Twenty Four Hours At The Wall
Twenty Four Hours At The Wall
Mikal Jakubal
January 14, 2024
The Tucson-based group No More Deaths maintains a makeshift, volunteer-run migrant support camp about a dozen miles east of the Sasabe Port of Entry in a remote part of the Arizona borderlands. Every day, asylum seekers who have paid Mexican smugglers to get them across the border wall arrive in this rugged area, frequently without adequate food or water, some with medical emergencies, and most with little information about what to do next.
The camp is on Coronado National Forest land in open mesquite forest bordered by a small arroyo. While not officially permitted, it is tolerated by the Forest Service and Border Patrol as a necessary response to the humanitarian situation. It also provides a safe gathering place as people wait to turn themselves in to Border Patrol to make their asylum claims.
In mid-January, 2024 I spent an intense 24 hours observing, photographing and trying to make sense of the situation there.
Upon arriving at camp for the first time mid-morning, I met up with a group of Tucson Samaritans, one of numerous volunteer humanitarian aid groups who engage in support work here along with No More Deaths. I followed as they did a morning reconnaissance to the wall’s eastern end, handing out water and food to migrants who had crossed during the night, assessing for first aid needs and answering questions about when Border Patrol would come.
Near the end of the wall, we stopped at a large gap where the wall crosses a large arroyo. Seeing motion on the Mexico side, we at first assumed it was a group of people coming to cross the border. It turned out to be a couple of local cowboys.
Steep hills cut by deep arroyos define the topography of this region. When the border wall was constructed under the Trump administration, it was pushed straight across the landscape, resulting in roller-coaster-steep climbs and drops.
Once asylum seekers cross the border through a gap in the wall or by going around the end, they must either wait for Border Patrol to arrive and take them in for processing or begin the long walk to the aid camp where they can at least receive food, water and a safe place to rest and take shelter from the cold, rain or snow that winter brings to this part of the high desert.
By mid-day, two right-wing groups had shown up at the aid camp: five armed men I’m generically referring to as “militia”, and the QAnon-inspired group Veterans on Patrol.
One of the armed men was Johnathon Alexander who runs the Live Border News YouTube channel. Apparently one of the other men is running for congress and the guy in camo and full tactical gear (in photos) was there to protect him, though from what or whom was never stated. The other men appear together in some of Alexander’s videos. Only camo-guy had his face covered, along with the license plate on his Jeep.
Normally I wouldn’t engage with people like them, but I do find it useful to try to understand not only what they believe, but whether or not their beliefs are truly held or ideological accessories to a grift. After a while of casual arguing with Alexander and the others, it felt like a bit of both. They seem to truly believe the racist, conspiratorial, anti-immigrant propaganda they are repeating, but fear mongering and xenophobia are a grifter’s stock-in-trade for gaining quick notoriety and attention.
The other group opportunistically taking advantage of the camp that day was Veterans on Patrol. The Southern Poverty Law Center has a good article on them. Shawna “Butterfly” Martin, who seemed to be the one in charge, truly believes that children are being trafficked across the border for sex and satanic rituals, though when I asked for evidence, she couldn’t provide any. Martin and her assistant went through the camp, talking to everyone with kids and getting them to provide VoP with their contact info and photos, something that humanitarian aid volunteers would never do.
Being women, unarmed and claiming to be there to help, it was understandable that migrant women would assume that VoP was another humanitarian aid group, especially since VoP is openly religious and most of the Latin Americans there that morning were probably Christians of one faith or another.
When I asked Martin what she was going to do with the information they were collecting, she said something vague about calling people’s U.S. sponsors to do safety checks on the kids. She said ominously that if they called and something sounded suspicious, her group could get “boots on the ground” to go door knocking. I asked how they would know if there was a problem and was, again, given no clear explanation other than that they “can tell” when something is amiss.
What makes all of these people dangerous is not that they strut around with fire arms, or hand out biblical coloring books to kids at the camp, but the stochastic violence their agitation can lead to. Their own guns are video theater props. But when enough people become convinced that there is an invasion of child molesters and drug dealers at the border, it becomes increasingly probable that the message will reach an unstable, armed individual who will go on a shooting spree.
The wall in this region has many conspicuous gaps, some leftover from when Biden took office and halted new construction. Others are openings recently cut in order to fix erosion from the Mexican side. A contractor is actively working in the area to fill in these gaps, even though the wall itself ends about 20 miles east of Sasabe and is easily circumvented by an end run.
In a few places, contractors have welded 12 foot tall steel mesh over the gaps, but these are easily scaled or cut through. One such opening, on a ridge above Holden Canyon, is a common entry point for migrants, with a well-trod trail leading in from Mexico. As fast as the fence is welded shut, it is cut through again by the cartels operating the human smuggling business in Mexico.
The entire situation here is absurd. Anywhere from a dozen to a hundred people come through every day, requiring Border Patrol to drive back and forth on the steep dirt road transporting them to the station in Sasabe. Each migrant who crosses helps enrich the Mexican cartels by being required to pay for access to the border. The wall does not stop anyone, but it does create a business opportunity for some of the most violent, heinous people on the planet. It would make so much more sense to formally open the border and let people turn themselves in to make their asylum claim at an official Port of Entry. This would deprive the cartels of business, provide a more secure process for asylum seekers and save massive amounts of money.
In early evening, another photographer, on assignment from a major newspaper, heard of a pregnant woman in distress far out along the wall. She drove off to what is known as “911 hill”, where weak cell coverage is sometimes available, to call Border Patrol and then continued to where the woman was. I arrived later, after making a trip back to camp when a large group flagged me down begging for water.
Fifty feet from where a group of people were comforting the pregnant woman, people were climbing over the wire mesh, descending on what appeared to be knotted blankets. Moments after the first person touched down, several Border Patrol vehicles arrived in response to the 911 call sending the climbers back into Mexico. The Border Patrol paid them no mind, if they even saw them, appropriately focusing on the pregnant woman.
It had taken Border Patrol a couple hours to get there, but the medic who did the preliminary assessment through the woman’s English-French translator friend was professional and respectful. The woman, from Sudan, was nine months pregnant. The BP agents debated a helicopter medevac, fearing the bumpy road could trigger labor, but opted to transport her in their van to meet an ambulance that was already en route.
Back at camp Border Patrol agents were loading people into vans for transport to the Sasabe station. As was their usual practice, they separated people into groups of lone men, lone women and families, keeping families together. Women and families went first, lone men last.
A small group of men would end up spending the night at camp, finally being picked up at first light the next morning.
I spent the night alone at camp, save for the people around the fire by the road. I had the ability to drive out to cell coverage or, if necessary, use my satellite texter to call for help in an emergency. Luckily neither was necessary and I got a sound night’s sleep until a Border Patrol agent banged on the side of my truck when they came for the people who had spent the night at camp.
Later in the morning, at Holden crossing, I spoke with a man named Julio. He was there with a large group of people from the city of Leon, in Guanajuato state, Mexico. The twenty people were extended family members, many of them children. Julio described the tears when he left his mother, grandmother and daughter behind, promising them he’d try to find a way for them to come north once he was established. His brother is here and already a U.S. citizen. He asked me to take a group photo of them against the wall. I gave him my card, telling him to contact me when he got to somewhere safe and I’d send him the photos. As of this writing, two months later, I haven’t heard from him.
People who have crossed the border after long, often dangerous journeys can wear their hopes on their sleeves. Their stories contain both the sorrow of leaving their lives behind and the yearning for a better future, a mix of dreams and desperation. Since I like to be up early photographing, I’m often the first American people will encounter. I try to be as friendly and welcoming as possible, given that these people are about to encounter a system that can be indifferent, when not openly hostile, treating them like anonymous numbers or even weaponizing them for political gain.
Later at camp, I asked Julio about the process of crossing the border. They had taken buses to Magdalena de Kino, a town south of Nogales, Sonora and about 50 miles from the border. They paid $1,000 each, which Julio thought was cheap. (Border Patrol agents who interview migrants as part of their initial processing have told me that $5,000 or more is common, depending on nationality.) For $8,000 to $12,000 a coyote would take them all the way across the desert, but they were intending to apply for asylum, so had no need to hide once in the U.S.
Julio described meeting with the cartel representatives in Magdalena de Kino, agreeing to the price and paying half up front, half when they got to the border. The smugglers had large weapons and threatened to kill anyone who didn’t pay.
They were supposed to have crossed during the night, but there was too much Border Patrol activity at their crossing point (possibly the commotion involving the pregnant woman), so they were required to sleep on a hillside a half-hour walk south. The coyotes brought them blankets, at least. He described the smugglers being armed, with lookouts on hills throughout the area. They were guided through the wall around 7 a.m. and were eventually transported to camp by volunteers.
Julio says he and his family feel safe here, now that they are in the U.S. In Mexico, he worried for his children. While we talk, his brother is making quesadillas for everyone over the little campfire. I wish them the best. The U.S. has plenty of problems. Julio and his family coming here to find a safer life is not one of them.
Once the last Border Patrol van leaves for the morning, the camp feels suddenly lonely, if silently chaotic. Campfires left unattended, food half eaten, trash strewn, water bottles opened but barely used, the echoes of people on the move.
This is not a place to linger, but a small moment of temporary sanctuary in a long, stormy journey.
By tonight, others will be here to seek momentary respite before they, too, will move on.
If you’re interested in helping the work of No More Deaths, donations are always welcome. They can be contacted through their website.
Tucson Samaritans are also very active in migrant support through the camp.
A disclosure to the extent that it might matter to anyone: since I’m asked by everyone from humanitarian aid volunteers, to militias, to migrants, to Border Patrol agents, to professional journalists what my role is, I’ve taken to calling myself an “amateur photojournalist”. I try to be as factual as possible while making it very obvious when I’m giving my commentary and opinion.
That said, I also participate in humanitarian aid activities whenever needed, though I’m not formally a part of any of the groups mentioned in this story. I am a member of Ajo Samaritans, but we work in the desert to the west, around Ajo, Arizona.
When I’m near Sasabe, I will hand out water bottles and snacks and give directions to camp to migrants. These are perfectly legal and ethical activities. I avoid transporting people except in the case of medical emergencies, something I would do without hesitation should the need arise. I also won’t repeat anyone’s propaganda. Though my pro-migrant sympathies are obvious, I will always call events like I see them.
