Safety
We were driving to the Greyhound station where many asylum seekers were waiting in the bitter cold for buses to their host homes, when we saw a post from an anti-immigration activist and on-line “influencer.”
He said that this area, the area we were currently pulling into, looked like a third world country and was so dangerous even he wouldn’t feel safe there.
He’s one of those guys who hunts down the bad actors - which sadly, yes, they do exist - but then he proceeds to paint every single migrant seeking asylum with that same broad brush. It’s simply inaccurate.
We briefly chuckled about his “warning” as we pulled up to a warm welcome with a truck full of blankets and supplies. I told Karina, “You’ve been out here for weeks, and you’ve been just fine… maybe you’re just tougher than that guy.”
We laughed some more, then got out to walk around and find the women and children that Karina would take to a safe shelter for the night, just like she’s been doing every single night for nearly a month.
I approached one family with two small children and a young teenage son. I gave them all some “hot hands” and showed them how to activate the chemicals inside. With my very limited Spanish, I pantomimed mostly, showing them how to shake the packets and then directing them to put them in their pockets for warmth.
A few minutes later, Karina said this was one of the families we’d be housing for the night. I loaded them all into our rental truck, and they waited patiently for awhile as Karina made her rounds seeing who else we’d be picking up that night.
When I climbed into the driver’s seat I looked back and suddenly felt bad. There were 4 adults and 3 children all piled into a row of seats meant for 3 people. But there were no complaints coming from them. The cab was already warmer than where they’d been just moments earlier.
Karina eventually came back and said she knew the next family we’d be picking up, but for now we had to get this group to the house. I started the engine and headed out of Greyhound station.
I plugged in my phone and put on some cheery Christmas music. I checked my mirrors to make sure everyone was in the car and when I looked in my rearview mirror, the father’s eyes were piercing through me. He had a balaclava on, so his tense eyes were all I could see.
As I pulled down the street, I began to wonder what must be going through his head. How did he know we were safe people? How did he know we weren’t like that influencer who’d been harassing them this week? How did he know I wasn’t some crazed activist about to drive him and his family right back across the border or perhaps somewhere else even worse… and with that I quit letting my mind wander because it was getting far too dark.
I turned onto the freeway and told Karina she should let them know exactly how far away the house was. I made sure not to deviate from the direction the GPS was loudly giving me. These are all things I look for whenever taking an Uber in an unfamiliar city. As women, most of us know about this instinctive reaction….
“Is this driver safe?”
“If I needed to jump out quickly, could I?”
“Maybe I should pull up the directions on my own phone to make sure he’s not taking me someplace else.”
…but they couldn’t do any of that. They didn’t know where we were going and they were packed in too tightly to escape even if they wanted to.
It was in that moment that I realized this whole experience was about trust. Heroic levels of trust. But also the trust here was unevenly distributed. It wasn’t hard for me to trust this family. I knew if something went awry, I could pull over and call the police. That is a luxury I have as an American that they do not.
A few moments later, I began hearing a light repetitive murmur coming from the man. I looked back and his eyes were still locked directly on me. He wouldn’t look away. He wouldn’t blink. I listened for a few seconds more then realized what I was hearing…
It was the recitation of a prayer.
He was praying safety over his family and for some reason that brought me great comfort as well, because I already knew that prayer was going to be answered.
And now I am working on my own prayer of sorts…
A prayer that everyone who trusts the good people volunteering will be covered in a supernatural peace the second they encounter them, knowing they’re headed to safe homes where they’ll be offered warm soup, and a place to lay their burdens down for a bit while they get the rest they and their children so desperately need.
And I pray for the helpers as well. The Karinas, the Rosas, the Jacquelines, and all of the men and women of El Paso who are working tirelessly to provide that safety. I pray that their numbers will multiply as the temperatures drop, and that more kind people in El Paso will open their homes. I pray that their energy to love people will endure, and for their modest homes to stay as warm as their hearts.
These helpers are the ones who are there at night when it’s bitterly cold and all the camera crews have left. And you will never see them bragging about their work on-line or trying to “influence” anyone - they’re simply too busy assisting the most vulnerable people out there. But I think it’s important that their stories be told too.
I trust *their* accounts of what it’s really like right now in El Paso… as much as I trust them to love these precious families well.