The desert never felt peaceful

The InterReligious Task Force on Central America (IRTF) is a long-standing ASF partner organisation where numerous volunteers have already committed themselves to human rights and peace work. The interreligious group based in Cleveland, Ohio supports civil societies in Central America and Colombia in clarifying and preventing violent conflicts, strengthens those affected in their advocacy and advocates for the government, companies and consumers in the USA to critically examine their responsibility for the situation in the region. The NGO was founded in 1980 after four church women were killed by US-backed paramilitaries in El Salvador.

I had heard from the predecessors of my volunteer position that they were able to take part in delegation trips to Central America or Colombia during their time at IRTF – I really wanted to do that in order to feel closer to the topics that we deal with every day at our desks on site in the region. But after the first few weeks of the second Trump presidency, it was clear that I could not leave the USA because it was too uncertain whether I would be allowed to re-enter. Instead, I was able to travel to the US-Mexico border with IRTF.

On Saturday, May 3, I flew to southern Arizona where I stayed for two and a half weeks.

The following day, I attended an orientation with the Tucson Samaritans. They are a human rights organization run entirely by volunteers. Their main focus is “water trips”: small groups of two to four people drive into different parts of the Sonoran Desert around Tucson to leave water, food, first aid supplies, and other vital items for migrants crossing the border.

They hike to established drop-off points which are known to be on paths ofpeople who cross the desert and leave the supplies in buckets or under crates. I went on several water trips. For three weeks in a row, I joined the weekly water trip to Chimney Canyon, south of Tucson.

In my second week, I joined a two-night trip to Ajo with the Samaritans. We drovet hrough the Tohono O’Odham Nation Reservation, a few hours west of Tucson. The Tucson and Ajo Samaritans work closely together because the desert around Ajo is particularly deadly — volunteers from Tucson support them monthly. The landscape there was very different, and the hikes were longer and more intense.

Who held this bottle in their hands?

While hiking, we repeatedly found black water bottles — used because they’re harder for Border Patrol to spot in the dark — as well as clothing, like shoes and jackets. The items left behind by migrants are the closest I got to them in the desert. Holding a black bottle and thinking about which hands had held it before was very powerful to me.

Besides water drops, the Tucson Samaritans also do Search and Rescue missions and Crosses Trips. I joined one of the crosses trips with the artist Alvaro Enciso, who has been placing handmade crosses in the desert for over ten years at the locations where people have died while trying to cross. He often takes interested people with him.

Together Alvaro, a school class, and two other Samaritans andwe drove into the desert to plant a new cross and check on twoolder ones. The new cross was for an unidentified person whodied just a two-minute walk from the road where we parked. Awoman walking her dog had found the bones and the personsbackpack under a tree next to a trail.

Alvaro explained that most people who die in the desert neverhave a funeral in their home. Families don’t know if they lostreception, were detained by Border Patrol, or died. That’s whyit’s important to him to give them this ceremony andremembrance. But it’s also a way to shape the landscape andraise awareness of the dreadful reality.

Most of the people who die in the desert are never found.

Injustice and enrichment on the assembly line

I also went to the Tucson Immigration Court for an “Operation Streamline” hearing. I met there with Katrina, who attends these hearings every day to document them. Operation Streamline was a U.S. immigration enforcement program that criminally prosecuted nearly all “undocumented border crossers” in mass court proceedings, raising serious human rights concerns for its lack of due process and detention conditions. Though officially ended on paper, similar practices continue. The mass trials are only possible because people plead guilty because otherwise, they would face a much higher prison sentence.

42 people sat on wooden benches in the courtroom. Men in orange jumpsuits, three women in red jumpsuits. They were handcuffed, and their hands were chained to a chain around their waists; their legs were shackled together so they could only take small steps. When a group walked forward, you could hear the clanking of the chains. They couldn’t put in and out the interpretation devices themselves; a court staff member had to do it for them. It was degrading, dehumanizing.

Each group of defendants- about 9 or 10 at a time -was called up to stand in front of the judge. She asked the same nine questions to each of them, they all answered the same: “Sí” or “No” and “Culpable” (guilty) at the final question.

And then it started all over again. The judge’s words, the answers- everything repeated 42 times. You could easily replace the judge with a robot. It was like an assembly line. The human who dreams of a better life gets turned into a commodity in the enrichment of the rich.

Outside the courtroom, Katharina explained that in the past, people were brought straight from the desert to their court date, often spending only one night in detention beforehand. Now it’s ten days or more due in part to court backlogs, but also because prison operators profit from longer detentions.

She calculated the cost: 42 people, 10 days, $150 per day- $63,000 that the government pays the prisons. And that’s before the six-month sentences begin.

What I saw in this court was horrible.

Border Countries: Between militarization and traditional holiness

The extreme militarization in the region was overwhelming as well. We passed through Border Patrol checkpoints every time we drove into the desert. The Border Patrol presence felt constant — white cars marked with green stripes, unmarked white cars which the Samaritans still recognized, camera towers, drones, ground sensors, helicopters. The desert never felt fully peaceful; the military presence was always with me. Sometimes it was just in the back of my mind, subconsciously. Other times, when we heard the helicopters, it was the only thing I could think about. I can’t possibly imagine how people must feel crossing the desert, in constant fear of being detected by Border Patrol.

The time I was in Arizona also coincided with the arrival of the military. On my second day, someone showed me a picture of a tank that was just spotted at the border wall. Later, driving to Ajo, we saw tanks parked at the Border Patrol station on State Route 85in Why. The local paper (Ajo Copper News, May 14, 2025) reported that there were between 6–10 vehicles. On our way back, we passed two tanks on the highway. On my final water trip, in Chimney Canyon, we encountered four soldiers in the desert. When one of the Samaritans asked if they were military or National Guard, they laughed. One said, “I don’t know.” Everyone I was with was sure they were military. That same day, we saw a military helicopter. This military presence is unprecedented.

The Air Force regularly trains in the same desert areas where we went for water trips. Every time we went out, we saw or heard fighter jets overhead.

To gain a deeper understanding of Native perspectives, I visited Saguaro National Park, where I learned about the sanctity of the land for Native communities. I listened to an interview with a Tohono O’Odham man who talked about his culture and how the border impacts his community. Part of the community lives in Mexico, part in the US and the border wall disrupts the natural flow between them. He described the wall as if someone were scraping a knife across his mother’s belly.

I attended a protest to protect Oak Flat (Chí’chil Biłdagoteel), a sacred site for the Apache people currently threatened by mining. Apache Stronghold is fighting a legal battle to prevent the land from being transferred to a mining company. Driving through the desert, I saw many mines—unnatural, deep cuts in the landscape where there once were thriving mountains full of life.

But there was also so much that was beautiful. The nature was breathtaking—unlike anything I had ever seen. I met so many warm, committed people. All the people who organize and make a difference together with the Tucson Samaritans, Ajo Samaritans, the Arivaca Aid office, the Global Justice Center which houses SOA Watch, the Apache Stronghold, Alvaro, Katarina and many other groups and people I met gave me hope.

The trip to the borderlands was deeply meaningful to me. It gave me a much deeper understanding of the situation at the US-Mexico border and a deeper emotional sense of what migration means, not only on this border but at all. Seeing the vastness of the desert, walking on the same paths as people trying to migrate, but always knowing that I will sleep in my bed and they will sleep in the desert tonight. Standing next to this hateful wall and spotting Alvaro’s crosses everywhere was very different from reading articles or looking at photos.

What I experienced brought me closer to IRTF — our work and our mission. It is important that we educate ourselves and help others educate themselves on why people undertake such a dangerous journey, leave their homes, friends and families behind and together with them change the conditions that force them to leave.

I am incredibly grateful to all the supporters of IRTF and to everyone who contributed to make this trip possible. Thank you!

Lilly Wehrmann did her ASF volunteer service at IRTF in Cleveland, Ohio in the USA in 2024-2025, which took place as part of the International Youth Voluntary Service (IJFD).