A little over a month ago, I joined a group of faith and political leaders from all over the country in El Paso, Texas. Sponsored by Vote Common Good, we gathered to gain some firsthand knowledge of what is happening at our southern border. Rather than relying on media reports, we wanted to hear from activists on the ground about what they and the people they serve are experiencing.
It was a full couple of days. We were led by an activist who organizes on behalf of people migrating. She took us to a section of the border wall where we discussed its impact, both physical and psychological, on the communities it divides. She also introduced us to a couple who live and work in New Mexico without documentation. Far from the stereotypes we are often told, their personal stories of bravery, discrimination and struggle moved us.
We also attended a special in-district committee hearing on immigration legislation led by Rep. Veronica Escobar. She and several of her congressional colleagues spent several hours questioning experts on immigration policy. After the hearing, our group got a tour of a facility that helps people who've been released from Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) custody connect with their sponsors in the United States. We ended our trip with a vigil at the site of the tragic Walmart shooting where a gunman targeted people with brown skin.
In the days since, I've been processing what I experienced in El Paso. I've come to a number of conclusions that will shape how I vote in the future and the policies I think need to be enacted by our leaders. But as a pastor and a person of faith, this trip reinforced a tremendously important lesson that I need to be reminded of over and over again.
I can only love my neighbors if I take the time to listen to and learn from them.
So many of us white folks have the mentality that we know best what other people need. We've heard some news reports, read some articles and shared some social media posts, so we assume that we have all of the information and answers we need. Like colonists of old, we rush into situations foreign to us with solutions no one is asking for. This tendency cuts across partisan and ideological lines.
What we fail to grasp when we do this is that the very people we are trying to help get marginalized in the process. Their motivations and experiences must shape any kind of solutions that get proposed to the problems we face. More than just a seat at the proverbial table, they must be given a microphone and the opportunity to write the agenda.
For instance, often the situation at the border gets framed as "border security," but the activists and organizers we met told us that we don't have a security problem. We have a governance problem. This shift in how we talk about what's happening deescalates tension and recognizes the importance of bringing people together to craft workable solutions.
I'm encouraging friends and faith leaders to figure out a way to get to the border to hear firsthand from people who live there. That may not be feasible for everyone, but all of us have neighbors whose stories are vital for us to learn. Those conversations are a good place to start.
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Robb Ryerse co-pastors Vintage Fellowship in Fayetteville. He can be reached at [email protected].
NAN Religion on 10/19/2019