by Robert Fraga
Like Leonardo Boff, Father Joe had to be stopped. Boff was gagged. Joe Borelli was deported. One day in the fall of 2006, he was invited to the Ciudad Juárez office of the Mexican immigration authorities. The authorities told him that he was working illegally in Mexico. Technically this was true: he was working without a work permit. This was a requirement that was normally waived for clergy like Father Joe, but not in his case. Of course, he could always apply for a work permit, but this would have to be done outside the country. In El Paso, for example. In the meantime, he had to leave the country. “When one works for justice, this often doesn’t please governments. It doesn’t please the rich. And this has consequences,” Father Joe said afterward.
Police escorted him to the Stanton Street Bridge where he crossed over into the U.S. As was previously mentioned, this was the first and only instance of a Catholic priest being deported from Mexico for working without a work permit. While he could apply for a work permit from El Paso, he was advised quietly, in an informal aside, and very politely—the way cartel bosses talk to newspaper editors—not to try.
Juárez bishop Renato Ascencio Leon said that he knew the good father had been deported but he had no other information. “Father Borelli is a non-Mexican,” he said. You could taste the vinegar in his voice, “and he must abide by the immigration laws of the country.” The bishop, one should note, was a member of the Vatican Council on Emigrants and Itinerants.
Joseph Borelli did not go far. He settled in at a Spiritan Order house in El Paso, less than one mile from the border. From there, he kept tabs on the situation in San Judas. But he was still not there, at a critical distance from the action. That tamped down his contact with the people who had been his parishioners.
Attempts to wear down the settlers went on relentlessly. Early one January morning, a gang of thugs broke into the home of one of the colonos resisting relocation. The men had wrapped bandanas around their faces to conceal their identity. They began to loot the house of its belongings: furniture, an ancient fridge, even freshly watered plants. Dirty water splashed over the dirt floor of the house. What they could not filch, they destroyed with crowbars, pickaxes, and shovels, smashing windows and walls. Neighbors congregated at the site and started to yell at the thugs. Guadelupe Pineda, whose house was being torn apart, rushed out to stop a truck that was making off with her belongings. Her blouse caught on the railing of the truck. The driver accelerated. The woman was dragged along with the speeding vehicle. The driver leaned out his window and jeered at her struggles to free herself of the truck. Pineda’s blouse was torn and the flesh of her breasts bruised before she could fall back away from the pickup truck.
The driver had the cheek to return to the scene of the incident with a couple of city cops. He claimed to have been accosted by residents of the neighborhood while he was cleaning up trash. The next day, when he went to file a complaint, police detained Pineda’s husband and accused him of disturbing the peace. He was released only when civic groups pressed for action.
The two ex-nuns from Las Hormigas who had settled in San Judas tried to help the settlers, but there wasn’t much that they could do. In any event, their special status in the community did not protect them from insult and harassment. The day they attempted to photograph the White Guards destroying property, one of the Mara Salvatrucha yelled to them to get the fuck away (“Vayansen a la chinaga”). The same man donned a goat’s head mask and dashed toward the two women. He made grabbing gestures at Lina’s skirt. Lina shrieked and flailed at her assailant. He managed to pull her skirt half way down her legs before backing off. He giggled at Lina’s feeble defense.
When Father Joe heard of these outrages, he shook his head and quietly mumbled to himself, “Jesus Christ!” It was the only time people could remember his invoking the name of the Savior to express his disgust with the behavior of the Schmidt thugs.
Just after he was expelled from Mexico, Father Joe appeared before a meeting of the Doña Ana County Commission in New Mexico when it tabled a discussion of the situation in San Judas. What follows is an abridgement of the exchange that took place between the priest and the commissioners.
Commissioner One: We have a human crisis in San Judas. In the process of developing the land that this neighborhood occupies, human rights have been violated. Two children have been burned alive in their home. Two adults have been killed. A gated community has been erected, with barbed wire and guard dogs, and men with baseball bats and guns that are outlawed in Mexico. Father Borelli, who is here with us today, was the minister of that community. His church was burned down. Now he is living in El Paso because his life has been threatened.
Father Joe: I’m not here to say anything against development. I’m not a politician, but I am interested in justice and in human rights.
We come to you because San Judas is in the middle of a huge multi-development project that involves a lot of federal, city, and state money and private developers. That piece of land on which San Judas sits fronts New Mexico. So what happens there has an international dimension.
The chapel I took care of—Jesus de Nazareth—was located in San Judas. I knew nothing of any land dispute, and then, lo and behold, one day the electric infrastructure was ripped out of the community. From then on, there has been a program of low-intensity conflict designed to move people out of the area. There has been violence and intimidation. Through corruption and bribery, a community has been dismantled. That is the greatest sin of all.
Vigilantes came in and were there for three weeks. The police arrested them, but they came back. They set up a barbed-wire fence and a guard tower. The colonia was sealed off. Residents tried to tear down the fence, and there was a violent exchange between vigilantes, who were armed, and the residents, who were not. The police refused to intervene. The city refused to intervene.
The last time a human rights group came to San Judas, it was greeted by vigilantes with sticks and chains and guard dogs. The vigilantes refused to let the group pass the gate to San Judas. The chapel, Jesus de Nazareth, was knocked down by the vigilantes. But we rebuilt it in three days, bigger and better. Commissioner Two: Yeah, Father. I’ve been looking into this matter for three or four months, and I’ve been talking to Senator Bingaman’s people. What I’m hearing is that they are frustrated with the Mexican government. Bingaman is getting nowhere on this issue. We all want Governor Richardson to do something. What can be done to influence the governor of Chihuahua? How can we deal with this issue as we try to move forward as a region?
Father Joe: The head of the Federal Human Rights Commission in Mexico has been refused entry into San Judas. He recommended to the president of Mexico that the federal government intervene. His request met with total silence. The problem on the Mexican side is that there are too many links between people of power, people of wealth, and government officials.
What I can imagine coming from the U.S. side is a human pressure that we can exert. We can say, in effect, “If I’m going to do business with you, if we are going to negotiate a deal in which we both have something to gain, then we need to understand that this problem can throw a monkey wrench into the works. Development can’t go forward if there is a perception that land is being acquired through violence, through intimidation.”
Finally, if there is a public airing of what is happening, that will restrain the ones who are inflicting harm on the residents of San Judas. That, at least, is our hope, that the people who are still there will be treated with respect, that there will be a just and peaceful way to manage the land dispute.
Commissioner Two: I understand that, Father. It seems to me that the Mexican government should be stepping up to the plate here. My question is: Is it just the influence of the Mexican developers? Is it too much or what?
Father Joe: It’s very strong. There’s a lot of interaction between the developers on both sides of the border, between the governor…
Commissioner Two: How so, sir? You see, this is something I’m getting a lit
tle upset about. I’ve spent three to four months… There have been accusations that developers in El Paso are mixed up in this. But I’ve not found one set organizational connection there. There have been some allegations that Eloy Vallina—he’s on the board of the Verde Group—that he’s involved with these guys. I’ve been asking a lot of people, “Can someone define one set organizational relationship?” Father Joe: I’m just saying you have very wealthy, very powerful people who obviously are meeting together…. The people in Grupo Verde know one another. They can talk to one another and try to exert their influence for the good. We wouldn’t want anyone to think that we turned our backs on this injustice, allowed it to happen.
Border plans are stuff people from both sides of the frontier are talking about. How can we improve the infrastructure? How can we improve border access? So I’m asking, in that context, where business people are sitting down and talking to each other, can we exert pressure to get the gates out of there, to get the guards out of there? I’m not making any accusations.
Commissioner Two: I understand, sir. I just want to be very clear when we’re talking about this issue that I wouldn’t like to be … so and so is rich and powerful so they have something to do with this. I don’t think that’s fair.
Father Joe: I’m not saying that any more than I’m saying that Governor Richardson is causing it. But Governor Richardson can call the governor of Chihuahua on the phone and say, “Hey, compa, like what can we do about this?”
Commissioner Three: I think it would be naive to think that, on this side of the border, we have the ability to track these business relationships. I’ll be polite and call it international business. It’s structured in such a way that you cannot track it. Relationships are not transparent. I lived in Central and South America for many years and know that the rules are different. Government works in a certain way. Business works in a different way.
Commissioner Four: None of us can condone this sort of situation. And as a representative of this district, I’m appalled. I really am appalled. I just don’t have the words to express how appalled I am. And I want to go see the area. That’s home to me. Sunland Park is home to me. I will do everything in my power, if it means talking to Governor Richardson and the governor of Chihuahua, talking about intervening and stopping this violence and this injustice.
[Applause from the audience]
Commissioner Three: I think it would be remiss of us to walk away today with just a statement of outrage. This commission really needs to take an action. Let’s do it. Let’s not just sit and express our outrage. Let’s go down there. Very quickly. Let’s coordinate the people who have the knowledge and who have done the research and who are already involved in the issue. We need to keep the momentum going. This can’t wait until two meetings from now when we can pass a resolution. This can’t wait until we’re able to tour the area and see what’s going on. There are people out there without electricity, without heat, without water and sewers. This is a health violation. It’s a human rights violation. And it’s something that cannot continue at all. We need to issue a letter that is a call to action to show that Doña Ana County isn’t going to sit on the sidelines.
[More applause from the audience]
The measure passed by the commission, wreathed in a garland of “whereas” clauses, advocated a “peaceful and just” resolution to the situation in San Judas. This included the restoration of electric power and a source of potable water in the disputed neighborhood and an examination by U.S. officials of the international aid resources available to assist in providing basic services to the residents of San Judas while “the situation is being resolved.”
The one speaker to be called before the commission in the open comment session that preceded the vote was a lawyer representing Pablo Schmidt. He extended an invitation to the commissioners to visit San Judas to see for themselves that the situation “was not as serious as it was portrayed.” He went on to say that he would personally recommend that Mexico City recognize New Mexico as Mexico’s favorite state—el estado mas favorecido de Mexico—because of the support offered by Governor Richardson.
A reporter who covered the commission’s proceedings asked to talk in confidence with Father Joe after the dust had settled on the commission’s deliberations. Their meeting took place in a bar frequented by Las Cruces call girls. A wall-mounted TV was blasting out hip-hop lyrics as the men drank beer and yelled back and forth to each other in order to be heard. First off, the reporter told Father Joe that it was unusual—rare indeed—for the commission to limit the open session to one speaker. There had been a lot of arm twisting by New Mexico state officials in the governor’s office, he said. They had warned the commission not to call for removal of the barbed-wire fence, not to call for respecting human rights, not to do anything that would jeopardize binational development in the region.
A forum at the University of Texas El Paso later that fall gave several residents of San Judas the opportunity to air their complaints in a dignified academic setting. The first to speak was a man named Aurelio Carranza, who told his audience of professors and students that he originally came from Zacatecas. He went on to say:
I’ve lived in San Judas for more than thirty-five years. My parents passed on the property to me so that I could work the land. But now the Schmidt family has men come to beat us. They beat my wife. We’re both elderly. We’re living a horrible life. The vigilantes carry weapons, even high-powered rifles. Sometimes we get back home late at night and the gate is locked. If we tell the guards to open it, they get angry and beat us. There is nothing we can do about it.
Rafael Piñon also spoke at the forum. He told the audience that he had witnessed the deaths of Carmen Casango’s children:
I was there. I tried to open the door. It’s very hard to talk about this. But the most painful thing was when we found one child in her bed and the other beside the door. One was four. The other was three. Their skin was charred. It was falling off their little bones. Forgive me. I don’t know how to talk. But I have seen many things. Many things have taken place. But I’m not educated enough to explain them to you. I would want someone to tell you everything that happened.
The highlight of the forum was a panel consisting of two women, one—Petra Medrano—from San Judas, and the other—Lupe Ochoa—from the Segundo Barrio in El Paso. Both women had lived in their respective neighborhoods for fifteen years. They came to share their common struggle against developers from both sides of the border.
Medrano was dressed like a Mexican businesswoman, in a dark suit and a white blouse with short, horizontal stripes. Her dark brown hair was tied back in a ponytail. “We lived in peace there,” she said. “We feel so powerless. I know that I’m a target now, but I must speak out.”
“Why now?” she asked. “Why have they decided to kick us out now after we’ve been there for so long?”
Lupe Ochoa echoed Medrano’s sentiments:
We used to live happily in our barrio, but now the Paso del Norte group has us living in fear. Residents have been selling their houses for fear that they will be forced out.
What connects us with San Judas is our love for our neighborhoods. Love is what unites us. The people who are doing this to us are not invincible. With all their money, they don’t have the heart that we, the poor, have.
“It’s the same people who are responsible for what is happening in San Judas,” said Petra Medrano. “It’s the same businessmen who are threatening us.”
A couple of short documentary videos were shown, one about each community. In each of them, residents expressed almost identical sentiments about the seizure of their property. The videos linked development plans by Pablo Schmidt, Eloy Vallina, and Bill Sanders targeting the northwestern sector of Ciudad Juárez to the detriment of the people living there.
Father Joe commented that the project, which spanned San Judas, Sunland Park, San Jeronimo, and Santa Teresa, involves billions of dollars. “That’s the price tag on the whol
e enchilada,” he said.
The Doña Ana commissioners who had wanted to visit San Judas did not wait long to take up their invitation to come see for themselves what was going on. They arrived one afternoon, unannounced, and told the MS-13 guards that the Schmidt family lawyer had invited them. The guards contacted the man who took more than an hour to show up. In the meantime, the commissioners were kept waiting at the neighborhood gate. When he arrived, the lawyer apologized for taking so long. He was wearing a flaming red tie. His suit looked as if he had bought it in Savile Row. His hair was slicked back over his ears.
“Why the barbed-wire fence,” the commissioners asked. “To keep out intruders,” the lawyer replied. This was a violation of the residents’ rights. The lawyer smiled and said that this was private property.
The commissioners concluded that the situation was even worse than they had imagined. “I can’t understand how this is happening in my own backyard,” said one of them, a petite woman dressed in a pants suit and a narrow-brimmed hat, a shade of red decidedly more subdued than the lawyer’s tie. “I see it, but I can’t believe it.”
“Something very wrong is going on here,” said one of her male colleagues. “It’s like a concentration camp.”
“You can be sure that Governor Richardson is going to hear about what’s happening here,” said the commissioner in the red velvet hat.
The lawyer smiled again. He waved goodbye as the commissioners took their leave of San Judas.
The commissioners’ experience was not unique. A human rights forum on-site was planned for the fall of 2007. It came off although not as planned. As soon as outside participants arrived, the Schmidt cholos swarmed the gate to San Judas, waving sticks and pipes and screaming insults at the newcomers. Two of the cholos came on horseback. One of the thugs grabbed a dog by the scruff of his neck. Guffawing and prancing back and forth on his horse, he thrust the cur’s cock at the visitors from Las Cruces and wagged it at them. One of the female organizers of the forum said: