On the Justice Trail in Arizona, Part 2

Written by Ben Whaley, Sunday, September 26

Tucson feels different than Phoenix. First of all, it's a college town. Secondly, even though it's much closer to the border, it feels removed from the political hotbed that is Maricopa County, AZ.

I can honestly say I attended more college-football related events in the last 48 hours than I did in the whole of my university career. Yesterday our team of volunteers hit the University of Arizona campus HARD. We registered voters at an ethics forum in the morning (did you know the AZ legislature is trying to cut the funding of ethnic-studies programs across the state.. and at the same time claim they're not racist?), we swarmed the UofA food court, we went to the tailgating, and we hit the post-game crowd at the local college-bar strip. I bet I registered a couple students last night that didn't remember getting registered this morning...

In all that chaos, it's easy to feel like this is just a numbers-game. It is, really, a numbers-game. Staying connected to our motivation is more difficult here. In Phoenix it felt like the challenge was right in front of us. Here, there are seas of apathetic students. Tonight, we went to a park and for the first time registered a high concentration of picnicking Latinos. It was great to see large families out enjoying the relatively cool evening, and it felt good that even though many of them told us they were undocumented and couldn't vote they were still excited and happy that we were out specifically targeting the Latinos that could vote. It was good to feel connected to the warmth of the Latino community that I fell in love with in Salem... the warmth that led to my desire to come to Arizona.

On the note of folks just flat out telling us they're undocumented... I'm surprised at how many of them actually do just come out and say it. I suppose we're not the most intimidating bunch (a gringo chico speaking terrible spanish, a UCC minister in a collar, a soft-spoken Philipino, and a young woman with the heart and soul of a teacher) but I'm still curious about what brings people to be so open with that information. I imagine, with all the danger of crossing the desert, and the added danger of living in such a threatening community, being undocumented is something to celebrate indeed.

The word mojado - or wetback, a colloquial slur for someone who swam across the Rio Grande to get into the US - is sort of a joke when uttered on friendly lips. But tonight, Cornelio taught us another reason. He approached one man to ask if he was interested in registering to vote, and the man informed him, "No, I can't, I'm a mojado."

"Yo tambien," Cornelio replied, "Porque estoy sudando." 'Me too,' he said, 'because I'm sweating.'

It's true. In this desert, todos estamos mojados.