It feels strange to say that just a year ago I was sitting down to write my first blog post in preparation to head to Texas. It feels even stranger to be sitting here now, preparing to return, and realizing I’m unsure what there is to say.
I thought that I would feel excited at the prospect of returning, or perhaps even ready for what I will experience there, but all that I feel right now is an odd sense of uncertainty. Uncertainty of what Texas will be like this year, of how I can be the best teammate for the others on the trip, and even what I will face emotionally while there.
Over this past year, I have reflected briefly on my time in Texas and the things I experienced, but I have spent even more time neatly compartmentalizing those memories– placing them onto a shelf that I don’t have to look at, even though I know they are there. I have not thought much about my time in Texas since the summertime, perhaps because I became busier with classes and work and just life in general, but also because it is undoubtedly easier to surround myself with a protective bubble of not having to think about these things to avoid grappling with the sheer magnitude of weight that they carry. It’s easier, and that’s the unfortunate truth.
At the same time, as I write this, I find that I am becoming aware of just how privileged it is to put those thoughts aside, to not think about the complex and painful truth that is the crisis happening at the border. I get to go on this trip, spend a week experiencing things that are so unfamiliar and new to me, and then I get to return home and push the thoughts aside because it is more comfortable not to have to think of them. It’s easier, and it’s safer, than sitting and living with that knowledge. But the migrants crossing the border every day, in all seasons, from all walks of life, heading towards uncertainty, are not afforded that option.
Returning to Texas means opening these thoughts back up and facing what it means to be privileged in this country. It means confronting the reality that my participation is, in many ways, temporary and voluntary. It’s a choice, not a necessity, and yet I know it matters even if I am only a small part of it. It matters to show up, to listen, to be a witness, and to lean into the discomfort instead of stepping around or avoiding it.
This time, I think returning means choosing not just to observe, but to engage more fully, to think about how the things I learn there shape what I do when I come home: how I talk about this work, how I honor those whose lives intersect with it, and how I use my position and education to move beyond momentary empathy towards sustained advocacy.
This year, I hope to ask harder questions, of myself and of the world I am part of. And I hope that in the end, when it becomes easier again to not think about it, I will choose the harder path that keeps me open, connected, and accountable.
Because if it doesn’t change me, then why go?
– Makenna
