Although he was seated in my car, and the air conditioning was working well, the German reporter’s face was beet-red, and he was huffing and puffing in a way that made me nervous. While he had been out and about in the heat of a Brownsville September afternoon, his physical distress was coming from within. He was perplexed and sad and angry.
We had been talking about the way the United States had responded to the plight of the tens of thousands of Central American children who had come to south Texas this summer, seeking refuge from the violence that had recently devoured their futures. I had begun to share my concerns that, now that the USA was “rocket docketing” these children, that they would stop turning themselves into the Border Patrol, or US Customs and would, instead, risk a journey through the desert. That is a horrible, horrible place…
View original post 183 more words