• Skip to main content

A D&S Special Report

  • Home
  • About This Project
  • Acknowledgments
  • D&S Home

Juarez

May 26 2020

A Tale of Twin Cities: How Politics and the Pandemic Are Affecting Binational Life at the U.S.-Mexico Border

Upon entering El Paso from the El Norte border crossing, people pass under a welcome sign over El Paso Street, a popular shopping area. (Photo by Andrea Gabor)

By Melissa Bacian and Sophia Carnabuci

For Willivaldo Delgadillo, a writer and professor at the University of Texas at El Paso, growing up as binational citizen in the El Paso-Ciudad Juarez region never felt like he was setting foot in another country.

“I always think of certain areas of El Paso not as El Paso but as ‘North Juarez.’ And of course, Juarez is really influenced by El Paso and the United States,” said Delgadillo, 59, who is a U.S. citizen and currently lives in Juarez. “If you cross the bridge, just because it’s another country, you have to show your passport and sometimes there are very long lines to cross, but if you just go, in either direction, it still feels like it’s part of the same city.”

The symbiotic relationship between El Paso and Juarez is one that runs through many Mexican-Americans like Delgadillo.

“(It’s) sort of hard to understand if you’re not from the border where people literally have a piece of the family in each country, and not that they’re communicating to each other through WhatsApp or sending packages on Christmas, or whatever, but literally visiting every weekend,” said Josiah Heyman, an anthropology professor at UTEP who studies border issues.

But the ties have been tested in recent years with the surge of Central American migrants and refugees who have passed through the two cities, the Trump administration’s crackdown on illegal immigration and the mass shooting at an El Paso Walmart. In mid-March, The Trump administration shut down all nonessential crossings on the southern and northern borders, including shoppers, visitors, tourists and migrants, in an attempt to stop the spread of the coronavirus, further scrambling the life of binationals in the El Pass-Juarez region.

A mural depicting the twin-city relationship between El Paso and Juarez in El Paso’s El Segundo neighborhood, just steps from the Paso del Norte bridge connecting the two cities. (Photo by Vera Haller)

With no confirmation on the re-opening of the U.S.-Mexico border, the twin cities are temporarily separated, leaving the future of a long-standing binational culture uncertain.

Together, the two cities form a vibrant urban center spanning the border of western Texas and Mexico. Juarez’s population is more than 1.3 million, making it the eighth largest in Mexico, according to the Center for Interdisciplinary Health Research and Evaluation at UTEP. El Paso has a population of almost 840,000 residents, according to the U.S Census Bureau.

El Paso is located far from other large metropolitan areas – about a nine-hour drive from Dallas and eight hours from San Antonio, making its connection to Juarez even more important.

Before the coronavirus, crossing the border was a part of daily life for many. In 2019, more than 300,000 individuals legally crossed the El Paso Station, one of the sectors linking El Paso and Juarez, according to the Bureau of Transportation.

Friar Stephen Pitts, the religious education director at Sacred Heart Catholic Church in El Paso, described the unique relationship Juarez and El Paso have with one another. “It’s incredible to live in a bilingual place. People here want their kids to speak Spanish. It’s part of their culture they want to carry on,” he said. “People come from across the city to do their first communion or confirmation here because it’s a part of their heritage.”

Juarez and El Paso have a long and storied history dating back to the 1500s when Spanish explorers came across the two mountain ranges rising out of the desert with a deep chasm in between. They named the site El Paso del Norte (the Pass of the North: Modern day Juarez, El Paso and Chihuahua.)

In 1682, five settlements were founded south of the river – El Paso del Norte, San Lorenzo, Senecu, Ysleta and Socorro. The area soon became a trade center for agriculture and eventually became the region we know as Juarez.

But the cross-border nature of the two cities has long posed challenges as well.

Many in the region have been affected by violence in Juarez dating back to the late 1980s and drug trafficking organized by a group called the Juarez Cartel, run by Vincente Carrillo Fuentes. In the early 2000s, rival gang warfare between the Sinola and the Juarez Cartel caused an increase in crime in the city of Juarez. Though drug trafficking has not disappeared, there has been a notable decrease. This in turn, has helped tamp down other crimes; in 2010, 3,500 homicides were reported, while in 2014, it had dropped down to roughly 430 homicides.

Then in 2019, the surge of Central American migrants overwhelmed the social-service sector of El Paso. The U.S. Customs and Border Protection held over 13,400 migrants in custody at the time, including nearly 3,500 in El Paso. “A crisis level is 6,000; 13,000 is unprecedented,” stated border patrol commissioner Kevin McAleenan during a 2019 news conference.

The 30-foot-tall “Grand Candela” memorial in the parking lot of the Cielo Vista Walmart store in El Paso commemorates the victims of the Aug. 3, 2019, mass shooting. When illuminated at night, “the light transcends borders and connects our hearts as one community,” reads a plaque at the base of the memorial. (Photo by Vera Haller)

Trump’s anti-immigration rhetoric also hit the El Paso-Juarez region particularly hard. When a man armed with an AK-47 walked into an El Paso Walmart and killed 22 people on Aug. 3, 2019, the attack was seen as a direct attack on the twin cities’ binational character.

The store, located in Cielo Vista, is the closest Walmart to the border and it is where many Juarez residents come to shop. Out of the 23 victims, eight of them were Mexican citizens, leading many to believe this was an attack on the Latino people.

For a month after the shooting, Friar Mario L. Serrano, who runs the Catholic Church’s ministry program at UTEP, went to the Walmart and walked through the store, lending help to anyone who needed it. “I often wondered what it was for Martin Luther King Jr. to minister in such a toxic environment,” said Serrano. “Or I don’t think I have to wonder anymore. Because that’s the reality, right? So many of them were just fearful right of saying like, Father Friar this is crazy, how can we address this?”

Now, the coronavirus has further disrupted life in the area. For many individuals, crossing the border is simply a means of getting to school, work or access to adequate health care. Store owners rely on profits from Juarez residents who come to El Paso to shop. Since the coronavirus outbreak began, resulting in the partial closure of the U.S-Mexico border, hundreds of binationals are left with no choice but to put an indefinite pause on their lives.

“More people come to the food pantry now with the pandemic,” said Pitts, noting that the church has moved food distribution to the outdoors. “The elderly that used to volunteer were all sent home and its parish employees doing it now. Some of the landlords are still trying to evict people, which is insane.”

The events of recent years have done much to change life at the border.

“When I was growing up, I remember we would go to Juarez and come back; it was very easy because there was a time when you wouldn’t even show a birth certificate,” recalls Joash Alanis, a student at UTEP, where more than 960 students out of the 25,000 have a permanent Juarez address, according to the university’s website.

Father Friar blessing incoming UTEP students who are part of the Catholic Church’s ministry program. (Handout photo from Father Friar)

Throughout the years, stricter measures have been set in place, making crossing between the intertwined cities a long and agonizing wait, especially for students who often have to wake up before sunrise to get to class on time.

A rally is held outside the Buddhist temple on the UTEP campus. The university’s architecture is styled after the Himalayan country of Bhutan. (Handout photo from Professor Heyman)

“I tutor at a middle school, and at that middle school there’s usually a lot of them that come from the other side of town,” said Alanis, noting that many of them will be falling asleep in the middle of class. “I’ll talk to the kids and be like, what’s going on? They’ll be like ‘I’m just so tired. I woke up at three in the morning.’”

Since the coronavirus pandemic began, UTEP has transitioned to distance learning. Professor Heyman described the existing efforts the university already had in place, prior to the coronavirus pandemic, to ensure its students would not fall behind. “Professors are aware of the fact that students have to work for a living, and that they’re commuting.”

As UTEP responds to the COVID-19 outbreak, the University has created a Student Emergency Fund to help students in these very uncertain times. Funds can be used for emergency travel, unexpected expenses, and access to resources for remote learning. Visit https://t.co/cBaG2qea3U. pic.twitter.com/xHkR4zZzht

— UTEP (@UTEP) March 24, 2020

Nonetheless, if the partial closure of the border wall becomes a complete closure, he is unsure of what the future might hold for binational individuals. “If they do something like that at the border, it’s going to have a whole bunch of wrenching effects on our students at the university, it’s going to have wrenching effects on binational families. It’s going to have an effect on the economy.”

Amanda Salazar and Anacaona Rodriguez Martinez contributed reporting to this story.

Written by VHaller · Categorized: Uncategorized · Tagged: binational, border, coronavirus, El Paso, El Paso del Norte, Josiah Heyman, Juarez, Juarez Cartel, pandemic, UTEP, Walmart shooting, Willivaldo Delgadillo

May 26 2020

Pandemic Sparks Entrepreneurship at the Border: Small Non-Profits Make Protective Gear for Healthcare Workers in Both Juarez and El Paso

At Fab Lab, skeleton crews of two-to-three people produce face masks, working six-hour shifts to maintain social distancing. (Photo courtesy of Fab Lab)

By Aurora Ferrer

Small, non-profit, “makerspaces” in El Paso, Texas and Juarez, Mexico are helping to combat the personal protective equipment shortage for medical workers on the border.

Since the start of the Covid-19 pandemic, El Paso-based Fab Lab (short for Fabrication Laboratory), has put its technological resources, including 3D printers, towards making face masks and face shields for front line workers, as well as parts for respirators. An open-source, design-and-manufacturing organization, Fab Lab El Paso is a non-profit that also provides STEM training for students and entrepreneurs. Meanwhile, its sister labs, Fab Lab Juarez and Fab Lab Paso del Norte in Mexico have also started to make protective equipment, using funds recently raised through donations.

Governments in both the United States and Mexico have widely faced criticism over severe shortages of protective equipment in hospitals and other healthcare facilities, which have been shown to place healthcare workers in greater danger of contracting the highly contagious and often deadly virus. According to the World Health Organization, the U.S. has the highest rate of Covid-19 infections in the world, while Mexico has the third-highest rate among Latin American countries.

As of mid-May, the El Paso County Health Department reported 1,234 cases and 82 deaths. The state of Chihuahua in Mexico reported 943 cases and 169 deaths.

The Fab Labs on both sides of the border decided to answer the call for protective equipment before they had received funding. Samuel Badillo, operations director at Fundación Axcel, which runs the Juarez Fab Labs, said, “We just started doing it” and decided to figure out how to pay for it later.

Fab Lab El Paso has struggled to obtain funds from the Payroll Protection Program, a problem plaguing many small American businesses and non-profits. (Photo courtesy of Fab Lab)

With skeleton crews of two-to-three people working short shifts (about six hours) because of social distancing efforts, the organization was able to turn out 3,000 masks in about three weeks.

Fundación Axcel, founded in 2013, provides training, consulting and education for high school students, entrepreneurs and anyone else who wants to learn about technology. Through its Fab Labs it also focuses on digital fabrications and rapid prototyping. It is the non-profit arm of the Technology Hub, which according to its website, “is a binational business incubator built to stimulate regional innovation, entrepreneurship, and industry.”

Originally founded in 2014, Fab Lab El Paso recently received a $1,500 grant from the Paso Del Norte Health Foundation (PDNHF) for the protective-equipment project. Additional funding has been provided by United Healthcare, as well as other companies, organizations and individual supporters.

Cathy Chen, executive director of Fab Lab, says the organization has sent protective equipment to as many as 10 clinics in low-income El Paso communities, as well as several senior centers. (Handout photo from Fab Lab)

Cathy Chen, executive director at Fab Lab El Paso said the organization has sent out “hundreds of PPE to Centro de Salud Familiar La Fe, which has 10 clinics in El Paso and serves low-income community needs.” She also notes that United Healthcare and “affiliate senior care centers” have received hundreds of protective devices, as well as sending “1,500 pieces of N100 mask frames and face shields to [nonprofits] in Mexico for community distribution.”

Fab Lab El Paso is also fulfilling daily smaller orders for protective equipment. “All in all, we have sent out almost 3,000 pieces of PPE and are in the process of prototyping custom PPE for specific medical needs, such as dentists and surgeons,” said Chen.

The Mexican organizations have had more success attracting government support than Fab Lab El Paso. In addition to private donations, which included an SLA printer (used for respirator parts,) the Juarez Fab Labs have received some support from their local government.

Meanwhile, Fab Lab El Paso has struggled to obtain funds from the Payroll Protection Program (PPP), a problem that has persisted among many small American businesses and non-profits. “We did qualify for a small advance from the SBA (Small Business Administration) under the Economic Injury and Disaster Loan program,” said Chen, noting that the organization has not yet received a response to its application for a PPP loan.

The El Paso border has been hit especially hard, economically. With the U.S./ Mexico border closed to non-essential travel, and the quarantine shutting down all non-essential businesses, trade between El Paso and Juarez has come to a standstill. According to Workforce Solutions Borderplex, 38,104 unemployment insurance claims were filed on the U.S. side of the border between March 29th and April 30th.

 

Written by VHaller · Categorized: Uncategorized · Tagged: border, business, coronavirus, El Paso, entrepreneurship, Fab Lab, healthcare, healthcare workers, Juarez, makerspace, pandemic, payroll protection, PPE, STEM

May 26 2020

The Pandemic Stymies Efforts to Help the Poorest Communities: Local Organizations that Provide Vital Social Supports Are Impeded by Social Distancing

Church volunteers sort donations and put together bags of groceries for Sacred Heart’s food pantry, one of the few in-person programs the church is maintaining during the pandemic. (Photo by the Rev. Stephen Pitts)

By Anacaona Martinez Rodriguez and Amanda Salazar

At the Sacred Heart Catholic Church in El Paso’s “El Segundo” neighborhood, just blocks from the city’s main border crossing to Juarez, Mexico, the Rev. Stephen Pitts worries how parishioners are faring without the many outreach services the church has had to stop, or scale back, under the state’s coronavirus stay-at-home order.

But he is most worried about the emotional toll that the lockdown is having on members.

“These people have survived the violence in Juarez; the fact that they can’t be together now is worse,” Pitts said during a video interview after the state went into lockdown to curb the spread of the virus on April 13. “That’s how they survive everything. I think there’s a lot of loneliness.”

For families at the border who depend on religious institutions and community activities in times of hardship, not being able to congregate and ride out the challenges created by the pandemic together has been particularly difficult, he said.

High school players from El Segundo Barrio Soccer Club compete in El Paso. (Photo courtesy of El Segundo Barrio Soccer Club’s Facebook page)

Organizers of El Segundo Soccer Club, which engages children in league sports and supports the families of its players, also have ceased all games and activities, including plans to take one of its teams to participate in the state championship.

“All of that just canceled right now,” said Juan Adame, one of the coaches of the soccer club, which started in 2011 and has grown to serve about 150 children, ages eight to 18.

“We never thought nine years ago something like this was going to stop all that,” Adame said. “The state tournament is very important for all these kids because it’s been the way that we’ve been kind of selling it to this team, to everybody. ‘If you win state, you’re going to be recognized.’”

Without being able to go to states, he said, the players have lost the possibility of realizing a high-profile win, possibly playing in college and then, just maybe, playing professionally.

Sacred Heart and El Segundo Soccer club serve one of the most disadvantaged neighborhoods in the country. According to U.S. Census data from El Segundo’s 79901 zip code, the average annual income of residents is $21,000, with 60 percent of the neighborhood living below the poverty line.

Pitts said a strong sense of community, ingrained in the parish and among most El Pasoans, has meant that people were willing to stay home during the pandemic and self-isolate to protect each other, especially the older or sick members of their neighborhood. But the lockdown has kept them from worship and other services the church offers.

Volunteers from the church’s food pantry distribute groceries. (Photo by the Rev. Stephen Pitts)

Due to the coronavirus pandemic, the church also has had to stop most of its outreach programs, which included citizenship and adult-education classes, except for the food pantry, which it continues to run.

Because many parishioners do not have internet connections, Sacred Heart has not been able to reach many people through its virtual services and masses. The church’s messages of hope are not reaching enough people, Pitts said.

Additionally, Efren Loya Gomez, an assistant religious director at the Sacred Heart, said many parishioners have reported having problems with landlords and employers during the pandemic.

“There was a lady that stopped me the other day to help her fill out a money order,” he said. “She told me her landlord told her she has to pay $25 dollars a day every day she was late with her rent. If not, he was going to evict her.”

Gomez said some parishioners were suffering economically because they face job losses and were not eligible for federal stimulus money because they were undocumented.  “With the pandemic, they’re suffering and they’re stressing out,” he said.

A mural depicting the rich history of Sacred Heart Catholic Church adorns side buildings along E. Father Rahm Avenue where many of the parish’s outreach programs are housed. (Photo by Vera Haller)​

El Segundo Soccer Club executive director Simon Chandler, who founded the league after coaching his own son on a community team, said his players also were experiencing anxiety during the pandemic.

“Their fears are very kid-like fears,” he said. “They’re worried about whether they’re going to pass sixth grade, seventh grade, eighth grade, what happens if they don’t do the work, that their computer doesn’t work. They have problems with the software and all that stuff.”

Chandler, who also works as the Community Schools Coordinator in the El Paso public school system, was a school teacher when he started the club, figuring it would be a good way to engage the kids in the low-income neighborhood where he taught and lived.

“As an educator, you’re always finding ways to kind of motivate your kids, to hook them into whatever you are doing and so soccer made perfect sense,” he said.

El Segundo is a predominantly Latino area; Chandler estimated that 90 percent or more of the people living in El Paso speak Spanish. Soccer, or fútbol as it is known to much of the world, is one of the most popular sports in Latin America, Spain and Portugal.

The soccer club has multiple teams for kids of all ages. The club also offers services for the members of the players’ families.

While their child or sibling is at practice, relatives can participate in one of the soccer club’s English language courses or citizenship classes. Those programs also have been cancelled due to the coronavirus and stay-at-home order.

Adame, whose younger brother Marcos, 18, has been playing with the Segundo soccer club since it began, said the club plays an important role in the players’ development.

Students from El Segundo Barrio Soccer Club, on their way to compete in last year’s state championships, pose on an Austin street. This year’s championship was cancelled due to the pandemic. (Photo courtesy of El Segundo Barrio Soccer Club’s Facebook page)

“It exposes the kids here to the outside world, not just in this community,” Adame said. “Even just taking them out to play on the East side of the city, just to take them [to] play every weekend, that’s sort of something big because a lot of parents don’t have a car here.”

Soccer was the way that the club drew the kids in, but it was never the ultimate goal.

“I’m thinking if there’s another word other than ‘family,’ but I can’t think of one,” Adame said. “That’s what it is. I arrived in this community at about 10 years old.  My mind is here, my heart is here. Now with this club, it’s my passion.”

Written by VHaller · Categorized: Uncategorized · Tagged: border, border wall, Catholic Church, community aid, coronavirus, El Paso, El Segundo, Juarez, Mexico, pandemic, poverty, soccer, Texas

May 26 2020

Willivaldo Delgadillo, an Author and Activist, Reflects on Growing Up on Both Sides of the Border

The author and activist poses with friends in 1976. (Photo courtesy of Willivaldo Delgadillo)

By Sophia Carnabuci and Melissa Bacian

Willivaldo Delgadillo, a journalist, author and activist, was born in Los Angeles , but grew up in Juarez, Mexico. His parents were from Juarez, originally, but had immigrated to Los Angeles in the 1950s. Four months after his birth, in 1960, Delgadillo’s parents decided to return to Juarez; Los Angeles was a dangerous city at the time and Juarez was smaller. Having American citizenship, but growing up in Mexico, Delgadillo considers himself binational and bicultural. In this interview, Delgadillo discusses life and identity growing up on the border and his thoughts on Juarez/El Paso.

Delgadillo’s  writing is politically driven. He writes mostly in Spanish as a way to view the exploitation of violence through the lens of Juarez, as seen in his novel Garabato, and as a way to connect directly to the people there. Delgadillo lives in Juarez and teaches in the department of language and linguistics at the University of Texas, El Paso. This interview was edited for length and clarity.

Could you tell us about your experience growing up in Juarez/El Paso and what effect it had on your identity?

People from the United States and Mexico construct their identity in a different way. In the US, generally, it’s constructed around ethnic lines; you’re Mexican-American, Jewish-American, Muslim-American, African-American, etc. But in Mexico, you really are from the state where you were born, or the land; the place of birth really determines your identity.

I went to school in Juarez, elementary and secondary schools, but I was always aware I was an American citizen. Although I didn’t want to be an American citizen. Because I was going to school in Mexico, I felt that I wasn’t Mexican enough. Later on, I found the advantages of having an American passport; back then it was really easy to go back and forth for me. I belonged to both parts of the city. When I was growing up, you didn’t really need to show your passport when you went to the United States. You could just say “American citizen” and that was it.

[The border police] might ask where you live or where you were born, but if you were trained to answer those questions, you could go across even if you weren’t an American citizen. I trained my friends from my neighborhood in Juarez who weren’t American citizens, to go across and say “American” and to answer those key questions.

El Paso had these venues where famous groups like Kiss or Yes came to play. Groups from the 70s. A couple of us were American citizens and the rest of them weren’t. But we all said “American” and we successfully went across [the border.]

Delgadillo recalls vacations he would take with his grandmother at Torreon, a town across the river from Gomez Palacio, connected by a bridge. He and his grandmother would frequently cross the Nazas River, which divides the two towns by bus.

Once I asked my grandmother, how come we weren’t required to show a passport? Because it was like Juarez/El Paso, right?

So, in a way, I thought of bridges and rivers as borders where you had to somehow identify yourself. I saw that Juarez/El Paso were part of the same thing. You just had to say “hello” or make some signs, some gesture to be able to get authorized to get over to the other side. I grew up with that idea of thinking of the border as both a fence but also a bridge.

What were some of the positives and negatives of growing up this way?

For Delgadillo, going to high school in El Paso was like being on the TV set of James at 15, one of his favorite shows.  (Photo courtesy of Willivaldo Delgadillo)

After I went to secondary school in Juarez, I went to high school in El Paso, not to Bowie High School, which is right on the border, but to its rival, Jefferson High School. Jefferson and Bowie are rivals in sports. But in both schools, most of their students are Mexican-American. People in Bowie High School were more comfortable with their identity as Mexican or Chicano. They were mainly from working class families and didn’t have any problems with being Mexican, being identified as Mexican, for better or worse.

But people in Jefferson High School, they were a little different. There were all these people who were from Juarez, like me. The mainstream student at Jefferson High School identified himself or herself as Mexican-American not as Mexican not as Chicano but as Mexican-American. Not Hispanic yet, but Mexican-American. That meant that they were more assimilated. But they were also middle class  Everyone aspired to be Mexican-American.

That was a struggle for people like me who came from Juarez because we didn’t speak the language that well. It was good in a way because we were challenged to learn the language and to learn high school rituals– sports, homecoming or assemblies. These were things that we didn’t really have in Mexican schools.

For me, this was like being part of a TV show. Back then there was this show called James at 15 and it was about James being in high school. I was 15. When I saw that on TV, I saw lockers and hallways and classrooms. When I started going to Jefferson High, for me it was like the TV set of James at 15. Because now I had my locker, and I had these hallways that looked like regular American high school hallways. And each high school had its library. Like really well-equipped libraries, even with books! I remember going to the librarian and I asked her, “So how many books can I check out?” And she answered, “Well how many can you carry?” And I said, “Really?” You know how now we’re panic-buying toilet paper? I did that with books. I put all these books in my backpack and carried them. So that was the good part.

The bad part was we were referred to as Juarenos; Juarenos was a way of putting you down. There was this whole discourse of people from another country coming to tap resources of Americans–even though [we] were American citizens.

I always defended my Juarez identity. But at the same time, I was interested in learning the language and I was interested in American literature and I was interested in music. So that was part of the border too on both sides and I was happy I was at a place where I could learn that. And also, that I was on the TV set of James at 15.

What changes have you seen since your years in El Paso as a high school student?

 Many things have changed. Now people in Jefferson High School are more like people in Bowie High School. They all have a sense of being Mexican because I’ve been back to give talks and stuff.

Delgadillo explains that there are far more students from Juarez going to school in El Paso these days.

The migration from Mexico to the United States really grew in the 90s and then in the 2000s for several reasons. One, because of NAFTA, and later because of the violence. But during these times, people felt compelled to stay in El Paso because of the violence or [for] economic reasons.

Now Mexican-ness in El Paso has grown. My students [at the University of Texas at El Paso] are mostly bilingual and bicultural. They speak Spanish really well. But they’re also really articulate in English. Whereas when I was growing up, if you spoke Spanish mostly, they would be like, “Oh he doesn’t speak English.” Or they would say, “Speak English!” But now, nobody says that. It’s not cool to say that because people don’t even question those things. If you go to a restaurant or a bar or whatever, the waiter is most likely is bilingual. There’s no stigma.

The mainstream is like “You speak Spanish?” “Yeah si que quieres?” and there’s no problem. It’s a more comfortable place to be Mexican in El Paso now. And that’s why I now call it “North Juarez.” Parts of El Paso are North Juarez because if you go there, you feel like you’re not in Mexico or the United States, you feel like you’re in some different place.

There are very conservative pockets and very progressive pockets, but I’m talking about the mainstream.

Another thing that has changed is that the binational population–people like me that go back and forth–that population has grown. Back then, people called me gringo; they knew I went to school in El Paso. I was mocked in Juarez too. But that stuff doesn’t fly. The legitimacy of people calling themselves fronterizo without being in a deficit, an identity deficit, has grown. Now it’s cool, it’s okay to be fronterizo [frontiersman].

When I finished high school and when I went to college and finished college, I was still living in Juarez. Only temporarily did I live in El Paso. So, I was really in Juarez and had my life in Juarez. I’m a Juarense.

How has the community reacted to the hardening of the border and new immigration policies under the Trump administration?

 Delgadillo explains the gradual shift in laws and policies as “episodes” in the history of the border. For example, the Immigration Reform and Control Act of 1986 made it illegal to hire undocumented workers. He references Operation “Hold the Line” in 1993, which brought an influx of border police in concentrated areas along the border as a way to control the area and provide a “show of force.” Finally, he speaks about the 2000s, which were directly affected by 9/11 and the Bush administrations prioritizing of homeland security. First the Bush administration, and then the Obama administration, worked on a border wall.  

 This has been gradual. Now we have Trump with another wall. This “let’s build a wall” is just the latest episode of a longer story.

That has brought long lines to the bridge, and now we have to show our passports. The way the border is operated is like a military checkpoint. It’s like you’re going to a war zone. They have this thing called concertina wire; it looks like regular fence wire from afar, but it’s really aggressive. If you touch it, it cuts deep. It’s really dangerous. But most of it is symbolic; it’s just to make you feel like you’re entering this place of high security and high scrutiny. The border also has all these technological features like cameras and radars and sound detectors. It’s a policy of fear.

And of course, the excuse or the reason for all of this is drugs, right? The interception of drugs. But drugs keep going across!

I remember back then when I grew up and I was learning how to be a citizen in both countries. There were many things that I really liked in the United States and in the history of the United States. I was learning about how people in the United States fought for civil rights. How people in the United States fought against the Vietnam war. How students protested with these big marches—that was really inspiring to me. I really wanted to be a part of that political heritage.

But gradually, that spirit has been killed–by this instilling of fear. We have as Americans (I’ll speak as an American now), we have given up many of our rights, I think these hardened border policies are against people in the United States. We just thought this is against other people, but this is really against us too; you cannot see them as separate.

Another effect is that it changes the narrative of what Americans are all about. Each nation tells itself a story. In the United States, we’re a country of immigrants. We’re a pluralist society. We’re very respectful of freedom of speech and like I said earlier, our ethnic backgrounds. We’re a country who was always on the right side of human rights and on the right side of environmental justice. We’re no longer that guy. The problem is it’s not just with Trump, it’s just that the narrative of the country is changing.

We’re being led to accept that we don’t have to be the country of immigrants. We don’t have to be for justice in the world. Americans come first.

I’m talking about the narrative of the country and how we grow up and how we feel like we are being good Americans. A good American is someone who respects other people’s points of view, religious freedom, human rights, environmental justice, the vote, etc. That’s all relative now.

 

Written by VHaller · Categorized: Uncategorized · Tagged: binational, border, border police, border wall, culture, El Paso, identity, immigration reform, Immigration Reform and Control Act, Juarez, Mexico, Operation "Hold the Line", Texas, University of Texas at El Paso, UTEP, Willivaldo Delgadillo, writer

Copyright © 2025 · Altitude Pro on Genesis Framework · WordPress · Log in