In the context of immigration at the southern border, the elephants are the powers and principalities that control immigration policies. The grass represents the immigrants and the people who provide assistance.
The most obvious problem we face with solving the immigration crisis at the border is the politically venomous rhetoric spewing from Republicans and Democrats.
Back in March, when I wrote my last article, I was much younger and excitedly expecting our new administration to snap its fingers or wave a magic wand, and instantly materialize a new immigration system that would be fair and compassionate for all. At first, the immigration changes (especially those concerning asylum seekers) appeared to be all unicorns and rainbows. But reality raised its ugly head, and my illusions and hopes were flung to the ground. It is funny how disappointment can age you.
The refugee camp for asylum-seekers is no more. Two weeks ago, the first busload of refugees legally crossed the bridge that spans the Rio Grande River between Matamoros, Mexico and Brownsville, Texas. When they arrived at the Brownsville bus station, a crowd greeted them with applause, cheers, tears, hugs, handshakes, and exuberant joy expressing the start of the end of two long years of suffering in the camp. I was not able to greet that bus, but have been able to greet several since then. Yesterday, the last bus from the camp crossed into Brownsville. Today, the few people left in the camp were taken to a shelter in Mexico and the camp is now empty.
The Space-X spaceport is about twenty minutes from our home. We drove out there today to see the latest prototype of the starship that will take humans to Mars. Her name is SN-9. She could fly next week. They have been test firing her engines and doing pressure tests on her for several days. Many of her predecessors did not survive the tests leading up to a launch. One reason is that some of the tests were designed to find out how much pressure the ship could handle.
Thanksgiving Thursday, eating turkey, watching football, thankful for all of my blessings, many of which I take for granted. Among my greatest blessings, and greatest heartaches, are the immigrants in the refugee camp on the Mexican side of the border at Brownsville, Texas and Matamoros, Mexico.
In the summer of my youth, my kid brother, Allen, and I would hitchhike to Newport Beach from our home in Orange, California. We hung out with our friends at the south side of the pier long before the lifeguard station was built, 15th Street before the showers were there; and 17th Street near the lifeguard tower.
Almost everything has changed for asylum seekers since I last posted to KRL… and not for the better. The largest change has been the implementation of MPP (Migrant Protection Protocols), AKA the “Return to Mexico” policy, which made its way to Brownsville in July of this year.
I took today off. This part of the border has drawn international attention since the picture of the young father and his toddler daughter with her arm wrapped around his neck, who drowned together while attempting to cross the Rio Grande river, hit the news feed. Frankly, I don't want to see any more pictures of dead children.
The smallest thing can sometimes make the greatest difference in life. Especially to those who are losing hope or suffering. Music can be like that. There is a kid’s song from Africa. It is one of those silly songs that started in Lake Nakuru and spread all over Africa. No matter where you went in Africa, no matter what language group, you could hear the kids singing this song.
I first met Cami from Cameroon in December of 2018. She was living in a makeshift “shelter” on the Mexican side of the Gateway Bridge, which connects Brownsville, Texas with Matamoros, Mexico. There were about 30 other people from all over the world staying in the shelter.
