There's a line, I learned of from this piece, that's often said by the Chicanos, "We didn't cross the borders, the borders crossed us." It's a statement heavily drenched in sadness and frustration. That statement is a historical fact. It begs the question, have Mexicans been crossing borders to find a better life, or have they always been 'crossing' to find their way back home?
That 'philosophical' introduction was necessary to help you understand this piece, or, rather, a collage of pieces. In two sections, the piece, in the first half, is the witnessing of a physical journey people take to cross borders, risking their own lives and their loved ones. Scott Carrier wants to find out what they come from to understand why they take on 115 degrees of heat and days of walking while not knowing if they'll even make it to the other side alive. We find out that guards on the Mexican side of the border assist people to cross over. The law does not prohibit people from migrating, it only prohibits the 'coyotes.' People on both sides have their say about it and it seems the reality of border crossing is similar to accepting the sun coming out in the South. You complain about the heat, but you deal with it because it gives light.
The second part is a series of poetic works read by the authors that delve into the spiritual aspect of border crossing, death, the future, and the separation of families, identities, land, and structure of the new generation. Heartbreak and loss coming from the physical and spiritual journey are the building blocks that only seem to pile up into a larger wall. The works by the authors is a lament.
In summary, the piece gives you reality, but does not leave you with facts and figures. That would be a blindfolded vision. There's a living, breathing, growing soul behind each number that tallies up in your daily papers as stats.
Now, if you'd really, really like to understand why thousands say goodbye each day, not knowing if it'll be forever, this piece is a great start.