There are moments when the world seems to pause in its perpetual spinning. When the minutes hangs suspended when life begins or ends. The thing that matters is not the thing itself but what we make of it. What we do with our imagination. What we allowed to thrive.
This freedom we have to live and love our lives in our country is in sharp contrast to those economic migrants risking their lives for what we take for granted. Scott Ainsley wrote a beautiful song about someone who wanted to live a better life.
For Grecia Cruz, who crossed into the Tohono O’odham Reservation desert and was lost June 23, 2007.
I go to the market – in the town, ‘ I was born.
It’s full of cheap clothes from China – and American corn.
But we have a small farm – that we water with tears.
How can we compete? The gringo farms are so big. Now we cannot stay here.
It’s full of cheap clothes from China – and American corn.
But we have a small farm – that we water with tears.
How can we compete? The gringo farms are so big. Now we cannot stay here.
And why would I leave – the land that I love?
My grandfather’s bones are up on the hill.
If it weren’t for low wages – I’d be living there still.
My grandfather’s bones are up on the hill.
If it weren’t for low wages – I’d be living there still.
So, we paid the coyotes. We rode in the van.
We walked in the desert; lost in this land.
We walked in the desert; lost in this land.
Her feet were so blistered – that she could not go on.
When I left her I kissed her. When I came back, she was gone.
Who cares if your markets are free?
Look what you’ve done to my wife and me.
Look what you’ve done to my wife and me.
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| Border fence, Tohono Oʼodham Nation |
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