Families Reach Out Across Border

Along the miles of solid steel that mark the U.S.-Mexican border is one stretch where the fence is slotted with posts set inches apart, wide enough for hands to touch across the international divide.

And so Ramona Velarde drove three hours Sunday to Calexico, and squeezed her arms through the fence into Mexicali to embrace her three children and her 3-year-old grandchild, America. Her daughter passed her a silver bracelet watch, a present for Mother’s Day.

The Velardes came to the U.S.-Mexico border, as well as the Castillos and Corrales and many other separated families who wanted to celebrate Mother’s Day. They are people whose immigration status -- some lack travel visas, others are illegal -- prevents them from crossing. So they rode their bikes, took taxis or drove hundreds of miles to one of the few places along the border where they can caress, smooch and exchange gifts.

Ramona Velarde, dressed in an orange flower-print sundress and gold earrings, stood with her family for nearly three hours, talking, holding hands, sharing sodas. Finally, as the desert sun grew hotter, she puckered up, pressed her mouth into the gap and kissed each of them goodbye.

“I look forward for the weekend to see my mother,” said Marco Antonio, Velarde’s 28-year-old son.

The barrier is a paradox that separates and unites. Fifteen-feet tall, its upper reaches covered in steel mesh, the fence poses an ominous obstacle for people trying to enter the country illegally.

But here in the center of town, human emotions overtake the complexities of immigration laws and flow freely across a guarded international border, allowing cultures to mix and family bonds to tighten.

“Es la linea de reuniones de amor,” -- it’s the border of loving reunions, Velarde said.

The gaps in the fence -- barely wide enough to pass a baseball through -- are enough to keep a window open on an increasingly walled-off border.

“I’m over here,” Isabel Lopez Castillo yelled through the fence to her son and daughter-in-law in Calexico. Castillo, grasping her son’s hand through the fence, introduced him to a 3-year-old niece. He passed her his cellular phone so she could call her sister in Santa Paula in Ventura County.

A few feet away, four generations of mothers and daughters kissed and held hands through the posts. Petra Molina, 53, who lives in Mexicali, hasn’t been able to re-enter the U.S. since 1988, when authorities took away her visa. They accused her of working illegally in the U.S., she said.

Molina’s daughter, Araceli, can’t go to Mexico, because she lacks the proper travel documentation that would allow her to return to the U.S. So they meet here every two weeks. Araceli drives down with her husband and daughter from Phoenix.

They were joined at the fence by several other family members, all of whom can cross the border freely. Molina gave Araceli a bottle of perfume for Mother’s Day. Araceli held up 1-year-old Emma to the fence, so she could kiss her grandmother. Emma started crying.

Molina, wiping away her own tears, said she didn’t like being one of the only ones in the family who can’t cross the border.

“I’m the ugly duckling,” she joked.

The gatherings don’t go unnoticed; Border Patrol agents circle nearby on bikes or watch from their parked vehicles. This area takes on a frenzied air at night, when young men and women shimmy over the fence, or hacksaw through its posts, leading authorities on chases through backyards and stores in Calexico’s downtown.

The U.S. Border Patrol agents eye the reunions carefully -- people have passed drugs and other contraband through the posts -- but rarely prevent the meetings. They don’t have the heart.

“Technically, they’re not supposed to be on the fence,” said Hector Hacegaba, a nine-year veteran. “But sometimes they haven’t seen each other in years. I feel bad telling them they can’t talk.”

Along most of the 2,000-mile U.S.-Mexico border, fast-moving rivers, vast deserts and craggy mountains form formidable natural barriers to entry. In urban corridors of the Southwest, the border was more permeable. In the late 1980s, however, the federal government moved to improve security and control illegal immigration. And the walls of steel began to rise.

Now, about 70 miles of fencing exists on the border in California and Arizona, most of it made of steel sheets once used as emergency landing mats for aircraft dating to the Vietnam War era, according to federal officials.

In Calexico, a desert city of roughly 27,000 residents 120 miles east of San Diego, officials wanted a friendlier fence. For many residents, Mexicali and Calexico seem like one city, both culturally and geographically. The border here runs through Calexico’s sleepy downtown, with its quaint, arcade promenades.

The cities form a contiguous sprawl across the Imperial Valley, and their downtowns sit across the narrow border road from each other. Without the fence, one could stroll uninterrupted from a shaded promenade in Calexico to another in Mexicali.

Calexico merchants accept Mexican pesos, most signs are in Spanish and English, and residents cross regularly to dine at Mexicali’s Chinese restaurants.

“No one wants to see brick walls or solid steel fences along the border because that’s not the message we want to send to our neighbors,” said Mayor David Ouzan. The fence, with its narrow gaps, was erected about five years ago.

It stretches four miles. The meeting point is near the intersection of 1st and Hefferman streets. On the Mexican side, child vendors hawk newspapers, peanuts and Chiclets to the people in cars waiting to cross the port of entry.

Chalked along the fence is a warning written in Spanish, prohibiting anyone from standing at the fence or passing items through the barrier. But the reunions occur anyway, usually in the morning or evening hours, away from the searing desert sun.

On Sunday, Velarde was there the longest. She awoke at 5 a.m. to drive the three hours with her husband from their San Juan Capistrano home. A house cleaner and baby-sitter, Velarde said she hadn’t been able to cross the border for years because she didn’t have the proper travel visa.

The documentation, called an advance parole letter, allows people who are waiting to get permanent residency status in the U.S. to travel to another country without abandoning their application, according to Sharon Rummery, a spokeswoman for U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services.

But immigrants run across a host of problems qualifying for the documentation. Some must wait several months, and sometimes years, to submit their paperwork and get it processed. Sometimes they get bad advice on complex immigration laws.

Velarde said she hasn’t crossed the border in eight years, since she moved from Mexicali to be with her husband in Orange County. Her husband does have permanent residency and crosses regularly, she said.

Velarde’s family in Mexicali, two grown sons and a daughter, are struggling, she said, so she gives them each about $20 to $30 during her visits. She also brings clothes that her daughter can sell at swap meets. She regrets that she can’t be with her grandchildren. Coming to the fence is the next best thing.

Though Mother’s Day saw dozens of people gather at the fence, the meetings occur almost every day. Today, the day Mother’s Day is officially celebrated in Mexico, will be especially busy. People come to the fence to buy Mexicali newspapers, or to give food or clothing to loved ones. One young man recently placed his hands on the belly of a pregnant young woman. Young lovers sometimes embrace through the bars.

Last week, Jose Luis Urzua, a Calexico resident, came to see his wife, Maricela, who has lived in Mexicali since crossing the border for her uncle’s funeral a few months ago. Jose said she couldn’t return because she had gone before receiving a travel visa.

They hope her status is normalized in a few months.

Meanwhile, their son, Luis Carlos, 8, and 3-year-old daughter, Ofelia, are growing up separately: Ofelia in Mexicali with Mom; Luis in Calexico with Dad.

Ofelia jumped excitedly at the sight of her father and brother coming to the fence. She reached out and embraced Luis. “Papito, I brought you candies,” said Ofelia, her ponytail swinging with excitement. Then she placed her cheek between the bars. Luis puckered and planted a kiss.

“I miss my hermanita,” said Luis.