(This article was published in ArtLoveLifestyle Magazine. To republish, please provide a link to ArtLoveLifestyle magazine in the article.)
Brownsville, TEXAS, May 2022 - Lines, a reality that migrants at the U.S./Mexico border know all too well—lines for food, lines for clothes, lines for a shower. On my trip to the border with Casa De Paz SLV, I witnessed how the fates of asylum seekers were determined by the line they were allowed to wait in.
When working with unaccompanied minors in Brownsville, Texas, I witnessed the line of order. One that the children were accustomed to; the “fila” to get to a field trip, a meal, school or recreation outside. This line was temporary, a way to quickly count heads and enforce rules. With increased numbers of unaccompanied minors crossing over the border, the enforcement of these lines becomes paramount. Staff members felt the weight of their role knowing they were responsible for keeping each one of these kids safe, a lot of whom were being reunited with their families.
In an unaccompanied minor’s shelter, just like in detention for adults, a line can serve as a reminder of captivity, even if that captivity is temporary. That captivity was felt but superseded by the ties each child had, to each other and their families. Some talked of their own children as being motivating factors. Others discussed music as being a guiding force through this time. One was an avid drummer. Their taste in music varied from Credence Clearwater to Bad Bunny. Their artwork in which they were asked to reflect on their identity and their identity in relation to others mirrored this variety.
In Reynosa, Mexico, where we served for the majority of our final day, a line meant three things. In the plaza where thousands waited for legal consultation, a line meant desperation. As we passed a line of over one hundred people standing in the bright sun adjacent to the weather worn tents they lived in, one man asked us for legal consult. Those in line were seeking the same.
The dirt on children’s clothing, the lack of food and sanitary items and the absence of organized humanitarian support communicated that the conditions in this location were far worse than those that had previously existed in Matamoros, Mexico. An extra variable asylum seekers contended with in Reynosa was fear of robbery, rape, assault and kidnapping. Desperation was an understatement as families crowded around our bus pressing the pastor who ran the shelter to give them a way out of that situation. A seven-year old boy and his mother had been kidnapped while living in the plaza in Reynosa and were now in the shelter awaiting their asylum claim.
Outside the shelter in Reynosa, a line meant exasperation. Upon our arrival, we witnessed large crowds of hundreds of migrants from Central America, South America and Haiti waiting outside for their chance to stay in this shelter. They were surrounded by run-down shacks that they were paying rent to live in, as their name progressed down the long waiting list that was their only ticket into this location.
The coveted aspect of this shelter: a gate that separated them from the danger that Reynosa posed. Though most of the migrants in the shelter remained outside in tents, they were provided some amenities that those in the plaza didn’t have, such as three meals a day and bathrooms that included showers.
While doing relational based artwork with children and their parents, a few asylum seekers in the shelter were rifling through the belongings that were left behind. Some were seeking a clean T-shirt or pair of underwear. This communicated that even when in a desired location, asylum seekers still lacked basic necessities.
The children with whom we did art therapy often presented as older than their age as the compounded obstacles of the journey, the persecution they experienced at home and the challenges of living outside in Mexico caused them to grow up too soon. When they were asked if they were leaving that day, they would say “Manana, si Dios permite,” (Tomorrow if God allows it). It was clearly a phrase their parents used to temper their child’s expectations in a situation where anything could change moment by moment. But coming out of an eight-year old’s mouth, it communicated a maturity that was earned but not desired. Because of this, the chance to be kids for a moment was inviting, whether that meant drawing pictures for their “Art teacher” or pretending their yoga mat was a race car.
It was clear each child was looking for connection. As a therapist I have learned just how much relationships can be a stabilizing force in the wake of trauma. Drawing and yoga were a conduit for those relationships, in which drawing a flower, or a house could lead to a deeper conversation about how to have a sense of belonging in a place where they were given the message that they don’t belong. The impact of these relationships was shown in the amount of time each child spent completing art and their readiness to try yoga, an activity not commonly practiced by most of the families we served. After trauma informed yoga, one Haitian boy was found practicing the tree pose on his own next to his tent. I could see how he connected to it, a small part of his world that he could control when his asylum status was something he could not.
Adults looking for calm and serenity benefited from yoga and massage therapy. One man encouraged another to join yoga, saying that it helped relax his mind from the worries he felt so frequently in the shelter. Many complained of ailments like chronic headaches, diabetes and muscle tension. We offered massage therapy, medicinal teas and essential oils as natural remedies that could aid any medical support they were already getting. Doctors Without Borders had visited this shelter, and through the questions asylum seekers asked, it was clear they thought we were healthcare professionals and were looking for further medical care. In the process of informing them we weren’t, we learned that one woman was diabetic without access to any insulin.
In the backdrop of all these experiences was the final kind of line: the line of hope. When we first arrived at the shelter, there was a line of families with backpacks and suitcases in front of a school bus that would take them across the border legally. We gave families snacks and water bottles for their journey. In the five-hour period that we were in Reynosa, three busloads of families were brought over to the United States.
Towards the end of the day, I was waiting in the church’s outdoor courtyard when a line of fifty people walked to the bus that would take them out of the holding pattern in Reynosa into a line where they were walking forward towards their end goal in McAllen, Texas. Those who had to remain cheered and clapped, letting go of their anguish for a moment to celebrate with their friends. Elation was the feeling I sensed from them as they hurried quickly to collect their belongings. The atmosphere was jubilant, creating a levity that was scarce in this border town, one they wished to be the rule rather than the exception.
Of all the lines I experienced that weekend, this one was by far the best. The type of line asylum seekers came all this way to get in. It didn’t exempt them from being in other lines, like the line to asylum status for example, but it kept them from gambling with their life in a line that they did not choose. That simple act of agency, something those who experienced trauma gravely need, can so often be the necessary link in the progression between despair and hope in the life of a new immigrant.
Our service continues as holistic trauma informed retreats in Crestone, Colorado, as well as online support for asylum seekers and new immigrants.
Author: Rae Reed, LCSW from Chicago and Casa de Paz SLV Board Chair has been working with refugees and asylum seekers for many years in government and private agencies. This is Rae’s fifth trip to the border encampments. Rae’s hope is that one day soon asylum seekers will be able to safely await their asylum cases in the US. To learn more about Casa de Paz SLV or to donate or volunteer, visit www.casadepazslv.org.