Issuu

santa cruz when a river crosses a border cuando un rĂo cruza una frontera

Angela Gervasi

Thank you to Rodrigo Muñoz and Aztlán Xunuta, for their invaluable help with my translation. Thank you to Nancy Valentine, the Lowe House Project, Tony Sedgwick, Diane Brooks and the Border Community Alliance for giving me these chances to explore the borderlands. Thank you to Jose Ángel Soto Torres (Pepe) and the people of Ambos Nogales for their kindness. Thank you to Elena Vega and Abraham Limón for their inspiration. Thank you to my parents, my brother, my friends. To my grandmother, who taught me to be unafraid exploring the world. And to the Santa Cruz River.

Gracias a Rodrigo Muñoz y Aztlán Xunuta por su ayuda inestimable con mi traducción. Gracias a Nancy Valentine, Lowe House Project, Tony Sedgwick, Diane Brooks y Border Community Alliance por la oportunidad de viajar y explorar. Gracias a Jose Ángel Soto Torres (Pepe) y toda la gente de Ambos Nogales por su amabilidad. Gracias a Elena Vega y Abraham Limón por su inspiración. Gracias a mis padres, mi hermano, mis amigos. Y a mi abuela, quien me enseño como explorar el mundo sin miedo. Y al río Santa Cruz.

la línea. The first time I left the United States and walked into Mexico, it felt furtive, quietly exhilarating. There was an unpleasant creaking noise from the metal turnstile I pushed— the same kind you’d use to exit a subway station— except here, the noise meant you were leaving one country, entering another. That first night walking into Mexico, the sky was fading into a swatch of greys and blues. During the daytime, the city of Nogales, Sonora bursts with life and industry, with unruly cars and the sizzling of carne asada. But sunset (atardecer) felt different, almost magical. Maybe I was imagining it, maybe I was too fascinated by the novelty of a new place, but the scene in front of me seemed to slow down, as though the city was collectively sighing the day’s chaos away. Pink, gentle light is how I will always remember my first 4

sight of Nogales, Sonora. Here, life is friendlier. Humane. People smile at each other on the bus. They give coins to those who ask for money. They stand next to a woman as she hails a taxi so she doesn’t wait alone at night. Without hesitation, I can close my eyes and travel that pathway— that camino that starts in Arizona, pushes through the turnstile, and trudges southward, deeper into Mexico. I pass the cheap pharmacies, the gift shops, the casas de cambiar (where you can exchange your dollars for pesos through a thick, glass window). I pass Israel’s art studio, where he paints skulls for tourists and desert landscapes for himself. I pass the hot dog stand, where Enrique from Guatemala City works and dreams of one day becoming a translator. (Even hot dogs here are a sight to behold, wrapped in bacon and drenched in a

stomach-churning mixture of frijoles and pico de gallo). And the U.S.-Mexico border, shadowy and silent, watches over everything. It’s been difficult to comprehend this roiling, metal fence and the life that thrives around it. The border permeates national headlines, but how often do we hear the stories of those who live there? We hear the echoes of fiery political rhetoric. We read about walls. But rarely do we read about people. I’ve rifled through interviews, and I've scribbled unoriginal passages, and I've typed incessantly, only to stop mid-sentence. But I’ll keep trying to put this heartbreaking place into words, especially if it means you, the reader, can hear the stories of those who live it every day.

arizona united states of america united states of america arizona

sonora mexico mexico sonora

tthhee b o b o rr d e d e rr llaa ll Ă n e Ăne a a

table of contents • tabla de contenidos introduction • introducción

water drop • un pedacito de agua

following the river • siguendo el río

deluge • diluvio

contamination • la contaminación

headwaters • las cabeceras

of clear waters • de aguas claras

twin cities • ciudades gemelas

stolen land • tierra robada

112

reviving the river • reviviendo el río

126

holy cross • santa cruz

140 9

introduction la introducciรณn

The sun rises over golden-brown earth, and a rancher watches a trail of water ramble for a mile through his land. Thirty miles south, another rancher does the same, pulling a white-and-purple hat over her ears in the clean December air. One stands in the United States, the other in Mexico. A metal fence and a 2,000-mile border separate the two ranchers. But as they sip their morning coffee, they watch the same river.

El sol sale sobre la tierra dorada, y un ranchero mira un río fluyendo por su tierra. Cincuenta kilómetros al sur, otro ranchero hace lo mismo, poniendo una gorra blanca y morada para cubrir las orejas.

Uno está en Estados Unidos, el otro en México. Son separados por una frontera de 3,145 kilometres. Pero mientras beben su café de la mañana, miran el mismo río.

Tony Sedgwick gazes toward the headwaters of the Santa Cruz river on a mild December afternoon. His Arizona ranch, Las Lagunas, holds about a mile of the river.

Tony Sedgwick mira las cabeceras del rĂo Santa Cruz durante una tarde suave de diciembre. Su hacienda, Las Lagunas, tiene una milla del rĂo.

The Santa Cruz is a 184-mile river that flows in both the United States and Mexico. It’s not vast, or wide, or deep. But in many ways, it is miraculous. That’s no exaggeration in a landscape that is beautiful, but harsh with the stench of drought— a landscape that has witnessed the deaths of thousands. But somehow, the Santa Cruz’s trail of water exists, giving life to a place that is otherwise deadly.

El Santa Cruz es un río de 296 kilómetros que fluye en los Estados Unidos y México. No es grande o profundo. Pero, de muchas maneras, el río es un milagro. Fluye por tierra bonita, pero peligrosa: un desierto donde miles de personas han muerto. Pero, de alguna manera, el río Santa Cruz sigue por la tierra seca, y conecta dos países.

water drop water drop pedacito de agua pedacito de agua

Green Valley, Arizona The Sonoran Desert spans 100,000 square miles under a white-hot sun. Temperatures can rise above 115° and dip below freezing. Water is a rarity: some desert plants must bury their roots more than 100 feet into the ground for a taste of it. In the past 20 years, at least 7,200 migrants have died in Arizona, at the hands of this desert.

El desierto de Sonora tiene 260,000 kilómetros cuadrados. Las temperaturas pueden subir más de 45 grados, y pueden bajar menos del punto de congelación. El agua aquí es rara: unas plantas desérticas alcanzan con sus raíces treinta metros en el suelo para beberla. Desde 1998, por lo menos. 7,200 migrantes han muerto en este desierto.

Thatâ€™s why the Samaritans drive through the desert with crates of water. The Arizona-based humanitarian group has one simple goal: to keep migrants alive as they cross the U.S.-Mexico border. Aiding undocumented migrants is a risk. Providing transportation, or even a bed, to an undocumented person is considered a felony. Still, the Samaritans continue to drop heavy jugs of water onto Arizonaâ€™s brittle floor.

Entonces, los Samaritanos manejan por el desierto con cajas de agua. El grupo de Arizona tiene un objetivo sencillo: salvar las vidas de migrantes que cruzan la frontera. Ayudar a los migrantes indocumentados puede ser considerado ilegal. Dar a un migrante transporte o una cama se considera un delito. Pero, los Samaritanos continĂşan distribuyendo agua en el desierto de Arizona.

“Our purpose for the water drops is to save lives," said Richard Osburn, a member of the Samaritans. "It’s not about open borders, it’s to save lives. Because dehydration is the number one killer for the migrants."

Richard Osburn, un miembro de los Samaritanos, dijo que su objetivo con el agua es salvar vidas. No es sobre las fronteras abiertas. Es para salvar vidas. Porque la deshidratación es la cosa que mata a los migrantes.

Riparian. Walking toward the Santa Cruz River, the habitat changes from a barren desert to a lush, riparian forest. 26

Ribereño. Mientras camina al río Santa Cruz, el hábitat cambia del desierto seco a un bosque lujoso. 27

“A desert river is much more precious than a standard river in the east because water is so much rarer here. And you can’t live in the desert without water, and so finding that water, that’s a really big deal.” Arizona resident

Daniel Judkins Residente de Arizona

Para Judkins, un río desértico es mucho más precioso que un río regular del este, porque el agua es mucho más rara aquí. No puedes vivir en el desierto sin agua, y entonces encontrar esa agua, es grande.

chasing a river siguendo un rĂo

Tubac, Arizona Drenched in the yellow glow of sunlight and cottonwood trees, Daniel Judkins walked along the Santa Cruz in 1999. He was so awestruck by the beauty of it that an idea occurred to him: to keep walking. And he wouldn’t stop until he’d walked the river’s entire length. "Well, that was a stupid thought,” Judkins remembered. “But, I did it.”

Daniel Judkins caminaba por el río Santa Cruz durante un día soleado en 1999. De repente, tuvo una idea: seguir caminando. Y no pararía hasta que hubiera explorado el río entero. Fue una idea estúpida. Pero, lo hizo.

Visible from miles away, the Santa Cruz River is marked by a line of cottonwood trees. 32

Visible aun con mucha distancia, el río es marcado por una línea de árboles de álamo. 33

Tall and white-haired, with the slightest of southwestern twangs, Judkins can recount the history of the river with the enthusiasm of a historian. The river’s seen at least 12,000 years of life: ancient mammoths and giant sloths, Apache and Akimel O’Odham tribes, migration and colonization. “They were drawn here the same reason the current people that live in Tubac live here,” Judkins said. “Because this is a cool place to be when you’re surrounded by desert.”

Alto y con pelo cano, Judkins puede hablar de la historia del río por horas. El río ha visto, al menos, 12,000 años de vida: desde mamuts y perezosos antiguos, hasta tribus indígenas, migración y colonización. Judkins piensa que vivían aquí por la misma razón que la gente vive en Tubac hoy. Porque el área con el río es un lugar increíble para vivir cuando estás rodeado por desierto.

For several months, Judkins made the Santa Cruz his personal project. On weekends, he escaped from Tucson, where he worked as a trauma program manager, to hike along the river in silence. The trip didn’t always go as planned, like the time Judkins found himself caught in a dust storm near the river. As sand swirled around him, he pulled his t-shirt over his mouth and waited for his wife to drive him home. “I really questioned my sanity at some points of it,” he said, laughing.

Durante algunos meses, el río fue el proyecto personal de Judkins. Los fines de semana, escapaba de Tucson, donde trabajaba en un hospital, para pasearse al lado del río en silencio, caminando algunas millas cada vez. El viaje de Judkins no siempre fue fácil, como la vez que él se encontró en una tormenta de arena cerca del río. Usó su camiseta para respirar. A veces, cuestionaba su cordura.

Judkins traces the river, and the border, into the ground.

Judkins dibuja el rĂo, y la frontera, en el suelo

Judkins was raised in the border town of Nogales, Arizona, where he crossed into Mexico as a boy for fresh tortillas and 50-cent haircuts. Today, he still walks along the Santa Cruz. For him, it’s home.

Él creció en la ciudad fronteriza de Nogales, Arizona. Cuando era niño, cruzaba a México por tortillas frescas y cortes de pelo baratos. Hoy, continúa caminando al lado del río Santa Cruz. Para él, es su hogar.

The Santa Cruz begins in Arizona’s San Rafael Valley, a sweeping bowl of grassland and sloping hills. The river pushes south, crosses the border and graces the outskirts of quiet Mexican towns. It changes course, flows north, and returns to the United States— oblivious to the iron fence that divides the two countries. It continues north. Just past Tucson, it sinks beneath the ground and disappears.

El río Santa Cruz empieza en el valle San Rafael de Arizona. Viaja al sur, cruza la frontera y fluye cerca de pueblos mexicanos en Sonora. Cambia su dirección, fluye al norte, y vuelve a los Estados Unidos. Continúa al norte; después de pasar a Tucson, desaparece debajo del suelo.

"This is the country I like. … A river runs through it, so to speak. A border runs through it, and a river runs through it." Trauma program manager and Arizona resident

Daniel Judkins Profesor de trauma y residente de Arizona

Para Judkins, el área del río Santa Cruz es la tierra que le gusta. Hay una frontera y también un río.

deluge diluvio

Amado, Arizona Sometimes, the river is nothing but a trickle of water. Sometimes, it runs underground. Sometimes, fueled by the chaos of monsoon season, it floods.

A veces, el rĂo es dĂŠbil como un arroyo. A veces, corre debajo del suelo. A veces, con los monzones de cada aĂąo, inunda.

“It’s so nice after the rain,” Laurinda Oswald sighed, preparing to drive through her Arizona ranch. She relishes in discovering things on the stretch of land. Things she didn’t know were there before: a twisted mesquite tree, an old-fashioned water pump. Oswald’s ranch holds five miles of the Santa Cruz. She’s lost as many as 40 acres at a time to the river's unpredictable floods.

El tiempo es suave después de la lluvia, dijo Laurinda Oswald, preparándose para manejar por su rancho en Arizona. Su hacienda tiene cinco millas del río. Usualmente, no hay mucha agua, y de repente, las inundaciones abruman su tierra. Una vez, Oswald perdió 40 hectáreas de su tierra a una inundación especialmente mala.

“Most of the time, the river is bone dry,” Oswald said, “and then, it’s not.” In an attempt to control the floodwaters, Oswald places hulking stones onto the river bed. “The meander slows the water down,” Oswald explained, “so it has an opportunity to sink in.”

La mayor parte del tiempo, el río está seco, Oswald dijo. Y de repente, ya no. Para reducir la velocidad de las inundaciones., Oswald pone piedras pesadas en el lecho del río. Oswald dijo que lentitud da una oportunidad a la tierra para absorber el agua.

In her echoey house, she unfurls dark, detailed maps, each one depicting the Santa Cruz. Over time, channelization — a man-made process — has straightened the river’s path to prevent erosion to accelerate the process of irrigation. On a straighter path, the water travels faster. She points to maps of the river from the 1930s, 1950s: curves and oxbows that no longer exist.

En su casa, Oswald tiene mapas del río en el pasado. Mientras avanzaba el siglo veinte, proyectos de canalización han enderezado el río artificialmente, para ayudar al proceso de irrigación. Ella muestra mapas del río de los 1930s, 1950s, con curvas que ya no existen.

aquifer

An underground mass of rock, sand or soil that holds water. While the Santa Cruz’s aquifer has sunken, its groundwater is still used for drinking water.

acuífero

Una cantidad subterránea hecha de roca, arena o suelo que tiene agua. Mientras el acuífero del río Santa Cruz se ha hundido, su agua subterránea todavía es potable y útil.

“The river never used to flow from start to finish the whole time,” explained Claire Zugmeyer, an ecologist who’s worked on the river almost 30 years. But urban growth in the southwest has lowered its water level even more. As the population ballooned in cities like Tucson, residents pumped more and more groundwater, causing the aquifer — the level of the river — to sink.

El río nunca fluía continuamente, según Claire Zugmeyer, una ecologista que se ha enfocado en el río por casi 30 años. Pero, el crecimiento urbano ha cambiado mucho el río. Mientras la población crecía en Tucson, los residentes usaban más y más agua del río Santa Cruz. Algunas partes del río se hundieron debajo del suelo; la tierra se secó.

contamination la contaminaciรณn

“You don’t know whether to laugh or cry, you know? Like, a river’s like a beautiful thing. But the Santa Cruz River is full of, it’s polluted and full of sewage water."

Immigration activist, Arizona resident

Cristóbal Lagunas Activista de inmigración y residente de Arizona

Lagunas dijo que con el río, no sabe si debe reir o llorar. Usualmente, dijo, un río es algo bonito. Pero, el río Santa Cruz, Lagunas dijo, está contaminado.

Rio Rico, Arizona Urban growth has altered the river so much that the U.S. government uses sewage water to make it flow. The Nogales International Wastewater Treatment Plant, a strange, sterile-smelling facility, treats 15 million gallons of sewage water each day. 12 million come from Mexico, where the city of Nogales, Sonora exudes tons of waste and sends it north.

El río ha cambiado tanto que el gobierno estadounidense está usando aguas residuales para estimular su flujo. El lugar donde pasa esto se llama Nogales International Wastewater Treatment Plant en Rio Rico, Arizona. Trata 15 millones de galones de aguas residuales cada día. 12 millones vienen de México, donde la ciudad de Nogales, Sonora crece y envía residuos al norte.

It takes 52 to 68 days to remove sludge from the water. Then, clean enough to use and drink, it’s funneled into the Santa Cruz.

Después de 52 a 68 días, las aguas residuales son bastante limpias para beber. Salen de la planta y se unen con el río.

In 2017, a bursting sewage pipe in Arizona caused raw sewage to flow from Mexico into the United States: carried onto the Nogales Wash, and eventually, the Santa Cruz River. The breach was declared an emergency. Experts whispered of E. Coli.

En 2017, una tubería de aguas residuales se rompió, y la basura fluyo de México a los Estados Unidos por el río. Fue declarado una emergencia. Expertos predijeron virus en el agua como E coli.

the headwaters las cabeceras

Lochiel, Arizona

Sometimes, Allan Clemans goes three months without getting a visitor. His home sits in a prairie of golds and greens and wrinkled dirt roads. The nearest grocery store is an hour’s drive away. He works for the state deptartment as a caretaker for the San Rafael Ranch, a stretch of more than 3,500 acres that brush against the U.S.-Mexico border.

A veces, Allan Clemans pasa tres meses sin tener un visitante. Su casa está en una pradera grande, y la tienda más cercana está a una hora de distancia en coche. Clemans trabaja para el departamento del estado de Arizona. Cuida por el rancho San Rafael, un área con más de 3,500 hectáreas.

"This place has so much history. It’s like, I take care of a piece of history. This ranch started around the Civil War. ... Since then, everything has been untouched." San Rafael Ranch caretaker, Arizona resident

Allan Clemans Guardián del Rancho San Rafael, residente de Arizona

Clemans explicó que este lugar tiene mucha historia. Para él, su trabajo es como cuidar una parte de la historia. El rancho empezó durante la guerra civil, y todo ha permanecido intacto.

Pancho Villa raided it for horses. John Wayne walked on its grounds to star in old Westerns. For Clemans, the isolation and lack of high-speed internet is worth it. The San Rafael Ranch exists because of the Santa Cruz, whose water was crucial for the cowboys who lived nearby. Their names (Tomás, Don, Jack) are still etched into the ranch’s earthy walls.

Pancho Villa robó sus caballos. John Wayne caminó por el rancho para actuar en películas Western. Para Clemans, la soledad y falta de buen Internet vale la pena. El rancho existe gracias al río Santa Cruz, cuyas aguas eran cruciales para los vaqueros que vivían aquí. Sus nombres (Tomás, Don, Jack) todavía están tallados en las paredes del rancho.

South of the ranch, the Santa Cruz River crosses the border into Mexico.

Al sur del rancho, el rĂo Santa Cruz cruza la frontera, a MĂŠxico.