1/26/20

By Josh Rubin

It is often bittersweet. Where we stand as witnesses near the foot of the main bridge between Brownsville, Texas, and Matamoros, Tamaulipas, Mexico, and not far from the entrance to the tents set up to appear to be courts, gives us occasional glimpses of happiness. And each glimpse reminds us, even as we celebrate, of the thousands on the opposite banks of the river, and indeed all those fleeing desperation from a Central America and a world distorted by a practices that make some rich and safe, and others poor and desperate.

And indeed that is what the wall is for. It is a gate for our privileged community, against those to whom, somewhere in our minds, sometimes buried deep, we know we owe something. We know that our wealth and privilege come at the expense of their poverty and desolation. And so, the wall. Against even seeing the world as a whole.

But back to those glimpses of happiness. The families we have met on the other side, who, thanks to some quirk of the system, perhaps found by a lawyer, manage to cross over. And they come right by us, so we have a spontaneous celebration near the flags on the corner where we stand vigil, the vigil against Remain in Mexico.

Our bienvenidos moments. Abrazos, fotos, sonrisas, lágrimas.