Feeling Pretty Small

I don't have much reading material in English at my disposal here, so I'm borrowing a book from Trish. It's about a boy from Central America making the journey to the States. I have already read a similar book, and having been in Immigrant Rights circles back in DC, prior to beginning the book I didn't imagine that I'd gain a lot of new insight. But I was wrong.

The stories of human rights abuses at the hands of La Migra, police, bandits and many others along the way didn't really phase me. After hearing similar stories from so many people from different situations, I've learned to put up somewhat of a barrier for those and I don't let them in too far (my small step to try to avoid secondary trauma). What really got me were the stories of the kindness of people in Mexico. In one town a woman has opened her home to care for migrants who have been mutilated by the train, most with lost limbs. She didn't get a grant to start a nice center like one would do in the States. Rather, she begs for the money to provide medical care, food, and prosthesis to the migrants who otherwise would have little or no care. I can only imagine how many hours a week this woman dedicates to caring for the people in her care and struggling to find the money to keep providing it.

As the book goes on it details the journey of the train through the Veracruz region of Mexico. As the train winds through the small towns, people come out not to attack or ridicule the migrants as has been the case in the Southern regions of Mexico, but to give what little food and water they have to the people on the train, who in many cases have not had anything to eat or drink in days. These people hear the train in the distance and make mad dashes to their homes to gather up food, water, and clothing and then continue the dash to run alongside the train and hand off their gifts. According to the World Bank, a little over 40% of Mexico lives on less than $2 a day, and it is likely that in these rural areas by train tracks it is significantly less.

Ever since moving to Washington in 2006, I have been faced with an outstretched hand on every corner. Some are individuals, others have their clipboard and their cause. The vast majority of times, I make sure to awknowledge the person, but keep my wallet in my purse. The issue of donating money on the street is one that I've never been able to come to a comfortable conclusion about. I've always thought carrying food to give is pretty reasonable, but can never remember to do it. I had let myself put the issue on the shelf to be addressed another day, but hearing stories of people who not only give what they have, but go out of their way, running to catch up with a moving train, has made me feel ridiculously small.

In my time here I've come face to face with children begging for money or trying to sell things on the buses. Yesterday, I was sitting at Juan Valdez drinking a cup of (overpriced) coffee and a little girl came up to me to try to sell me something. I told her no and she moved along to another table where a young woman gave her what was left of a piece of cake. I watched as the little girl moved a few paces away and devoured the cake and wondered what else she had eaten that day. Or that week.

I feel like this is the kind of post that should end with something conclusive, but once again I don't have an answer. I think one of my problems is having too much passion. If you get me started on any number of issues, I can go on and on about the injustice of it. The problem with this is that the more issues I come to understand and feel passionate about, the more overwhelmed I feel. So, the question is, where to draw the line? And the answer is something I don't really have but I do know that when faced with the stories of the kindness of people in Mexico, I think I haven't reached the line quite yet and I need to step my game up.