The Migrant Trail

by Nancy Rivera

Idecided to walk the Migrant Trail (a 75- mile walk through the desert in solidarity with migrants) last year because I believe forgetting is too easy—even for those of us with recent immigration stories.We find ourselves in a comfortable place and we forget where we came from. Memories become fuzzy, native tongues start to sound foreign and traditions begin to fade. And so, little by little, immigration becomes more of a political issue that affects others instead of something that affects us, our family, and our friends.

In the weeks leading up to the event, I became a complete mess—my anxiety levels were at their maximum. Fortunately, I was offered comfort and guidance by my friends.

My friend Marina challenged me to think of immigrants who are just like me—people who like to plan ahead.What do they do when they face uncertain prospects and futures at home? How do they cope with their stress? They probably set out towards El Norte!

[MCC staffperson] Harley Eagle reminded me to reconnect with my ancestors, the people who came before me and laid the path for me. He also encouraged me to remember my immediate family, whether they approved of what I was doing or not.

And finally, I was reminded by my prima (cousin) that we come from people who walk. Our grandmother walked everywhere in México. We walked too—we just never measured distance.

During the Migrant Trail I carried a cross. It contained the name of a young woman, Maria Lucia Martinez Nava, who died trying to cross the border on February 23, 2004. I wondered what she went through when she decided to leave home. What did her family think of her decision? Did she make the journey alone? Did she ever stop to think of the risks that came with the trip?

I still can’t forget that she was my age, 26 years old, when she embarked on her journey towards El Norte and that her decision to go was perhaps the last big decision she made in her life.

I’m a U.S. citizen but also a Chicana. These people who would risk their lives in hope of a better tomorrow are my people. Yet I will never completely understand how it feels to be them. I will probably never know the fear that a man faces as he leaves his family and a country that he loves. I will never know the dread a woman feels as she asks for contraceptive injection before she makes her journey across the border.

This year several MCC workers again walked the Migrant Trail in an effort to better understand and imagine the human face of migration. Read more and follow this year’s journey at mcc.org/us/washington/walk.