Every night, they offer asylum seekers the Ritz
We were driving to the Greyhound station in El Paso, where many asylum seekers were sitting in the bitter cold, when we saw a post from an anti-immigration activist and on-line “influencer.” He said the area we were pulling into looked like a third world country and was so dangerous even he wouldn’t feel safe there.
A handful of activists have been making multiple trips out each night to find women, children, elderly people, and those with disabilities to house. They can’t offer much, just four walls and some mattresses and blankets, but these modest shelters are the Ritz compared to those frigid sidewalks.
Karina and I got out to find the women and children she would take to a safe shelter for the night, just as she’s been doing every single night for nearly a month. I approached one family with two small children and a young teenage son and gave them all some “hot hands.” With my very limited Spanish, I mostly pantomimed how to activate the chemicals inside.
A few minutes later, Karina said this was one of the families we’d be housing for the night. They got into our rental truck, and waited patiently for awhile as Karina made her rounds seeing who else we’d be picking up that night.
When I climbed into the driver’s seat I looked back and suddenly felt bad. There were 4 adults and 3 children all piled into a row of seats meant for 3 people. But there were no complaints coming from them. The cab was warmer than where they’d been just moments earlier.
Karina eventually came back and said she knew the next family we’d be picking up, but for now we had to get this group to the house. I started the engine and headed out of the station.
I plugged in my phone and put on some cheery Christmas music. I checked into the rearview mirror to make sure everyone was in the car and father’s eyes were piercing through me. He had a balaclava on, so his tense eyes were all I could see.
What must be going through his head. How did he know we were safe people? How did he know we weren’t like that influencer who’d been harassing them this week? How did he know I wasn’t some crazed activist about to drive him and his family right back across the border or perhaps somewhere else even worse. With that I quit letting my mind wander, because the thoughts getting far too dark.
I turned onto the freeway and told Karina she should let them know exactly how far away the house was. I made sure not to deviate from the direction the GPS was loudly giving me. These are all things I look for whenever taking an Uber in an unfamiliar city.
It was in that moment that I realized this whole experience was about trust. Heroic levels of trust. But also the trust here was unevenly distributed. It wasn’t hard for me to trust this family. I knew if something went awry, I could pull over and call the police. That is a luxury I have as an American that they do not.
A few moments later, I began hearing a light repetitive murmur coming from the man. I looked back and his eyes were still locked directly on me. He wouldn’t look away. He wouldn’t blink. I listened for a few seconds more, then realized what I was hearing. A prayer.
He was praying safety over his family and for some reason that brought me great comfort as well, because I already knew that prayer was going to be answered.
And now I am working on my own prayer of sorts. A prayer that everyone who trusts the good people volunteering will be covered in a supernatural peace the second they encounter them, knowing they’re headed to safe homes where they’ll be offered warm soup, and a place to lay down their burdens for a bit while they get the rest they and their children so desperately need.
And I pray for the helpers as well. The Karinas, the Rosas, the Jacquelines, and all of the men and women of El Paso who are working tirelessly to provide that safety. I pray that their numbers will multiply as the temperatures drop, and that more kind people in El Paso will open their homes. I pray that their energy to love people will endure, and for their modest homes to stay as warm as their hearts.
These helpers are the ones who are there at night when it’s bitterly cold and all the camera crews have left. And you will never see them bragging about their work on-line or trying to “influence” anyone — they’re simply too busy assisting the most vulnerable people out there. But I think it’s important that their stories be told too.
I trust their accounts of what it’s really like right now in El Paso, as much as I trust them to love these precious families well.