The first time my sons tried to cross the border to make money they were 14 or 15 years old. They wanted, as they say, the ‘American dream’. They wanted to dress in nice clothes, to look like they belong. They wanted to help me because they saw the need at home. I told them I preferred to work myself, or that they should wait until they have reached the age to work because they could be risking their lives. But they have aspirations.
They didn’t tell me they were going to cross the border. If they had I wouldn’t have let them. I woke up that morning and went into their room looking for them, but they were not around. After a while I got a call. They had been detained by US immigration and repatriated. The local welfare office called to say I had to go pick them up.
I thanked God when I saw them again. I asked them why they had done it, and they said to help me. I then looked at their feet. ‘I need shoes, mom,’ they said. ‘I don't have any shoes. I wanted to buy new shoes.’ It makes me feel bad to say it, but they really were not wearing shoes – they were all worn out. As a mom, it hurts. You feel guilty because you could not give them what they need in the moment. It’s easy to point fingers, for the child protection advocates to say, ‘You, madam, don’t take care of them.’ They don’t know what I have to do, what my husband has to do, to support our children. If I were with them all the time I could not work. And if I did not work, I could not feed them.
People judge children like my sons. When they do smuggling, people say ‘Oh, they’re just looking for an easy way to make money.’ They see the tattoos and think my sons are criminals. But smuggling is not easy money. They could fall or drown, or run into somebody who just leaves them in the desert. They’re risking their lives.
They’re also judged when they aren’t involved in smuggling. My children have worked many jobs. They have done construction work. They’ve worked 9, 10 hours a day under the sun. They come back with dark skin, and then other employers won’t hire them because of their tattoos and the colour of their skin. It’s hard for them, and none of it is easy money.
It makes me angry as a mother, and it makes me angry with my children. I tell them, ‘Soon you will be able to work. There is work here in Juarez too. You don’t have to run before you know how to walk. Not everything in life is achieved from one day to the next. I didn’t have shoes before, but now, thank God, I do. One day you too will achieve your dream.’
My son, the one who was murdered, worked crossing people over. He told me that the US immigration agents put him in a room with a really hot, bright light. He said that he sweated and sweated, and then all of a sudden they put him in a freezing room with the air conditioning at full blast. He used to get sick because of those things, but he didn’t abandon the dream. He used to say, ‘I'm going to earn good money there, and I'm going to give it to you.’
I am always worried about my children when they are not at home. Always. I fear that they won't come back. I see on Facebook how many kids go missing here in Juarez and I feel the pain of those mothers. At least I saw my son again after he was killed. Those mothers who never see their children again will feel dead all their lives.