another matter.

Both Kaufman and the Farbers have made a tragic mistake. In an attempt to stand up for what they believe in and defend their right to do so, they have decided that love is in fact not the most important thing, but being right is. I have fallen victim to this same thinking more often than I care to admit, so let me be the first to say to both Matt and the Farbers, welcome to the club. Thankfully for them, and for me as well, forgiveness, love, and grace, are still included free of charge.

Did I Listen to Pop Music Because I Was Unhappy, Or Was I Unhappy Because I Listened to Pop Music?

I’ve been having a tough time lately. There’s really no better way to say it than that. I’ve been discouraged, depressed at points, and really just at a loss about a whole lot of things. And, appropriately enough, I’m not very happy about it. I’ve had a bunch of “blah” days, and a few more that were much worse. I spent some time thinking about whether or not I wanted to write something up about this and post it here. Obviously I have decided to do so, largely because I think it would be dishonest not to. I’ve been trying to present a sort of broad picture of my life and work here, using mostly anecdotes and personal interactions to paint, what is hopefully, a complex and diverse picture encompassing this place and these people. Without posts like these I fear that this story would be incomplete.

I’m not really going to go into a lot of specifics about what it is that is making me feel this way right now. Instead I want to talk about the impact that these events have had on my time here. I was catching up with a friend the other day when he asked me if I was ever going to come home. It was a hard question. The truth was, I desperately wanted to go home. I desperately wanted to be in a place that was my own and with people that loved me. But my response was something like, “No, I’m not coming home for at least six more months.” The thing is, if I went home, I’m not sure I’d be able to come back.

It’s hard here. All of the people that I love, and all of the work that I believe in, and often love to do, doesn’t take away the fact that it’s hard. It’s hard for both small reasons and big, but the cumulative effect is that on really bad days, it’s almost impossible to be here. Maybe it would feel impossible to be anywhere. I can’t say for sure. But it has felt impossible here.

I think it’s especially difficult to talk about having a hard time here because in a lot of ways it feels like defeat. For some reason I want to be able to, well, to conquer this place. That’s an ugly, militaristic word, but it seems appropriate here. I want to be able to face the injustice, the cultural shocks, the lack of heat, the absence of my friends, the absence of many things that I like to do for fun, the insane working hours, the constant instability, and the strong sense of isolation out here in the desert. I want to be able to face these things and thrive. Which, after listing some of those challenges, seems like a ridiculous desire, but it’s the desire that I’ve had.

I think this desire comes in part from a sense that I am doing what God called me to do. I don’t think I’ve received a lot of calls in my young life. I’m usually more inclined to think that God gives us a lot of freedom in our lives and asks us to be faithful in making decisions. That’s not why I ended up here in Agua Prieta though. I came here through a very specific call, and because of this I had some sense that I should be “successful” at it, that it would be less difficult somehow. That’s not really a biblical reading of a call, but it’s one that I have been pursuing. And it’s clearly not working out so well.

I’m pretty sure that it’s going to keep being hard for a little while to come, and in some ways, probably as long as I stay here. There are also some things I’m wrestling with that will possibly be very difficult long after I leave. So what do I do in the face of these difficult times and discouraging thoughts? That’s a challenge to all of us that’s not unique to me or to this place. The first thing that I’ve had to change because of this period has been my own reluctance to be honest about things. My desire for this year to be a challenging but fun experience left me denying some very obvious ways that I was hurting until they all sort of came crashing down at once. That hasn’t been helpful. I’ve also got to be more pro-active in making allowances for how hard things really are. I’ve been afraid that dwelling on the difficulties would make me depressed, but the truth is that not trying to mitigate them, or to enjoy myself more, has left me in a place where I’m not really sure what I would do for fun even if I got the chance. That’s not a good scene.

Ultimately, I don’t think that enjoying this year is too much to ask, especially since this work is related to things I might do for many years to come. It’s not comforting to think that misery is in your future long-term. However, I also don’t think that Jesus was joking about that whole picking up my cross thing. Far from it. I often suspect that, for believers in Jesus, if life is very difficult then we must be doing something right. Clearly this is not always true, but I believe it is true more often than we would like to admit.

The most important thing, as always, is that God is worthy of praise. If God is worthy when my life is great, then God has got to be worthy now, or God is not worth anything at all. So, in this, as in all things, God be praised.

By the by, the title for this post comes from High Fidelity. Nobody does neurotic unhappiness like John Cusack. Not Woody Allen, not even Moz. Johnny Boy holds it down.

World Aids Day

Just a little reminder that today is World Aids Day. I can't help but think about the people I met in Uganda living with Aids, or widowed/orphaned by the disease, or about Project Angel Food, a Los Angeles non-profit that cooks and delivers nutritious meals to people living with HIV/Aids.

What is especially tragic on this World Aids Day is that HIV/Aids, contrary to many predictions just a few years ago, is still spreading unabated. Estimates today are that 40 million people around the world are living with the disease. Well, 40 million people around the world have HIV/Aids. The ones who can afford the treatments or who are fortunate enough to receive them free are living with it, the rest are dying from it. And this number neglects the millions of orphaned children like those I met in Uganda and Rwanda who. It also fails to capture the incredible social burden that the loss of generations of people has on everyone living in a society.

Sadly, even though a great deal of progress has been made, HIV/Aids is still largely linked to gender in most parts of the world. Although I suspect that many people, and probably many Americans, still associate it with homosexuality, the reality is that the burden of HIV/Aids is largely carried by women and young girls. An article in the Times today (http://www.nytimes.com/2006/12/01/world/africa/01madagascar.html?_r=1&th&emc=th&oref=slogin) highlights the persistance of child sexual abuse in Sub-Saharan Africa, and its role in spreading the disease. This same risk is shared by married women, sex-workers (both enslaved and not), and women living in conflict zones, where rape is often used as a weapon of war, as it was in the Rwandan genocide, and is currently being used against women and girls in Northern Uganda and Southern Sudan.

I'm trying to decide what my pro-active choice is going to be today to combat this disease. I'm considering a donation to The ONE Campaign or to World Vision, although I have not decided ultimately where it will go. Please consider giving money today, and every day if possible. The task ahead of us is great, but the consequences far greater if we do nothing at all.

What a Man

Taken from a Relevant Magazine podcast interview done earlier this year with author and speaker Donald Miller:

"I like the way post-modernity is taking thought. I'm somebody who believes in absolute truth, but I don't believe in absolute truth in the way that, probably, the modern traditional evangelical believes in absolute truth. I believe in absolute truth in the way that Jesus defines absolute truth, in the sense that Jesus is asked what is truth, and He says 'I am.'"

-Don M.

That's so hot.

I propose that from now on when we say "The Donald" we agree that we are referring to Mr. Miller and not a NYC developer with a bad hair piece and a habit of marrying models.

Like Chores For the Internet

I have been meaning to update my links for a few weeks now and they are finally done.
I now have some music review sites, a whole bunch of blogs (from Christian to political to feminist), and a few webzines up there. If you get some time check those out. They are pretty well organized, more or less.

Sunday Music Video Blogging

In honor of the last concert I went to before wandering on down here to Meh-hee-koh I am posting a couple of really awesome videos from two incredible bands that I absolutely love.

This is the new video from The Format for their song "Dog Problems." This album is full of really great pop music with an orchestral bent, and the video is perfect for the song.



This link: http://www.tubopopcorn.com/mp4/anathallo/hanasakajijii.wmv takes you to a video that I put up last year on instant messenger. It is two songs performed by the band Anathallo, Hanasakajijii 1, and Hanasakajijii 4. Floating World was one of the best albums released in 2006. Do yourself a favor and check it out if you missed it the first time around.

Special thanks to Special K, E-Rick, The Legend, and Third Wheel for going to this concert with me and dancing to Anathallo when the rest of the crowd was being lame.

Kings to you Mr. Perica

My great friend Bryce Perica has once again improved my life by pointing out to me the incredible advantages of Blogger Beta.

The big news is that I just received a whole bunch of comments I had never seen before. Apparently you could leave them and they just never showed up. So, umm, thanks. I promise to respond from now on.

Almost as exciting: I now have labels! I feel all grown up in a blogging sense.

Meet Your Neighbors: Phoenix

Every Monday I spend, at a minimum, about eight hours working in the Migrant Resource Center. I've written about the MRC before, so for those of you just joining this little party you'll have to go back and find the explanation of what it is for some of this to make sense. Back to business. The result of this extended shift at the MRC is that I get to meet a lot of migrants on Monday, and often spend most of Tuesday distracted by thoughts of where those people are and what they are doing.

As a result I have decided to start a series of posts called "Meet Your Neighbors," where I introduce some new American residents that I have met, both as a way to process some of my experiences, and to share a little bit of these people's lives with all of you.

This inaugural edition of "Meet Your Neighbors" is aimed primarily at residents of Phoenix, Arizona, as that is where Rosa is headed today, God willing. Although I will give the real destinations and place of origin for everyone that I talk about here, I will change all names to protect their privacy.

Rosa comes from a small town in southern Mexico in the state of Puebla. She has lived in the United States with her husband for the past eight years, and now resides in Phoenix. Rosa had returned to Mexico about three weeks ago in order to attend the funeral of her older brother, who had died while living and working in North Carolina. Of Rosa's four siblings, only one still lives in Mexico, and at a great distance from their original hometown.

Rosa was caught on the American side of the border yesterday afternoon, and deported back to Mexico late last night. This is fairly common for many migrants, as they tend to cross in the late afternoon or early evening, and are often caught within a short distance of the border. What is so unusual about Rosa is that she had been crossing the desert without a Coyote, the name the Mexicans use for a paid guide. Instead she was accompanied by her two year old son Roberto, her ten month old baby, and a friend from Phoenix.

Rosa was not able to leave her children in the U.S. with her husband because of his work schedule and the fact that she is still nursing a very young child. She had risked this crossing to bury a beloved brother, and was returning only three weeks after she had left because she was worried about losing her own job bussing plates at an all-you-can-eat buffet. As I write this 24 hours after I met her, it is possible that Rosa and her children are still alone in the desert, still walking north towards the car that will come to pick her up. It is possible that she has been caught and deported again. It is entirely possible that something very bad has happened to her or her children. I'm praying that they are home safe.

As she was leaving last night, after I had given her some blankets and jackets, hats and socks, burritos, water, and tea, I had this moment where it was all I could do not to start crying. I had this moment where all I could think of doing was to beg for forgiveness. To get down on the floor and ask her to forgive me, forgive us, for making her risk her life and her children's lives in the desert just so she can bus my plates at a greasy spoon. I wanted her to tell me that I was forgiven. I wanted her to tell me that they would be all right. I wanted her to know that if I could have it any other way, I would. I wanted to feel better somehow.

Ultimately I didn't say any of those things. I told her "Vaya con Dios," go with God. Frankly, God's all she's got right now.

Buy Nothing Day

Ariah over at Trying to Follow (http://blog.iamnotashamed.net/2006/11/20/the-consequences-of-buying-everything) reminded me that Buy Nothing Day is coming up. I love Buy Nothing Day, not just as a way to think more deeply about consumption, but also as a way to avoid going anywhere that might involve shopping the day after Thanksgiving. Hell can't be any worse than Wal-Mart is going to be on Saturday.

I'm not actually sure that I´ll be able to participate in this, since my parents will be here, but I'd like to suggest it to you anyway. Actually, scratch that, they are taking me out to dinner, so technically I will buy nothing and they will buy me dinner. Sweet.

Also thanks to Ariah, here´s a little video for your viewing pleasure. It´s an interview with Adbusters founder Kalle Lasn from last year´s buy nothing day. I love him. I don´t know who that CNN woman is but I´m pretty sure that I hate her (in the Christian you're not supposed to hate people sense of the term, of course).



Apologies to Ariah since I basically stole his post, a huge blogging party foul, but I just really liked it. Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery...

I´m baaaack.

Guess who´s back, back again...
Sorry. Couldn´t resist.
Actually, I am back, and happy to be home again here in good ol´ dusty, dirty, Agua Prieta. I returned yesterday from a Presbyterian youth conference at a church in Chihuahua City, which is about eight hours drive from here farther into the interior of Mexico. This conference was a pretty big success compared to the last one I went to since I did not find myself on a date with anyone underage, nor did I badly damage the engine of the van that was supposed to take us there.

Instead I spent the weekend in what is easily one of the nicest cities I have ever been to in my life. No joke. Chihuaha is clean, economically prosperous, and culturally engaging. It was a side of Mexico that was completely new to me, i.e., where government works. That´s not to say it didn´t have its problems, but I won´t dwell on any of them as I was just so impressed with how amazing it was, especially in comparison to the other Mexican cities I have seen, and, well, Los Angeles, California. I love LA, but frankly, it´s pretty terrible.

Here is a picture of the Cathedral in the main plaza,
a beautiful building and a very active church.

I really did enjoy the weekend, but it was also very exhausting. As much as I would like to think that I just sort of fit in here, or that I´ve learned enough Spanish to make it almost all the time, being immersed in another culture is just hard, and having to do it 24 hours a day for three days straight doesn´t make it any easier. I don´t do very well around people for extended periods of time anyway, something that Mexican culture HIGHLY values, and the language and culture thing strain my endurance that much more. By the end of the weekend I was trying hard to appear polite while avoiding talking to anyone but some close friends. Good times, glad to be home.

Work starts again this week, but it´s going to be very interrupted by my Mom and Steve, who are coming for Thanksgiving. I´m really looking forward to having them here and integrating two parts of my life a little bit better. Other things on the too do list are contact people about Just Coffee, ease tensions with a very upset former drug addict, and try to get myself insured. Turns out I´m not. Oops.

I also have to distract myself from the fact that many of my best friends in the world are reuniting for a week of great food and good times in Longmont, CO. I miss them all dearly and am really glad that they will get to enjoy one another´s company, even if I do not.

"I've Been Reading Your Blog"

The title of the post says it all. This is probably going to be a little introspective and confessional, even by my standards, but I have been thinking a lot about it and I think it's important.

When I started this blog just a few short months ago I did it for pretty self-serving purposes. Basically, I wanted to be a better, more confident, and more faithful writer. I am, slowly but surely, meeting some of those goals. I started the blog for me, but along the way it has come to serve a lot of other useful purposes.

For example, since I started blogging my relationship with my parents has gotten better. Really. I can skip over some of the stories that I have already written about and get on to explaining more about how I feel about things. Unexpected, and great.

This blog has also been a soapbox of sorts, which I think all writing inevitably must be. I have been able to write a lot, although not as much as I would like, about my work and about border issues. Obviously I think that this is a good thing.

One of my bosses told me the other day that he wants to post a link to my blog from the Frontera de Cristo website, and give the URL in the quarterly newsletter. I didn't really know how I felt about that, and it instantly sent me back to questioning why it is I blog in the first place, what I blog about, and how I do it. I write some serious posts here and there, but I also make posts that only a small and self-selecting group would ever find interesting. The reality is that I started this blog for me, but my readership is surprisingly large. On the advice of my friend Bryce, a more seasoned blogger by far, I installed a stat-counter to tell me how many people visit this site, and where they come from. I confess that I don't really use it very much, but since I was going to write this post I opened it up today, and the results surprised me.

Here are just a few of the things I learned:
- Someone in England has read my blog.
- Lauren Brown (hi Lauren, I was actually just thinking about you!) has a blog, and links to this blog from her own. Her thoughts can be found at http://laurenbrown.typepad.com/weblog/
- More people than my mom, my dad, Bryce, and Mike Cruz, along with a few other usual suspects, are reading this blog. I have to say that I was actually very surprised by that.

I haven't really decided what, if any, changes I am going to make in light of these new discoveries, but I'm sure I will give it some serious thought. In the past weeks I have considered whether or not to blog about the elections, the arrest of Peter Kim, a former youth pastor, and how much I hate the NYTimes Select Edition. I haven't actually written any of those posts, nor am I sure that I will, but if and when I do I now know that apparently someone is reading.

I am aware that no one is commenting, and I have been told that my comments are broken, something I'm not sure how to fix. I have really enjoyed this sense of isolation, a sort of digital journaling where I send out information and no response ever comes. But this period is apparently over. A response is coming now, as I hear "I'm reading your blog" quite frequently, and the stats are telling me that this isn't a lie.

So I send out a question that no one can really respond to: Why do you come here, and what is it appropriate for me to say to you?

I think I'll stick with Wells Fargo...

Good ol' http://www.relevantmagazine.com posted a link to the following video, which I pass on for your viewing pleasure. Well, not pleasure really, more like entertainment. Well, it's actually sort of boring, but...well, watch and you'll see.



For those of you unable to watch the video, or unable to stomach watching the whole thing, I'll give you a little play by play. Against better judgment, or perhaps as an affront to class and good taste, two employees at Bank of America decided it would be a great idea to defile the song "One" by U2, and to play it at a corporate meeting for who knows how many staff members.

In the interest of journalistic integrity I will admit to "One" as being high on the list of my favorite songs of all time. U2 has written some good tracks in their day, but nothing that even comes close to competing with one. The combination of its composition and lyrics leaves nothing to be desired. I think of it as a perfect song. But I digress...back to the bloodbath. In my humble opinion these two banking "professionals" actually pulled off a pretty impressive cover of the song. The guitar was understated and the singing was, to be honest, very good. It was changing the lyrics that really signalled their doom.

Here are a couple of select passages that I particularly enjoyed:

"And we’ll make lots of money, forever I can sing about trusting and teamwork and doing the right thing. We’ll live out our core values while the competition crawls."

"One bank. One card. One name that’s known all over the world."

I could write all day about this video. I could talk about what an poweful example of cultural appropriation this is, especially coming from a massive, faceless corporation. I could talk about how awful it is that they changed the lyrics to this particular song, especially since they changed them to sing the praises of corporate banking and making money. I could write about these things, but I want to post something else. Instead I will just say this: Did they actually get a standing ovation?

"Duty is the pilot light of passion."

Bart Campolo, who writes down his thoughts, conveniently enough, over at http://www.batcampolo.com, has left up a really brief but really important post about the place of duty and passion in our daily lives.

He writes that "Passion waxes and wanes…motives are always mixed…but the kid still needs to get tutored, the old lady still needs a visit, the food still needs to be delivered. Do the right thing anyway, out of duty…and sometimes, in the midst of the dutiful act, the kid ‘gets it’, the old lady feels loved, the hungry delight in being fed, and in that moment of secondhand joy, something goes off in your heart and reminds you of why you thought this stuff was so important way back when you were passionate…and you are again."

I think that this sums up something that I have been thinking about in my own life, and a struggle that I have from time to time about the decisions that I make and the work that I do.
The thing is, I am passionate about a lot of things. One of the things I am most passionate about is justice. I always have been as far as I can tell. This passion has brought me to a lot of interesting places, and into a lot of interesting situations. I am blessed to have such a passion and to be able to share it with those around me (whether they want me to or not).

There's a big problem with this, however, and Bart hits the nail right on the head. Passion can make us do something initially, but it is almost always insufficient to make us see that thing through to the end. Passion can give us a conviction that we ought to do something, but it cannot make us do it when we just don't feel like it that day. In other words, passion often fades when it is confronted with the often gritty reality of daily life.

I have certainly found this to be true in my own life, and it continues to be true here in Agua Prieta. In theory I love the work that I am doing, and the work that I have chosen to do, but in practice it can seem more like torture than a calling. There are days, sometimes weeks, where I find myself wishing to be someplace else with some other people, doing something a lot more, well, a lot more normal. I think a lot of these feelings are pretty natural. The truth is, I love a lot of the things I have left behind. I love A LOT of people who are not here with me, and who would make my life that much more enjoyable if they were. And I can't escape the fact that I have chosen what is often a really hard job, and a really hard way of life. I don't always have a lot of time or money or freedom of choice. I don't live in the culture, or the country, in which I was brought up. I can't do many of the things that make me happy or feel relaxed. But it is a way of life I believe in. And I also can't escape the fact that, all of this excluded, everyone, at one point or another, wishes their lives were different in some way.

Ultimately, this is my choice, and I really like doing it, but sometimes I keep on doing it not because I want to, but because it is the commitment I have made. Bart is right when he says that duty is the pilot light of passion. More often that not I find myself really enjoying what I am doing, even if it didn't seem like I would. I do things out of duty that end up fueling the original passion that I had. I attribute this to a generous and loving God, but I trust that doesn't surprise anyone. In my present season of life I have agreed to do a specific job for a specific period of time, and I imagine that I am being prepared for a future without a forseeable ending and with fewer boundaries and guidelines. I expect I will have passion for what I am doing in future seasons of my life, but I also expect that I will need a sense of duty and commitment to carry them through to whatever end.

I have experienced both duty and passion today, I pray you have as well.

Dear Minutemen: Those Tanks Don't Pay for Themselves.

Sitting in front of me, right next to my keyboard and a "Happy Secretary's Day" commemorative coffee mug, is a nice little copper colored bullet. I'm not sure what caliber it is as I have limited experience with small arms (and very little experience with any real guns to be honest), but as far as I can tell it is probably the spent shell of a .38. This bullet was given to me on Wednesday by a woman I work with. It was found in the desert outside of Naco, Sonora where it was embedded in the plastic of one of the water tanks used by Agua Para la Vida. Apparently another tank had been shot as well, but that was done with a shotgun and so no bullets were recovered. I have been told that the tanks we sent to replace the ones that were shot have had their taps stolen, rendering them useless.

Agua Para la Vida is an organization very close to my heart. I spend at least one solid day a week out in the desert with the water truck making sure that our tanks don't go dry. Agua Para la Vida is a good thing. It is a coalition of groups including Frontera de Cristo (where I work), CRREDA (a Mexican drug and alcohol rehabilitation center), No More Deaths ( an umbrella organization combatting deaths on the U.S./Mexican border), and Healing Our Borders (a local NGO), among others. The idea behind Agua Para la Vida is pretty simple. Basically, over the past several years, hundreds of people here in Cochise County, and thousands of people nationally, have died in the deserts as they were attempting to cross into the United States without documentation. These people have died, and continue to die, of both exhaustion and hypothermia, but primarily they have been dying of dehydration.

Agua Para la Vida, literally Water for Life, tries to address this problem by leaving tanks of water out in the desert outside of the Mexican towns of Agua Prieta and Naco. The goal of Agua Para la Vida is to have water available to migrants who are thinking about crosssing so that they do not suffer from dehydration, or to migrants who have become lost and are in need of water. While there is a legitimate argument to be made that we aid in illegal immigration, our goal is strictly to prevent further deaths. I'm not talking about dangerous criminals here, I'm talking about men, women, and children.

We put out the tanks and fill them with water to stop people from dying. Someone shot two of those tanks. Should I read these actions as support by the shooter(s) for people dying in the desert? Despite the title of the post, I am not going to accuse anyone of doing this. I have my suspicions, but nothing even close to something resembling proof. Plus, let's face it, there are a lot of people wandering around out there in the desert with guns. I will say this, however: the two tanks that were shot are the only tanks that we have which are easily visible from the United States, and are in fact only about twenty or thirty feet away from the border.

Isn't it usually considered war when one country shoots at another one?

Friday Picture/Meghan/Puppy Blogging

Umm, these pictures aren't really going to help you understand my life that much better, but they sure are cute.

This is Estrella, Mark and Miriam's puppy. I love her.



This is Meghan, my fellow intern and partner in crime. She is neat.



This is a totally appropriate bumper sticker that I saw the other day. I am in fact reading Pride and Prejudice RIGHT NOW. Yeah, the hair's a little out of control.

Three posts in one day? This is sooo worth it.

I am in love.

Dear family, if you are considering getting me a Christmas present, this one would be a good bet.
I have some of these songs already, but not nearly all of them, and not in such spectacular packaging.

Link to buy: http://www.asthmatickitty.com/music.php?releaseID=63

Shameless? Perhaps. Effective? God I hope so.

For the rest of you, head over to that link as well to stream those songs. Sufjan and Christmas are such wonderful bedfellows.

Seriously, what are the chances of this?

My dear sponsee Cathy, who I have a deep love for, informed me via the miracle that is the facebook that I have something of a doppleganger here on the old world-wide-web.

Apparently if you visit http://www.throughtincansandstring.blogpsot.com you get quite a different little website than the one you find here.

This is the actual description of the site:
"A mega-site of Bible, Christian and religious information and studies; including, audio and written KJV Bible, churches, doctrine, links, news, prayer, prophecy, sermons, spiritual warfare, statistics & tracts. Features Chronological 4 Gospels, Prayer Book, Prophecy Bible, and a photo
tour of Israel. By God's mercy, one of the largest Bible-centered sites on the web (app. 6000 pgs). If it's in the Bible, it should be on this site."

Now, based on the fact that I am a bit of a self-proclaimed Godbag already (read a few posts below) and the fact that the difference between this link and my own is the change of blogspot to blogpsot, I have a feeling that there is some sort of tomfoolery at work here. I promise a full investigation. If I have the time. Maybe.

Oh hell, I'll probably just laugh about it some more.

That's My Representative!

Via Jim Marshall over at Talking Points Memo I bring you this incredible clip of my very own Representative Marilyn Musgrave.



I didn't actually get the chance to vote against her, as they sent my absentee ballot to the wrong place and my dad had to fill it out for me (shhh...I think that's against the law), but Bryce Perica, a true gentleman and scholar has promised to send some satisfaction my way when he votes against her. Thanks Bryce.

Paz Sea

I've been having a pretty great week so far, which is a relief because last week was probably one of the most difficult since I have been here.

I spent what was a pretty relaxed weekend puttering around a book/record/organic clothing store in Bisbee, and taking a group of high school students from New Mexico out into the desert with a group of recovering drug addicts from Mexico. I would include both of these on my top 50 favorite things to do in life.

I also spent the weekend persistently harassed by various law enforcement agencies, which has become an increasingly large problem in my life. On an average day in college, where I rarely drove, or an average day in Longmont, where I drove quite often, my encounters with law enforcement were brief at best, often little more than a passing glimpse of a squad car, and a quick check to make sure I wasn't doing more than ten miles per hour over the limit. Here on the border guys with guns have become a fairly constant part of my everyday existence.

Here's a case study over the course of a weekend:

Thursday- Stopped in the desert by a patrol from the Mexican Army, complete with hummer and rifles.

Friday- Stopped by U.S. Customs and Immigration at the border for a check on my identification, citizenship, and criminal record.

Saturday- Stopped in the desert once more by the same Mexican Army patrol. Questioned more thoroughly about why we were there. Questioned by U.S. Customs and Officials at the border where my car was searched. Stopped by U.S. Border Patrol on the highway because my rear lights were not working. Asked about my citizenship.

Sunday- Stopped by U.S. Customs and Immigration at the border and questioned about my citizenship, residency, and status of my identification cards.

I suppose that a logical response to all of this law enforcement could be a feeling of overall safety and security. Outside of Baghdad this has got to be the most heavily patrolled U.S. territory in the world. The thing is, safety and security is not really the feeling that I get. Instead I find myself becoming increasingly paranoid, scared of these officials. I often feel like I am about to be arrested for something even though I have done nothing wrong.

To explain this I have to go back a little bit and say something about immigration and border policy. In order to combat the twin scourges of illegal immigration and illegal drug smuggling the U.S. government has granted a wide range of powers to a large number of law enforcement agencies. Border Patrol trucks are everywhere in Douglas, along with Customs trucks, Police cruisers, National Guard vehicles, and Cochise County Sherrif SUV's. The County Sherrif's officers are particularly intimidating because instead of shotguns they carry AK-47's. There are Blackhawk Helicopters. There are cameras. And believe it or not, they are watching.

The other day a friend crossed the border and gave his ID to the U.S. Customs and Border Official. "Mr. Bassett," he said, "Where do you work sir?" With Just Coffee, my friend replied. "I already knew that," the agent sneered, "Your name was included in a recent intelligence update." Seriously, I'm not making this stuff up.

For a while I have been comforting myself by saying that I have done nothing illegal here in the United States, that I am a citizen in good standing, and that if it comes down to it I have the money for a lawyer. I have told myself all of these things to keep the fear at bay. This is totally ridiculous. If I am this nervious/afraid/whatever of these officials, how afraid would I be if I wasn't so white/rich/educated/generally anti-authoritarian/working for people who would bail me out? Have we come to a point in America where the price of security is a state of fear?

I try to remind myself that I am not an American, I am a follower of Christ who happened to be born in America. I love some things about this country, and there are more than a few that I hate, but all of this masks a more profound and important truth in my life. I love the Gospel and everything that it stands for, and that's where my allegiance should be. This does not mean that I ignore the clear benefits I receive from citizenship, or somehow reduce my responsibility for seeking justice in the land of my birth, but it does mean that ultimately this place is not my home.

And I have begun thinking about something else as well. At the end of John's biography on the life of Jesus, after his death and resurrection, Jesus meets with his disciples in a house where they are hiding from the Jewish authorities. In this time of persecution, and among a great deal of fear, Jesus's words to his followers are simple and clear: Paz sea con ustedes. Peace be unto you. From now on I have decided to live like I believe what he said. In the presence of guns I'm going to live at peace. Peace be unto you as well.

Careful What You Ask For

Inspiration has struck in a most unexpected way.

A large part of my job here in Mexico is helping to coordinate and spending time at the Migrant Resource Center. The MRC is on the Mexican side of the border in a shopping center that you walk past just after crossing over from the United States. It was created by a colatition of organizations, including Frontera de Cristo, No More Deaths, and others, but is now run largely by Frontera and the Sagrada Familia Catholic Church in Agua Prieta. The point of the center is to assist migrants who have just been deported back to Mexico by the Border Patrol. Most of our clients are people that have been caught that day in the desert, detained, questioned, documented, and dropped back off at the border. Occasionally we get people who have been caught recently in the interior of the United States. Last week I talked with a group of men who had been stopped in Colorado for having a broken tail light and had been handed over to the Border Patrol by the local Sheriff.

The MRC is primarily an information center, a place where migrants can debrief their experiences a little bit, learn about their rights, and get a sense of where they are and what resources are available to them. Although some of the migrants have spent time in Agua Prieta before crossing, many are being deported after being caught elsewhere along the border, or never really knew where they were when they began crossing in the first place. These people are often very confused about where they are and are surprised when they learn the truth. We also document abuses that the migrants have suffered, whether by government officials, smugglers, or general thiefs. The other thing that the center does is to provide food and basic medical attention. Many people have been detained for long periods of time without eating or drinking anything, in addition to the difficult time that they spent crossing in the desert. Other people have blisters from walking, cuts from the mesquite bushes, or twisted ankles from jumping over fences.

On Monday night I was working the late shift at the Center with my friend Febe. At about midnight a group of migrants came in who had just been deported, including a very distraught man named Emmanuel. We learned that Emmanuel had come from the south of Mexico with an 11 year old boy named Jonathan, who was the grandson of his neighbor. Jonathan's parents were already living in Florida and had asked Emmanuel to bring their son with him when he crossed. Emmanuel was to bring Jonathan to Florida before meeting up with his wife and daughter, both U.S. citizens, in New York City. Both Emmanuel and Jonathan had been captured in the desert earlier that day by the Border Patrol. Emmanuel told us that Jonathan had been very scared and had sobbed as he was taken and separated from Emmanuel, who had not seen him since. At the Border Patrol station Jonathan's papers had been taken from Emmanuel and were not given back when he was deported. Likewise, the Border Patrol would not permit Emmanuel to speak with Jonathan or even find out where he was or what they were going to do with him.

On top of all this, Emmanuel now had no money, no place to go, and faced a surprisingly cold night on the streets of AP. After my initial reaction of sadness mixed with a lack of surprise and a great deal of regret about the actions of my government, I set out to find where Jonathan had gone, and how to get the papers that had been taken from Emmanuel back. Long story short, I took some swings and I struck out. An hour later Emmanuel still had nothing, and Febe and I were growing very tired. We discovered that the only migrant shelter in town that accepts men at night was locked, with no guard to be found. After a good deal of debate about what the best plan of action was, Emmanuel came back to my apartment, took a cold shower, and slept on my couch.

The next day we began the process of visiting the agencies, children's shelters, and banks necessary to find Jonathan, establish his legal standing, and get Emmanuel some money. After an hour of searching we found Jonathan at a center for migrant children where he had been sent after being deported back to Mexico. After three hours of waiting we learned that legally there was nothing Emmanuel could do for Jonathan as he was not a blood relative. After another hour of phone calls we were able to get some money sent to Emmanuel. We left him at 5 p.m., 17 hours after we had met, waiting for a bus that was going to take him to Nogales and some friends of his father. Jonathan will remain at the children's center until his parents or grandparents can come and get him.

That was a very brief, and very understated account of the events and actions that took place during my time spent with Emmanuel. It leaves out a great deal of information regarding the people, agencies, cultural realities, lack of resources, and legal procedures that we navigated in order to do the little that we were able to accomplish. My hope is not to explain all of that, although that certainly would be nice, but to give some context for my personal response to this situation.

Let me start by saying this: It is not love if it does not require you to change. I went to the MRC on Monday expecting to give out some coffee and burritos, direct migrants to the proper agencies, and come home by one or two in the morning so I could get some much needed rest. I did not expect to bring a stranger home to sleep in my house, or to give up my day off so that I could sift through bureaucracy. I did not expect for my life to be complicated. I did not think I would really have to love. And there is a sad reality that I faced about myself. Before I decided to bring Emmanuel home and involve myself in his problems, before I gave him some of my own clothes and all of my day off, after I realized what a tough spot he was in but before I really tried to fix it, I considered doing nothing at all.

My official responsibility to him ended when he left the center. It was a cold night, but I had given him a blanket and morning was fast approaching anyway. By many standards I had already come a long way to love him, already left my own country, already stayed up into the night to await his arrival, already called consulates and tried to find him a place to stay. But I had yet to love him. I had yet to change my plans, to alter my life because of his presence in order to better serve him. And I will tell you this: if Febe had not been there I might have left it at that. I am proud of the work that we were able to do, and that in some small ways I was able to help out a brother in a real time of need, but I have to be honest in saying that at the time I really didn't want to. I wanted to love, but I certainly didn't want it to be unconditional. I don't know how many times I have heard the story of the Good Samaritan and thought "how hypocritical of those 'holy' Jews to just pass him by in his time of need!" How hypocritical indeed.

Which leads me to this: the Gospel is hard, and it is not made easier when it confronts the daily indignities of life in a place like the border. What Emmanuel wanted to do might have been "criminal," but it was not unreasonable. When my own family moved to Colorado, a move instigated by the prospect of a new job, my parents left me and my sister behind while they searched for a house and began to form a new life. What makes Emmanuel's story different is that in this new global economy products, investments, information, and resources flow across borders with increasingly fewer limitations, while human beings are becoming increasingly illegal and unwanted. Each and every one of us who professes a belief in a risen Christ must answer the question "What does the Gospel mean when it is faced with this?"

When given the oppurtunity to speak the Gospel of love, I almost didn't. Thanks be to God for Febe who refused to give up when I would have. I feel blessed for the time I was given with Emmanuel and the things I learned about Jesus and about myself. And that leaves me with this: The next time I am given the oppurtunity to love, and I pray it will be soon, I intend to love abundantly, willingly, and joyfully. I expect I will have to change and I expect it to have a cost.

That's just sad and creepy.

Thanks to Ariah Fine over at http://blog.iamnotashamed.net/ for posting this video.



It's an amazing look at what advertisers to men, but mostly to women, and to our perceptions of beauty, reality, and ourselves.

One further comment is that this film was sponsored by a campaign launched by Dove Soap, a company that I would argue has been complicit in this form of advertising as well. Just something to think about.

A little musical update

One of the things that I really wish I had down here is a record store. Even a crappy one would do, but a great one would be oh so sweet. I do have Wal-Mart, but since I refuse to shop there it doesn't really help me out to much.

Enter the internet.

Through the miracle of the internet I have been spinning some pretty cool stuff recently. I wanted to highlight just one of those things, The Hold Steady.

These guys are fun and just put out a killer album. His voice takes some getting used to, but once you do you just can't stop listening.

Turn up the speakers and dance at http://www.purevolume.com/theholdsteady, but make sure you listen to Citrus before you decide they aren't for you.

"I've had kisses that made Judas seem sincere." Wow, that's killer stuff.

This IS Mexico, right?

So here's the deal:

There's a lot of heavy stuff going on around here. Heavy as in "Wow, I'm thinking a lot about death in the desert and global economics and massive drug smuggling." That kind of heavy. It's so heavy around here that I'm having a very hard time processing it, and as a result I am having a very hard time writing about it. I would really like to leave another serious post about the border here for you to read, but it's just not coming. If this dry spell lasts any longer I'll just force something, but I care about these things and I would really rather have inspiration strike.

Instead I am going to write a little bit about culture shock, adjustment, and delicious carne asada tacos.

To really explain this I have to go back to August and the strange relationship I was having with food. Knowing that I was coming to spend a year here in Agua Prieta I wanted to make sure that I got to eat all those delicious foods that I would not have access to in the next twelve months. High on my priority list were Ethiopian, Thai, Japanese, Chinese, and Chipotle. Thanks be to God, I actually got to eat all of those. The weird thing is that while I was gorging on these incredible meals the only thing I REALLY wanted to eat was Mexican food. I craved it. Nothing else tasted quite as good. At the time I thought that this strange occurrence was a good sign for the coming year. If I wanted Mexican food that badly I hoped that I wouldn't get sick of it.

Fast forward to now. Here's an unexpected truth: I don't actually eat Mexican food. Well, let me clarify that. I eat Mexican food, but not the Mexican food that I thought I was going to eat. Big difference. It turns out that the Mexican food I imagined eating was a strange combination of Los Angeles Mexican and Chipotle bastardized Mexican, neither of which really exists down here. So while I do eat a lot of rice and beans and tortillas, I have to go out of my way, sadly enough, to get some delicious carne asada.

Yesterday I was rushing around town trying to get things done, not an unusual part of my every day life around here, but made more important because I was in a particular hurry. I needed to be at my apartment by noon in order to meet the gas truck and finally end two months of no cooking and cold showers. The only thing I had left to do before heading to the apartment was grabbing some lunch. Since I don't have gas to cook, and don't really have a working fridge, I don't keep a lot of food in the house outside of some granola and a few Swiss Cake Rolls. Since this is Mexico, and time is, let's say, flexible, if I didn't eat before going to my house and they didn't show up until much later than promised then chances are I would be a very hungry Aaron. This has happened to me several times, I know to fear it happening again.

My friend Hermano Angel was driving me around town on my errands, an unusual luxury, and everything had been going great until the lunch errand arrived. He asked me what I wanted to eat and, having craved them for the better part of two weeks, I immediately answered carne asada tacos. I still hadn't found a good place in AP to get any and I was hoping to kill two birds with one stone by finding one and testing out the goods. This is when the problems started. The first problem was that I wanted carne asada tacos. There are taco stands in AP, but most of them specialize in tongue or head or chicken, really anything except for carne asada. We drove across town looking for specifically carne asada stands, which is when we encountered our second problem.

Taco stands in AP don't open until noon. AP isn't really a big business community, there aren't a ton of people supporting random restaurants, and as a result they really don't stay open all day. Lunch is also, I learned, not the traditional time for tacos here. Breakfast? Sure. Dinner? Absolutely. Lunch? No way Jose. This is when I just about lost it. All I wanted was to grab some delicious carne asada tacos and get to my house so that I could take a hot shower (you'd be surprised by how cold the nights are around here lately). Was that so much to ask? Venting my frustration I blurted out "Why can't this city just have any taco stands that sell carne asada and are open when you need them? In the U.S. you can buy pretty much whatever food you want from whatever restaurant unless it is really early or really late."

And that's when I realized how badly I was experiencing culture shock. My expectations simply did not match up with the reality of the place where I live. I expected Mexico to have carne asada in a plentiful supply whenever it was most convenient for me, and the fact that they didn't was just unexceptable. It would be so much better in America. I think I actually laughed out loud at myself. It's always good to realize that you are being unreasonable.

My happy ending is this: I got delicious carne asada at a reasonable price. I was late to my apartment because we spent an hour looking for it, but so was the gas company, and God willing I will have a hot shower tonight. Finally, I learned that what I imagined Mexico to be and what it is are different and I need to appreciate that.

It doesn't mean I'm going to stop looking for good carne asada that opens before noon though.

Just Wanted to Share

I have really liked this picture since I first saw it a few years ago. Since coming down here I have thought about it often and just thought it might be nice to share.

Don't Let's Go to the Dogs Tonight

Of the millions of tv commercials that I have seen in my lifetime few come to mind as easily as the Nike Soccer advertisement I saw several years back. The ad showed a young boy (from what was clearly a Latin American country) going to the store and buying a large piece of meat. He brought the meat home and rubbed it all over his soccer ball, proceeded to the alley behind his house, and practiced his soccer skills by running through the streets of town with dogs chasing at his heels.

After living in both Uganda and Mexico I can safely say that this advertisement is deeply, deeply, flawed. I'd use a stronger word for it but I like to think of this as a family site.

First things first, no human being in their right mind would choose to be chased by dogs in the third world. Why? That's a great question that deserves a closer look.

For starters, dogs in the third world are plentiful. Very plentiful. I personally attribute this problem as a failure of American leadership, particularly by the American media. The simple truth is that Bob Barker hasn't gotten The Price is Right syndicated in enough markets. Sure, everyone in the U.S. knows to spay and neuter those pets, but what about the poor schlub in Niger? Without spayed and neutered pets those dogs are free to roam around the city scoring with any dalmation or chow that happens to saunter by.

Which leads me to another great point. Dogs that have not been neutered tend to be more aggressive than dogs that have. Not only are there tons of dogs out there breeding and creating a whole bunch more dogs, they are all much more aggressive.

Finally, dogs tend tend to be a really great security system and an excellent deterrent against theft. Lots of people choose to keep their dogs behind fences so that they only attack people who venture inside the property line. A much more effective system is to let your dog, properly trained to hate strangers, roam around freely in the street outside your house and indiscriminately harass, attack, and bite anyone passing through.

Let's review the simple math here:

Living in the (semi-)third world + the presence of many (sometimes aggressive) street dogs + the presence of several highly aggressive guard dogs = a somewhat dangerous and scary daily bike commute.

Since coming to Aqua Prieta I have been chased by no fewer than 20 and no more than 40 dogs. I would guess that about 15 of those dogs have gotten close enough to bite me, but thankfully none of them have. I have begun carrying rocks with me in my left hand to "discourage" dogs who are chasing me from continuing to do so. Even with the rocks there have been a few dogs intrepid enough to keep up their pursuit. I keep praying that I won't end up with a rabies shot.

When I pass a dog in the street I am running a mental checklist in my mind to try and figure out whether or not it is going to chase me. The checklist looks something like this:

More likely to be chased:
The dog looks like it is well fed and has a home
The dog is sitting outside a particular building
The dog appears interested in what I am doing
The dog comes out in the street

Less likely to be chased:
The dog looks skinny
The dog appears afraid of me or avoids getting too near
The dog appears to be pregnant or to have just given birth
The dog is walking down the middle of the street

The dogs can be so bad that we have an established system for riding bikes in groups. When riding in a group it is polite to go last, as the last person is more likely to get hit by a car, and is also more likely to be chased by a dog that has been roused by the first riders. Mark's daughter Cindy tells me that if I want to be a "caballero," a gentlemen, I should always go last.

The thing that really bothers me about the dogs is that it makes my commute just a little bit less enjoyable, especially at night when I am all alone. In the ten blocks between Mark's house and my own it is not uncommon for me to see twenty or thirty dogs. I am always grateful when I arrive at my door unscathed.

That's It, I'm Moving to Mexico. Wait...

Well, as predicted by yours truly, the Senate has passed the "immigration" bill authorizing a fence along 1/3 of the U.S./Mexican border and funding it to the tune of 1.2 billion dollars. Between this bill and the anti-terror bill this week has been a monumental failure of public policy by the United States Senate. I'm pretty disappointed. Here's what disappoints me even more: if the Democrats win control of this distinguished body in November then there is a good chance, at least in this regard, that it will be more of the same. The vote to authorize the fence was 80-19. Not much of a fight by anyone's standards.

I Am a Derek Webb Fanboy

The title of the post says it all.

Everything except for this: Derek Webb, former member of Caedmon's Call, and currently an amazing folk/country/indie/rock/whatever solo artist, is giving away his latest album. On the internet. Free. Yeah, free. I love him so much.



Click that link, go download this thing, and then buy his other stuff. You won't regret it.

I <3 Good Public Policy

Today the Senate is voting on a piece of legislation that has already passed the House of Representatives two times. This means, for those of you who weren't government majors and who slept through civics, that it is this vote and a signature by the President of the United States away from becoming law.

I wish I could inform you that what they are voting on is a comprehensive bill addressing immigration in the United States, but that would be a lie. What they are voting on is a proposal to spend several years and several billion dollars building a 700 mile extension on the fence that currently separates the U.S. from Mexico. If you want to see the specifics of the bill you can do so by heading to http://www3.capwiz.com/c-span/issues/bills/?billtype=H.R.&billnumb=6061&congress=109. By now I hope you've figured out that I think this is a bad idea. To get a sense of why let's start by taking a step back and looking at some history.

Prior to the early 1990's the U.S./Mexican border had almost always been a pretty fluid place. Workers, especially seasonal migrants who would work in agriculture, passed easily from one country to the next. No one considered a secure border to be either a possibility or a necessity. It was in El Paso, Texas that this started to change.

It used to be that the border patrol would deport people back to their country of origin when they were found to be in the country illegally. What happened in El Paso during the early 1990's was that they decided to shift their policy to something that they named Operation Gate Keeper. The premise of Operation Gate Keeper was simple. The border patrol in El Paso knew that it would be impossible for them to keep illegal immigrants out of the United States entirely, but they figured that it would be possible to do it in El Paso.

To accomplish this they set up what was basically a goal line defense in football. Agents would station themselves along the border facing Mexico, each vehicle being responsible for making sure that no one crossed between themselves and the next vehicle. Not surprisingly, this policy actually worked. People in El Paso were ecstatic that they no longer had immigrants running through their back yards at all hours of the day and night.

Not surprisingly, after Operation Gate Keeper was established in El Paso, and later in San Diego, it did not stem the tide of immigration, it simply diverted it to other places. One of those places was right here in Aqua Prieta/Douglas. The tragedy of Operation Gate Keeper in this place, and in many others, is that by cutting off the safer routes of travel through towns and ranches it pushes people further out into the wilderness where they try to cross in areas like deserts and rivers, often with lethal consequences. Making it harder to cross the border in one place doesn't stop people from crossing, it just makes it much more difficult to do so, and much more lethal.

And this is why a 700 mile extension won't work. 700 miles is nowhere close to the amount of fencing you would need to completely secure the border (something I don't believe is possible with any amount of fence, but more on that later). 700 miles is enough to stop people from crossing in habitated areas, and this is a big problem. The more remote the crossing place, the greater the risk of injury or death to the migrant.

In addition to this problem, this legislation further promotes a public policy that is both morally and practically bankrupt. Not only will it increase the number of dead immigrants, it will also fail to solve the immigration "crisis." It will not make America "safer," and it will not address the economic realities that bring people to this country. Instead it will waste several years, several billion dollars, and many lives.

I pray that tomorrow the Senate rejects this bill, and if they do not, that the President does not sign it. I fear that if it passes we will find ourselves a few years from now building yet another fence, desperately trying to keep people out.

This Could Have Been A Chapter in My Thesis

Hey friends. I have been especially busy of late, something that I keep saying, and which continues to be true. I have so many things I want to write here and I am hoping that in the next few weeks I will have the time to do that.

Today I want to post this article http://www.salon.com/mwt/feature/2006/09/13/righteous/index.html for your reading pleasure. It is a fascinating look at young Christians in America through the lens of Mars Hill church in Seattle.

I was riveted, shocked, frightened, and inspired by what I read there. I hope you find it challenging as well.

All the Girls Pose the Same For Pictures, All the Boys Have the Same Girls' Hair

I have come to Agua Prieta so many times now that the trips just sort of blend together. I remember distinct people, events, construction projects, etc., but most of what I remember are just feelings and impressions. It is interesting to be back in this place after almost five years, to see what things have changed, and how that is impacting the community.

One of the things that has really descended on this place in a fundamentally new way is American culture. I can remember being younger and laughing at the things that the Mexican kids were obsessed with, like a deep love for Michael Jackson well into the mid-90's. That time has passed, and today Agua Prieta is steeped in the culture of Puma shoes, "emo" haircuts, and yes, even someguys wearing girls' jeans. The other night I went to a carnival that, for the most part, could have been in Los Angeles.

I have travelled a fair amount in my life, although still not as much as I would like, and I am hardly surprised by the presence of American culture here. If anything, it's shocking that it has taken this long for a place this close to the United States to be so transformed. However, there is something fundamentally unsettling about how close the appearance of all these kids are to those in the mall back home.

There is a great mystery to be solved underneath the slick exterior of fashion t-shirts and hipster jeans: Where is all this money coming from?

Agua Prieta has come a long way economically in the past few years, something that I will talk about later, but it is by no means a wealthy city. The average daily salary for someone working in a factory here is $5 plus bonuses. That's an awful lot of work to buy your kids new Converse All-Stars. I'm going to leave you to contemplate how these kids are paying to look so good, but I promise to return soon with more posts on Mexican Independence, the economics of migration, and the roaming street dogs that are the bane of my existence.

You're Going to Mexico? Why?

Hey folks.

Sorry about my absence. For those of you who checked and found nothing new, I have been incredibly busy the past few days and haven't had a chance to write down the few posts that have been stirring around in my brain. However, in the next few weeks you should expect posts on the economics of border crossing, global youth culture, and the ethics of work. Fun stuff.

For today I want to leave you with my recently completed job description. Many of the names and acronyms probably won't mean anything to you, but it will at least give you a better sense of what I spend my time on and a frame of reference for future posts. It's decently long, sorry about that.


Position Description
Aaron Boeke, Year-Long Intern

Revised August 2006

1. Work with US and Mexican Coordinators to organize and facilitate the Mission
Delegation Ministry, including assisting the Administrative Assistant with preparing invoices, list of meals and stays in the Community Center, and sending invoices, schedules, and list of meals and stays to the Mexican Coordinator, US Coordinator, etc.
-assisting the Administrative Assistant with making appointments for groups at the Community Center with the Community Center Administrator (currently Ramona)
-assisting the Administrative Assistant with preparing folders suitable to the groups interests, including maintaining the availability of items for folders on an ongoing basis
-serving as the liaison to the groups’ leaders during the planning process
-maintaining the spreadsheet of information for groups planning to visit
-making appointments for the Mission Education ministry visits, such as trips to the desert, visits to migrant centers and the Migrant Resource Center, visits to Just Coffee, visits to ranchers, CRREDA, etc.
-conducting some of the above visits
-leading group discussions and informing groups about the history, politics and economy of the Border
-directing group reflections on the groups’ border experiences
-Provide evaluations to with contact information to the Administrative Assistant so that she can add names to the database.

2. Participate regularly in the life of the First Presbyterian Church of Douglas, including preaching on occasion, assisting with Vacation Bible School, and other programs, projects and ministries as needed. Maintain working relationship with Pastor Carlos Montaño and members of the Session. Help Megan to plan and carry out youth group activities.

3. Participate regularly in the life of El Lirio de los Valles Church, including preaching on occasion, assisting with Vacation Bible School, and other programs, projects, and ministries as needed. Maintain working relationship with Pastor Rodolfo Navarrete, Hermana Lorena Ocampo, Rosendo Sichler (Pastor intern) and members of the Session. Work with the youth praise band in practicing new and existing songs and performing them in the church and community.

4. Maintain contact, working relationships, and exchange of information with various
organizations and individuals in Mexico, including:

-CRREDA #8 Agua Prieta (Raul Garcia)
-CRREDA #9 Naco (Raimundo Pineda)
-Café Justo (Daniel Cifuentes, Adrian Gonzalez, Vicki)
-Centro de Atención al Migrante Exodo (CAME) (Fr. Cayetano Cabrera, Fr. Ivan Bernal, Rosy Soto, Teresa Ballesteros
-Iglesia de la Sagrada Familia (Fr. Cayetano Cabrera, Rosy Soto)
-Casa de la Mujer Migrante (Juan Domínguez)
-Casa YMCA de Menores Migrantes (Ernesto Perraza)
-DIF (Juan Domínguez)
-Grupo Beta (Lic. Bertha de la Rosa)
-Migración Mexicana (Sr. Bustamante)
-Aduana Mexicana
-Consulado Mexicano (Bernardo Morales, Alex Martinez, Gabriel (¿)
-various others as hended

5. Maintain the Frontera listserve and use it to keep members updated about Frontera de Cristo initiatives including immigration reform and the Just Trade Development Center.

6. Serve on the Coordinating Committee of the Migrant Resource Center with the Mexican Coordinator and attend weekly meetings of the Coordinating Committee. Duties include:

-Working with others to produce any needed materials (we have copies of all current materials being used). Provide Volunteer Guides for new volunteers as needed for training meetings.
-Keeping copies of printed materials used in the Migrant Resource Center up to date and making sure there are adequate supplies of informational materials in the Center, including those provided by Grupo Beta, Citizens for Border Solutions, CAME, DIF, and the Consulado Mexicano in Douglas.
-Keeping a key to the Center and being available occasionally to open or close it.
-Recruiting and organizing US volunteers.
-Writing and distributing press releases
-Coordinating press conferences as needed.
-Volunteering regularly in the Center
-Assisting Tommy Bassett with conducting volunteer training meetings as needed for US (English speaking) volunteers.
-Assisting the No More Deaths representative with maintaining adequate supplies of water, food, socks, shoes, and personal items for distribution to migrants.
-Assisting the US Coordinator and No More Deaths representative with raising funds.

7. Assist the US and Mexican Coordinators with planning, preparing and doing workshops on “Immigration and the Churches Responses” and “Just Coffee and the Fair Trade Plus Model.”

8. Plan, write articles, and assist with the production of the Frontera de Cristo quarterly Newsletter.

9. Participate in Mission Education opportunities in other churches as invited, including preaching and forums on immigration reform issues.

10. Assist Tommy with the creation, implementation, and expansion of Just Trade Center Projects. Emphasis will be placed on learning the Just Trade model and how to replicate it in other areas.

11. Help to facilitate ESL classes in the Nuevo Progresso community center. Work with Hermano Angel on increasing his fluency in reading and listening comprehension.

Giants of the Faith

I was working on a post about my experiences at the beach this weekend, but life has changed the direction of my thoughts, and so my post will have to change as well. However, I will say that the beach was amazing and that I had a really great time. I was able to swim and body surf and generally enjoy the sun. It was amazing, with the exception of three minor incidents:

1. Friday night I flooded the engine of my friend´s van while trying to ford a river that had emerged on 38th Avenue. If you are reading this Beth, know that the absence of gutters or storm drains in this city has cemented my love for civil engineers. In addition to making me rather upset the lack of the van was especially problematic as I was supposed to drive that van to the beach and it was the only car we had.

2. Instead I ended up taking a 7 hour ride to the beach on the floor of a bus. If you are inclined for some reason to recreate this experience I reccomend finding one of those giant tool boxes that go in the back of a truck, placing yourself inside, and getting someone to roll you down a hill. Repeatedly.

3. On Saturday I found myself, quite unknowingly I assure you, on a date with a lovely young Mexican woman named Danielle. Emphasis on young. Like, 17 young. Not my fault, I promise, although it has been interesting to explain to people why I was creeped out and don´t ever want to repeat that experience.

Now onto the business at hand.

What I really wanted to write about here are the incredible people that that God has called to this seemingly insignificant town in the middle of the high desert. This morning we had staff prayer at the community center in Agua Prieta. Seated in the room were-

Mark, an ordained Presbyterian minister, co-coordiator of Frontera De Cristo, father of two, and good ol´Southern boy.

Tommy, former factory manager, coordinator of the Just Trade Center, motorcycle enthusiast, and a rather free-spirited Catholic.

Bob Carney, retired Catholic Priest, activist, and sage advisor.

Megan, my fellow intern, brilliant artist, and recent Harvard graduate.

Liz, Frontera De Cristo´s secretary, focused taskmaster, and caretaker of the rest of us.

Rick Ufford Chase, outgoing moderator of the Presbyterian Church U.S.A. (yeah, he´s kind of a big deal), father, and current coordinator of the Presbyterian Peace Initiative.

Sitting in that room, singing, studying scripture, praying for one another and for a broken and beautiful world, I was struck by these people, these giants of the faith, who have heard a voice in the wilderness and responded with their lives.

I know many people I would call prophets, saints, angels, teachers, on and on. It´s a blessing of God in my life to be a part of this place with these people, and to carry with me all that I have received from those giants of the faith I have met along the way.

La Migra, La Migra!

It's a strange experience to live at the crossroads of two very different sets of cultures, governments, and languages. Whether Mexican, American, or something in between (actually, it's mostly in between) there are a few common experiences in the lives of everyone who calls this place home.

The first one is language. My friend Tommy says that everyone down here is learning at least one language. No matter how well you speak Spanish, you are trying to learn new words, and el otro tambien. Everyone speaks in some form of Spanglish that makes the whole place work on some semi-functional level.

Some of my favorite Spanglish phrases so far are:

Da me un ride (Give me a ride)
Pushame (Push me)
Parkear (The verb "to park")

The biggest constant for absolutely everyone is the border. Granted, the border operates in different ways if you are a white American vs. a poor Mexican vs. a Mexican-American vs. a Guatemalan, etc., etc. No matter who you are, however, the border influences how you live and changes the way you think.

Around here I commute by bike, which is no small task since about half the roads are like 4-wheeling trails, I live about 70 city blocks from my office, and no one really cares whether they run me over or not.

The other day I was on my bike visiting someone on the edge of Douglas when it occurred to me that I was only 20 city blocks away from my house. Well, 20 blocks and a big ass fence. Instead I rode the 100 or so blocks around through the port of entry so I could go home.

Traveling across the border is undoubtedly the biggest issue. When I cross into the U.S. they ask me my citizenship, which sometimes they accept as American without my ID, and sometimes not. When they ask me where I live, I tell them that I live in Aqua Prieta and have an office in Douglas. They don't really care that I live in Mexico illegally so long as I don't try to smuggle anything back in. That seems sort of odd to me really, but that's how it is.

When I cross into Mexico I tell them that I am visiting friends, even if it is my third day in a row seeing the same agent, even if it is 2 am and I am falling asleep. If I am taking something into Mexico, like furniture, or a plunger, or food (my three major trips so far) I tell them that it is a donation for the church. The basic rule with the Mexican agents is to never tell the truth ever no matter how innocuous it seems. Most of the time I just ride in and no one asks me anything at all.

I tell you this in part to help you understand some of what my life is like every day, and in part to try and explain the way the border changes you. If you want to live on the border you have to learn how to lie. Sometimes that means small lies to save time, like telling them that you are bringing ABSOLUTELY nothing across the border with you. Other times the lies are much larger, like pretending that you aren't illegally living in their country. And that's how the border operates for pretty much everyone. We tell the agents lies and they pretend to believe us. There's something about the truth that would make the whole thing cease functioning, which to me is highly indicative of a broken system.

I don't mind the lies on a daily basis, I suppose, but what is already starting to wear on me is the way in which your entire life becomes something which only sort of resembles the truth. When they ask you what you are bringing into the United States from Mexico I always tell them nothing, but the truth is that I am importing culture, I am importing language, I am importing a way of life that seeks to diminish the 20 foot fence that they have put up. That may seem like a silly or trivial thing, but for the thousands of people who cross daily it is vastly more important than whether or not they are also carrying milk.

Come to think of it, I wouldn’t mind losing that either

I have been thinking some pretty deep thoughts about nations, laws, ethics, human rights, economics, and all that good stuff, but the thing I want to start with is just a small picture of what strange characters there are in the middle of this desert. Chipotle has been doing a series called “People We Are Glad to Know” on their cups, and I am going to borrow that for some of my entries.

This is a conversation that was recounted to me by a man named Del about his grandmother's visit to the doctor the day before. Del’s grandmother is what my dad refers to as a “live wire,” a woman totally without a personal censor, and old enough not to care even if she stopped to think about the words streaming out of her mouth. She wears a sort of permanent scowl on her face, made more pronounced by her strong chin and what I suspect is a row of missing bottom teeth.

Doctor: So I am told that you are having problems with your hearing, is that so?

Grandmother: Yes.

Doctor: Have you lost anything else before this?

Grandmother: I lost my sense of taste some time ago, and that hasn’t come back.

Doctor: Anything else?

Grandmother: Well I lost my virginity when I was 21, but to be honest I haven’t really missed that and I wouldn’t bother trying to get it back for me.

Classic.