Mi Casa Es Su Casa

Guest post by Demi Jacques, rising 3L from Lewis & Clark Law School

After touring the castle on a hill that is the US embassy in Tijuana, complete with fancy soaps, striking artwork, and marine security “coming soon,” la Casa del Migrante stood in sharp contrast. My class rolled up in our giant, air conditioned bus, inviting stares and questions from men on the street. “Where are you from??” “Los estados unidos,” I mutter, though we mostly ignore them. I sense some heightened vigilance in our group; we are no longer among smiling diplomatic Americans in a shining new facility. Barbed wire and iron fences loom above the unmarked street, a small cross rising behind them does not quite emanate invitation. Perhaps the stories about Tijuana happen in places like this, we don’t really know.

La Casa del Migrante is a shelter for recently deported people and refugees. They’ve seen an influx of refugees in recent years, first from Haiti and now from El Salvador, Guatemala, and Honduras. The refugees flee violence to be scolded and denied refugee status for not having proper paperwork. La Casa tries to help them with that. They also have a psychologist and resources for people recovering from the shock of deportation, trauma, and their heightened risk of substance abuse. Additionally, they have a job office. Call centers hold the sought-after jobs. I wonder what it’s like to be kicked out of the US or denied entry and then take angry phone calls from outraged Americans who want to yell at a human, not a machine. That irony is not lost on me.

“Today is a good day,” our guide proclaimed. A worn dry erase board by the dining hall announces “74 Migrantes, 5 Refugiados, 79 total.” She said they have space for 140, but can squeeze in 200. They’ve had trouble with the space, she explained, but today was good. Seventy-nine people are not on the street tonight in Tijuana. As I return to my comfortable loft bedroom in my La Jolla hotel, I think about the people about 30 miles from here who couldn’t get into La Casa or another shelter. I also think about my classmates agreeing that they wouldn’t want to be on that street at night. Finally, I think about the little signs that Americans like to decorate their houses with, sometimes with phrases like “Mi casa es su casa.”

-posted by KitJ on behalf of Demi Jacques