Shrines in the Desert: Places of Prayers and Pain

(It is significant to post this today as Coalición de Derechos Humanos just reported that human remains recovered in the AZ desert since October 2008 reached 100.)

The desert landscape is dotted with shrines. Some, crudely made with objects carried by migrants, mark places where folks stop and pray for safety. Others mark graves of those whose journey to a new life ended in a horrific way. Here are pictures three of the many shrines I encountered:

Josseline Janiletha Hernandez Quinteros, a 14-year-old girl traveling through the desert with her 10-year-old brother and a group of migrants, was seeking to be reunited with her parents in LA. On her February journey, she sustained an injury and was abandoned by the coyote. Her brother made it to LA where he was able to report some of the desert landmarks where his sister was left behind. His family immediately called humanitarian groups to ask for help in searching for Josseline. Three weeks later several No More Deaths volunteer discovered her body. The coroner reported that she had only been dead for about a week, which means that she survived for two weeks, alone in the desert, before she died. Her body was found with her feet submerged in an icy pool of water in a wash very near a more heavily traveled trail, her shoes and socks folded neatly beside her. Her mother and father could not travel to attend her memorial service.

Location where her body was found.

This is the shrine in the No More Deaths Byrd Camp.

This shrine along the trail is made with objects carried for days by the migrants. Notice the card of Josseline on the tree. (This is a card distributed by No More Deaths.)

I close with this poem:

To Those Who Have Died in the Desert

In memory of those who went to look for a better life, yet only encountered death . . .

In memory of those who risked everything and lost everything . . .

Of those who went with hope in their eyes and challenge in their souls . . .

The sun burned them and the desert devoured them . . .

And the dust erased their names and faces.

In memory of those who never returned . . .

We offer these flowers and say with the deepest respect . . .

Your thirst is our thirst,

Your hunger is our hunger,

Your pain is our pain,

Your anguish, bitterness, and agony

Are also ours.

We are a cry for justice that no one would ever have to leave their land,

their beliefs,

their dead,

their children,

their parents,

their family,

their roots,

their culture,

their identity.

For out of the silence comes a voice that speaks . . .

So that no one will ever have to look for their dream in other lands,

So that no one would ever have to go to the desert

and be consumed by loneliness.

A voice in the desert cries out . . .

Education for all!

Opportunity for all!

Jobs for all!

Bread for all!

Freedom for all!

Justice for all!

We are a voice that will not be lost on the desert . . .

That insists that the nation give equal opportunity to a dignified and fruitful life to all its children.

Orthón Perez – Summer 2004

“For the right to live in peace . . .”