海角大神

海角大神 / Text

How one border community shows goodwill toward migrants this holiday season

As President-elect Trump promises mass deportations, one binational humanitarian group at the U.S.-Mexico border turns the Christmas season into a present-day parable of charity and acceptance.

By Whitney Eulich, Special correspondent
Nogales, Mexico

The angels were among the first to arrive at the U.S.-Mexico border crossing, decked out with their glittering halos and long white gowns.

By the time the sound system was set up under a beating sun in the desert foothills and the shepherds were accounted for, the procession had grown to about 150 revelers.

Nativity pageants reenacting the story of Mary and Joseph seeking shelter in Bethlehem and finding rejection, until being welcomed in a stable for the birth of Jesus, have been central to religious Christmas seasons for generations. In Mexico, the tradition is called a 鈥減osada,鈥 when friends and neighbors go door-to-door in their communities asking if there鈥檚 room at the 鈥渋nn.鈥 They鈥檙e turned away repeatedly until arriving at their final destination, where they鈥檙e welcomed inside to pi帽atas, tamales, and caroling.

Here at the U.S. southern border, this year鈥檚 posada turned into a present-day parable of charity and acceptance in a political climate where the welcome and embrace of the stranger is about to be tested.

Donald Trump takes office Jan. 20, and amid the incoming president鈥檚 promise of mass deportations and new restrictions on asylum, a cross-border humanitarian aid group used the event to shore up goodwill toward refugees and those ejected from the United States who have been labeled murderers, rapists, and drug dealers.

The Saturday before Christmas, a crowd of not only Mexican and American citizens, but also of Nicaraguans, Cubans, Jordanians, and others walked west together along the rust-colored border wall in a binational posada that sought to point out the parallels between biblical characters and the modern-day plight faced by migrants and refugees.

鈥淲e鈥檙e trying to promote an attitude of hospitality in Nogales,鈥 says Joanna Williams, executive director of the Kino Border Initiative. Nogales is the name of the towns on both sides of the border crossing 鈥 the one in Sonora, Mexico, regularly receiving buses of deportees. 鈥淲e want to make sure people understand those coming here aren鈥檛 鈥榗riminals.鈥 Because then they are not only deported from the U.S. but also excluded from society in Mexico.鈥

鈥淪o real it hurts鈥

Each stop of the posada is marked by a small stand or poster set up on or near the border wall. During the 1.5-hour enactment, the crowd hears testimony from a migrant or deportee describing their experiences 鈥 robberies or months waiting to request asylum in the U.S. 鈥 and their pleas for respect and dignity for those driven to leave home.

At one stop 鈥減ilgrims鈥 sing out: 鈥淲e seek a dignified life, why do you treat us like this?鈥 The 鈥渋nnkeepers鈥 respond: 鈥淚鈥檒l treat you how I want; I鈥檓 the one in charge here.鈥

Maria Eugenio Mendoza, whose teenage daughter was performing in the nativity, lives a typical Nogales existence: she works and resides in Mexico but sends her children to school daily in the U.S. She has participated in traditional Christmas posadas her entire life, but usually they are 鈥渉appy.鈥

Listening to the migrants鈥 stories this year is 鈥渟o real it hurts,鈥 she says, standing in the middle of the street. Nearby, migrants among the group are invited to leave their handprint in paint on a cardboard cross attached to the border wall, razor wire visible through the fence posts. This 鈥渁llows us to put ourselves in the shoes of a migrant,鈥 says Ms. Mendoza. 鈥淲e鈥檙e not so different in what we hold close and cherish and what they are seeking by migrating.鈥

Marta Luisa, from the southern Mexican state of Guerrero, just left home due to growing violence and threats from organized crime. Like all migrants, she only provided her first name for her safety. 鈥淚 never really thought about Mary and Joseph as migrants,鈥 she says, bouncing her toddler daughter on her hip. But now that she is seeking asylum in the U.S., 鈥淚t makes me feel closer to this story,鈥 she says. 鈥淔aith is the last thing you lose.鈥

A place to rest

According to the Bible, Mary and Joseph were returning to Bethlehem, for a mandatory census before Jesus鈥 birth. Because everyone under the Roman Empire鈥檚 rule was heading to their villages of origin for the count, inns along the way were at capacity, says Bob Solis, a Catholic deacon who came from the Phoenix area to volunteer at the posada. The couple was also very poor, and likely had few options to begin with, he adds.

鈥淭o me, migration is part of the message of Christmas. Many say, 鈥楴o, no, it鈥檚 the arrival of Jesus,鈥 but both aspects are intertwined,鈥 he says. Jesus lived much of his life as a refugee, Mr. Solis adds, his family forced to flee death threats by moving to Egypt.

The processional wends its way across town led by a pickup truck that drags an open trailer full of musicians strumming guitars and leading the crowd in song. The starts and stops of the procession block traffic on the narrow road, but nobody honks. By the time it reaches its final stop, the front gate of the Kino group鈥檚 building, pilgrims plead to be let in. 鈥淭here is space for everyone,鈥 the innkeepers finally sing to them.

For Issa, a 海角大神 Jordanian who fled his country eight months ago, the climax of the posada mirrors the relief he feels in his own experience. When he first arrived at the U.S. border, he says he was robbed and harassed by criminals who prey on migrants before finally finding Kino.

As he walked into the organization鈥檚 dining hall for the celebration, his face lights up. Rows of tables are filled with revelers, exhausted from the hot walk through town and digging into bean, chicken, and carnitas tacos. A seven-piece Mariachi band plays 鈥淔eliz Navidad.鈥

He recently received an appointment to meet with U.S. immigration officers. The holiday party coincides with his goodbye.

鈥淓verything we lacked, we found here,鈥 he says. This space was his posada for the past six months. In the coming days, he would be knocking on the United States鈥 proverbial door asking for the ultimate refuge: asylum.