So. I was going to read my book and then I thought why don’t I do a blog post? I set up the laptop and got into the position – the one where my fingers are poised to type and I am full of concentration and the topic is about to come, or at the very least some words.
Nothing happens, nothing moves or shifts or pours forth or bumps along. So perhaps, I thought, I needed to warm up a little, and found myself waylaid by my family history explorations. And then -*ding* – the computer, as if it’s aware of my struggling, went funny and gave me no choice but to restart. And somehow, when the restart completes itself I am in YouTube, completely forgetting what my intentions might have been.
Recently I saw a news’ segment on the crisis at the United States / Mexico border. People trying to get across to America, people believing they would now – finally, finally – be made welcome. They have packed up the spaces they have been waiting in; often squashed, often tiny rooms full of people and their few measly possessions. Waiting for the word, waiting to set out upon the pathway to the promised land. Because still, in spite of everything, that’s what America is for so very many people.
“The flow of migrants surges,” I read in an Aljazeera post, “Mexico, Honduras and Guatemala have agreed to deploy troops to their borders to slow the movement of migrants trying to get into the United States………The US Border Patrol is struggling with an increase in the numbers of people trying to cross the southwest US border because of violence, poverty, natural disasters and a lack of access to food in Central America and Mexico.” In the film clip I saw people being sent back, people being ushered forward, children often on their own. Hopes dashed, expectations lifted. The sorrow and devastation of rejection. The dreams of those ushered across that mythical borderline.
On YouTube, I watched Bob Dylan’s Farm Aid Concert version of Ry Cooder’s Borderline. The lyrics have stayed on my mind ever since. It’s not a fast and furious version. It’s simple, and sad, as if it knows now it changes nothing. In the 34 years we’ve had to listen to this song has the story, told this way, helped us understand? Have things changed at the borderlines?
And just before I go I’ll add that I’m not just talking about American borders here. Countries the world over are dealing with the massive tragedy of refugees and asylum seekers. They come from a hell. Too many times they get another version of it when they might be thinking they’ve arrived in a heaven. My country – an island – has been lead by governments which have been, and still are, barbaric in their treatment of refugees. You arrive by boat? You’re not allowed in. Instead, you’ll be jailed (but, as if you were still at school, we often call these jails detention centres) off-shore, endlessly.
It’s ugly sometimes, this life.
‘And when it’s time to take your turn
Here’s one lesson that you must learn
You could lose more than you’ll ever hope to find’ *
*Ry Cooder, Borderline, 1987
RosieL
endgame 