Category Archives: Human Rights, Migrant Death

Talking about the project itself

Photo by Esy Casey and Sarah Friedland, Perinspire LLC

Why do you do this?

Human Rights, Migrant Death, Reflections

“Why do you do this?” is one of the first questions I am often asked about my work with migrant death.  This seems like such a simple question, one that would be easy to answer.  But to be honest I couldn’t find the words to answer the first few times I was asked. I’m not sure how I came off as I stumbled for a response, or how my pause was interpreted.  I was flustered not because I didn’t know how to answer, but I was surprised they had to ask. These are human beings who are refugees of extreme poverty and institutionalized violence. These are human beings who died trying to get to a place they thought would bring freedoms and safety. These are human beings who were invisible in life and who were being forgotten in death. These are human beings who have family members wondering what happened to them and where they are. But first and foremost, these are human beings.  “Why wouldn’t I do this?” I wanted to ask in return.  I am fortunate that I have a specialized skill set that allows me to contribute to the exhumations and identifications. I am lucky that I have a university that has “Education for Service” as its motto and supports my work on this mission. I am lucky I have graduate students who are passionate, dedicated and trained to work in these situations. I am lucky I have the support of my friends and family to do this. I am lucky. They were not. They are still human beings who have basic human rights and whose families have basic human rights. I do this not because I want to, because no one should want this amount of pain and suffering in our country. I do this because it’s the right thing to do. I wondered how my students would respond if I asked them the same question —Justin removing burial fill with a dustpan from inside of a burial

Justin:  The reason I am here in Texas is to give a voice to those who cannot speak for themselves.  The training we receive at UIndy has equipped us with a very special skill set.  We are taught to both recover and help to identify skeletal remains.  We are often the last resort, and can help to give a name to the unidentified when no one else can.  Our goals are simple: Locate the remains of those who have been buried unceremoniously without a name and identify them so they can be returned to their families.  I hope the work that we do will bring about closure for their families.  I cannot fix the past or offer any sort of justice, but hopefully I can give families a place to mourn the loss of their loved ones.

Team members working around a burial marker from the ground surface Ryan:  First and foremost, I’m here to assist in any way I can, whether it is in the form of exhuming migrant remains in hopes of identifying them or in the form of interacting with locals to better understand and respect the depth of the crisis. As a student of anthropology I’m here to try and understand the culture behind the human rights crisis, including what it means to be a migrant, a border patrol agent, a human rights activist, a civilian living in a town affected by the crisis, a rancher, or any other individual with a unique perspective on the situation. As a field expert I’m here to teach students how to systematically, professionally, and respectfully exhume the remains while emphasizing the importance of the crisis. I also hope to instill in these students a sense of passion and drive to provide assistance and seek a better understanding of the complexity of the situation. But most importantly, as a human being I’m here to simply help in any way I can.

EricaErica standing in a burial with a shovel:  Last year when I was invited to participate in this project I had no idea how connected I would become to the issue and the community.  Research helped prepare me, but after being here last field season I knew I needed to return to Falfurrias. Hearing the stories from border patrol and locals are harrowing. This issue goes far beyond the scope
of Brooks County but no matter which side you are on, the number of individuals perishing alone in the desert is devastating. I came back this field season because this is just one small step to returning the missing to their despondent families, but it is a step to which I am able to contribute.  I am here to help the wonderfully gracious Falfurrias community, to shed light on the plight of those trying to make it North for a better life, and to help find the ones that have gone missing but who should never be forgotten.

Jessica removing burial fill with a shovelJessica:   The work we do in Falfurrias is extremely important.  I am here because there is a need for the skills I (we) have that allow the exhumation of unidentified remains, which is the necessary first step in the identification and subsequent repatriation of migrants.  Every unidentified in Sacred Heart Cemetery has a mother, father, brother, sister or children, that know they are lost and are looking for them, hoping for answers that will never come if they are not exhumed first.  I think, “How would I feel if my family member disappeared and I never found out what happened to them?”  These migrants sacrifice more than we can comprehend to come here for a better life for their families.  We have the knowledge and skills that can help give a voice to those that can’t find their way anymore.  Frankly, anything I can do to help this crisis in Brooks County, to help with the basic human right to life (and death) is why I am in in Falfurrias.

Beyond borders team members working with trowels in a burial from the ground surface

Cheneta:  Originally I came here because forensics is a career that I would love to be a part of.  I was asked to join the UIndy team and I knew that it would be a great opportunity.  If I were serious about forensic science this was a trip that would reassure if this was a career I wanted.  But it wasn’t until after I got to Falfurrias that I really learned why I was here.  While I have been here, I have been introduced to the story and the background of the work we are doing.  So now I know that I am here not only because it’s an opportunity but because it is making a difference.  The migrants coming to the United States trying to live a better life but not making it deserve to be found and identified to be returned to their families.  We are here – well I am here because people deserve to know where their loved ones are and it they are alive.  If there they are not they deserve to make peace with that individual.

I am continually in awe of the professionalism, maturity and dedication of the University of Indianapolis Human Biology Students.  The human rights crisis on the border is complex, and our work there is physically and mentally exhausting. Yet they don’t complain and they don’t think of themselves. They continually reflect on ways in which science can contribute to closure for the families and ways in which they can grow from this experience and bring awareness to the crisis.

~KEL

Broken

Environment, Human Rights, Migrant Death, Reflections
Metal burial Marker reading "Unknown Person May 16 2008"

University of Indianapolis photo by Guy Housewright

Yesterday I said I was broken. My Day 6 post from yesterday was superficial and to the point because I was afraid of completely breaking down.  The physical exhaustion is numbing. Every muscle in my body hurts. My hands throb from holding a shovel or a trowel all day. My legs are so swollen that I don’t have ankles and I am covered in bruises. There are times in the field that I just can’t physically stand up without help. But the emotional exhaustion is worse. I was once told that my passion would be my greatest success and my greatest downfall. My passion is what keeps me going and drives me to succeed. But it wasn’t really until yesterday that I understood the second part. My passion is what naively leads me to believe that everyone loves the way I do and feels the way I do about being fair and being humble. My passion is what drives me to build and mentor the people around me (students) because I am only a successful teacher if they succeed. My passion is what brings me here to try to give a voice to the invisible and the forgotten. But my passion is what makes my heart heavy when I hear the stories and witness the reality of what is happening here.

Previously Cheneta reflected on the sense of accomplishment migrants might feel once they get all the way to Brooks County. Yesterday we met a woman in the cemetery that was visiting her mother’s grave. She asked what we were doing and told us she worked on a ranch. She said she sees people coming through regularly and they are desperate for food and water.  She said she tells them the only thing she can do is call Border Patrol because there’s too many, she can’t help them all. She tells them they will die unless she gets the Border Patrol. Many say they are headed to Houston and want to know how far. She says six hours by car and watches their hearts break as they realize their dream of a better life is likely over. Many ask her to call Border Patrol because they know there is no hope. Others walk into the desert with the passion for a new life burning inside. Those are the ones whose bodies we find.

I am a forensic anthropologist and have worked many crime scenes. Some of them grisly homicides that show the dark side of what one person can do to another.  But here it’s different. These deaths aren’t the result of one bad person, they are the result of a dream. They are the result of being born on the wrong side of an imaginary line drawn in the dirt. They are preventable. At the ranch recovery I was in awe of how beautiful the landscape was. The blue sky and big white clouds. I thought about how nice it would be to lay out a blanket and look up at the big beautiful sky and relax. Then it hit me that this was the last thing that individual saw in their lifetime. To this person the blue sky represented oppressive heat and the green grass represented a thorny and dangerous path toward a new life. Something so beautiful to me is in fact killing people in staggering numbers.

Today I watched as the media that came to talk about the mistreatment of these individuals during life disrespect them during death. They interrupted our work, attempted to put tripods and equipment in the holes we were digging and in effect exploited and sensationalized them. I wondered how they could report on this story without really feeling it. That was almost my breaking point. I had to walk away. I ran into Chief Benny. He deals with this issue everyday. He told me it was OK to cry and that I needed to or I would break. He said there are days that he reaches his breaking point and that it’s natural with what we see here. But he told me I needed to pull it together and lead my team through the day because so many people were relying on me. I have had the utmost respect for Chief Benny since the day I met him. I didn’t think I could respect him any more, but today that level of respect went even higher. He is a smart man and I took his advice. I walked back to the grid and went back to work.

I went back and forth on whether I should post this. If it was too much about me or too heavy. But I decided to do it because I see other people at the cemetery breaking and I want them to know it’s OK. I want to tell them it’s OK to cry. Just like Chief Benny told me.

~KEL

Dirty Work

Environment, Human Rights, Migrant Death, Reflections

There is something gratifying about a hard day’s work to which coming home dirty, sweaty, and exhausted are all obvious signs.  Our field work in Falfurrias always results in us being coated in sand and mud, drenched in sweat, and shambling back to our hotel beds physically drained for a few hours sleep (and I mean the word “few” quite literally).  The typical day has me rising by 5 AM to do field work until about 1pm.  That is usually followed by a myriad of small tasks including paperwork, debriefing meetings, and the occasional blog post, which consumes the remainder of my evening until about midnight when I collapse from exhaustion.

What I just described is a typical day.  Today was NOT a typical day.  The beginning of the day started as usual until we received a call from the local police chief around noon.  The chief, Benny Martinez, informed us that a body had been found on a local ranch and asked us to assist in the recovery.  So the entire UIndy crew, Dr. Baker and I piled into Chief’s truck and drove several miles to the gate of the ranch.  The rancher, border patrol, and a representative from the local funeral home met us at the gate and escorted us across a web of ever-winding and ever-narrowing dirt roads to what I assumed was our site.  It was not.  Our site was still several hundred yards away through thorns and sand.

Uindy team members in the brush talking to Border PatrolThe rest of the recovery was gruesome, so I’ll spare you the details.  What is important to know is that this person perished in pursuit of a better life.   As the “Recovery Expert” for our team, I have been on many forensic recoveries, and as a recovery this one was not particularly different.  What stuck with me this time were the stories along the way.

The chief and the deputy sheriff have been on five recoveries in six days, and they only expect them to happen more frequently as the temperatures increase (as a reference it has averaged between 90-100 degrees Fahrenheit).  Often times they are attempting to respond to distress calls but due to extreme weather, distance, and lack of man power end up requiring the assistance of the funeral home.  They told us how the coyotes leading the border crossers (often women and children) would pace them at a mile every fifteen minutes through this baking heat, and if the crossers could not keep up they would be left behind.  The officials we talked to all echoed similar stories of kidnappings, extortions, and rapes at the hands of the coyotes.  While these accounts are incredibly disturbing and hard to stomach, they represent the harsh reality facing those attempting to cross the border and must be addressed.

UIndy team standing in the brush with orange flags dispersedPeople often tell us how important our work is, but sometimes it is hard for me to see.  The work we do is completely reactive, in that by the time we are involved someone has already died.  To quote another forensic anthropologist, “We stand on the shoulders of giants.”  What we do is but a small piece of a very large puzzle.  We do not stand alone, nor could we.  We could not function without the great people of Falfurrias like Chief Benny Martinez, Deputy Sheriff Leonel Munoz, and the countless others who serve this wonderful county.

Uindy team smiling with a border patrol and authority persons

~Justin