HOPE

            A group of students met in the Public Safety parking lot at 6 pm for Campo last night. We piled into an 80s Aerostar van. On the dashboard, it says to ignore the ticking noise (it is more or less an adventure).

            This last Wednesday, once we arrived and began to teach a man walked into the barn. He told us that next week, there would be chains on the doors and this would be our last lesson. While frustration and anger heavily weighed the room, I think that they were dependent on one big question, “why?”

            The camp itself is set up so that there are about twenty one-room houses with no electricity or running water. Communal bathrooms are in the center and about four men live in each house/room. Each week, the men work on the surrounding farms and from at 7-8 pm. On Mondays and Wednesdays, we meet in a barn that becomes a makeshift classroom.

            So why take away the little that they have? With a limited amount of education, people have limited opportunities. Learning English for the men isn’t just about being more cohesive, with the American society but also, giving Mexicans a voice that Americans understand. The land manager who was going to put a lock on the door arguably knew that if he could prevent the men from studying then the possibility of the men staying would increase. This means that the men would stay at the Campo paying $250 each month for a dingy one-room apartment.

            It is times like these, you wonder how you could make a difference when it feels like the whole world is against you. Last night, I looked to my friend Taylor. He reminded me of the importance of patience. Sometimes you just have to wait so that you know to throw a fit at the right time. Last night wasn’t the right time.

            Today, a friend Allie left a note on my door, it reminded me there was hope—so for today, I remain hopeful.