This is my first day back home in Indianapolis. Today I woke up naturally and not to an alarm. I was able to leisurely roll out of bed and, on my own time, and start to unpack. There’s no more sense of urgency to quickly get my things together to go out to the field and search. Although I am very happy to be back in my own bed and with the people I love, I feel a sense of longing. On the ride to the San Antonio Airport, I remember looking out the window at all the thick and thorny brush that had left cuts on my hands and clothes. I was sad that I wouldn’t be out there today with Don, Ray, Socks, and my companions. I won’t be able to see an entire night sky of stars outside, unpolluted by the lights of the city. Nor will I be out trekking through breath-taking scenic and massive ranches, searching for those who have gone missing. Being out in nature and doing something with a great purpose made me feel incredibly accomplished and motivated. Today I find it hard to be motivated to do anything, writing this reflection included. Instead, I lay here and look at some of the photos taken down in Texas. Now that I’m back here, in my normal life, I can’t help but feel ‘Did all that even happen?’
I began to think about my pre-trip reflection and my thoughts the days before the trip. I realize that I thought about the trip selfishly in the beginning. I asked: What would I get from this trip? How am I gonna handle the Texas environment? Will I be able to handle my emotions? Can I make a good contribution to the team? My initial thoughts all were about me while the realities of the crisis were a background concern. It was when we were down in Falfurrias did the crisis become my main concern. Some of these selfish thoughts permeated while we were on the trip. I felt the need to prove myself and find things in the field, take good pictures, and be professional. I needed to prove to myself that I can do this as a future job. I needed to show that it was a good decision to bring me to Brooks County. Although it was hard to push these thoughts aside, I had to realize that, in the larger scheme of things, my anxieties were no match compared to those of migrants attempting to cross into the United States. Even being at home those thoughts continue to resurface. I feel a sense of great guilt that I cannot keep these egocentric thoughts away and instead focus on the issue plaguing the borderlands.
Although I did research and read personal accounts before leaving for Brooks County, I wasn’t prepared to see the things I did and hear the stories Don, Ray, and Eddie had shared. With every heart-wrenching detail, I had to keep reminding myself that these didn’t happen decades ago, they happened weeks or months ago. While I was studying for exams for school, somebody’s child was lost, dehydrated, scared, beaten, and battered. While I ordered pizza, someone was eating the last of their canned fruit while taking a moment’s break inside a mot. Why am I safe here while others risk their lives attempting to cross through Brooks County? It doesn’t feel fair, coming back to my comfortable lifestyle in Indianapolis, while others are sleeping on trash bags outside exposed to the harsh South Texas environment. Dr. Latham had told us that we couldn’t choose to whom we were born and the privileges inherited with that. We could, though, choose what to do with that privilege. Going to Texas and working to make the very slightest change in the human rights crisis along the border is one way to use that privilege. I know that what we did in Texas was truly meaningful and, now more than ever, I want to continue to make a difference in people’s lives and ensure everyone receives the basic human rights they’re entitled to.