And the supervisory agent of Welton Station, Kenny Smith, a lovely man, a 30-year veteran of the Border Patrol, while they were basically eating me alive, tearing my sinews off my bones, he came out, and he said, “What’s going on?” They said, “This idiot’s writing this book about the…” And he just looked at me, and it is what I call grace. I don’t know what else to call it. But this moment came, when his eyes focused and he looked at me, and he said, “I sent out the rescue. I sent out that big banzai run.”
And at that moment, without knowing it, my life changed. And he took me in, and he began training me. And he took me out and showed me what it means to track people and how to know what time of the morning somebody walked by. It was incredible. I realized, this guy had a Ph.D. in dirt, I say in the book, because he could read a piece of dirt like we read a poem in a lit class; then he was saying things that were blowing my mind.
And there came this moment — the transformational moment, for me, was standing on the Devil’s Highway with him. And there’s nothing there. There’s no fence. There’s no barbed wire. It’s just desert, as far as you can see. And there’s a sign with some bullet holes in it that says, “If you come to the United States, we’ll really be depressed.” That’s about it.
[laughter]
And I am standing there with him, and he says to me — and mind you, I still think they’re evil. He says, “I know what you think of me.” And I remember looking, because he’s got his .40-caliber Glock on his belt, and I thought, oh, man. And he said, “You think I’m a jackbooted thug.” And I was busted. I wasn’t gonna say, “Well, yes, I do.” I just stood there. And he said, “I am your jackbooted thug in shining armor.” And he started talking about his life.
And he told me all this amazing stuff that I couldn’t have imagined in 100 years: how agents park — they live 70 miles, 50 miles away from any station, because it takes that long to get into the game and change the human being you were when you woke up, to the human being that has to go out now. And he said, “And you gotta drive 70 miles home, because you gotta go home and bounce your child on your knee.” And he said to me at one point — it’s a white cowboy. He says, “My daddy was a rancher. I’m a rancher. You know what I do all day? I chase ranchers around this.” He said, “I know they’re my own people.” And he said, “My job is to save innocent civilians dying a terrible death. My job is also to arrest those same civilians.”
MS. TIPPETT: Right, both parts of that equation that you didn’t know.
MR. URREA: It's the same person.
MS. TIPPETT: Once, you talk about how there’s, in this swirl of things that get — these accusations that are made and assumptions that are made; that there’s the criticism that American taxpayers are paying for comfort stations and expensive light towers. And then you said, “Wrong. In fact, the towers are built, raised, maintained, and paid for out-of-pocket by those bleeding-heart liberals, the Border Patrol agents themselves.”
MR. URREA: They — OK, they’re cops. So they’re not stupid, they’re sly. So they designed lifesaving towers with shiny mirrors that can be seen from many, many miles away. And they’re solar-powered. They have a call button. And they have a sign that says, “You will die. You will not make it to the freeway. And if you’re in distress, push this button. We will be here before a half-hour and save you.” And being cops, they put them in the places where the most people walked. Yeah, it gave them more arrests, but yeah, it gave them access to save people. And that was designed and built in garages by Border Patrol agents; they went out and put them up themselves. And they paid for them. Those are little things.
And when he was telling me all this stuff — all my alarms went off — all my Chicano, border, Mexican, liberal, may-not-love-Border-Patrol. It was like the robot in Lost in Space — “Danger, Will Robinson. May not love Border Patrol.” And I couldn’t help myself. And he told me these things about being a dad, being a husband, and dead people he had seen, and all this stuff. And I turned to him, and I said, “Kenny — Kenny, I love you, man.” And he just — he never looked at me. He just kept looking in the desert and said, “I kinda like you too, buddy.”
[laughter]
How can you not write a book?
[music: “Flores y Tamales” by Calexico]
MS. TIPPETT: I'm Krista Tippett and this is On Being. Today with master storyteller and author Luis Alberto Urrea.
MS. TIPPETT: I think this is actually what you’re getting at right there. You have this experience, you’ve said, that at the same time people want to strengthen barriers, we seem to want to supersede them, and this makes us a little crazy. You said, “We’d like to be able to speak to each other. We miss each other.”
MR. URREA: Don’t you think?
MS. TIPPETT: I do think, but there’s something about somebody like you writing it down that way, and I read it, and I know it’s true.
MR. URREA: I do think it’s true, and I think there’s a lot of wisdom that can be had from both sides of the aisle, if we’re willing to listen to it. And I admit, most of the time, I’m like, “Are you kidding?” I’m watching MSNBC every night, saying, “Are you kidding me?”
[laughter]
But I’m still willing to listen. [laughs]
MS. TIPPETT: OK, let’s have a couple questions.
AUDIENCE MEMBER 1: How do we create empathy and love to replace fear and hatred?
MR. URREA: Ooh. [laughter] I just think, bearing witness, putting away that pointy finger and that ridiculous rhetoric. It’s really hard. Again, the danger is talking about a human being. That’s dangerous. What do you mean, there are really wonderful people in “that religion”? What do you mean, there are really wonderful people that I’m going to love, doing “that sexuality”? What about “that voting”? Guess what? Everybody has dreams. Everybody has people they love. Everybody has pain.
And for me, one of the greatest things that always sticks with me is walking into the Tijuana garbage dump and making that my world for years. Talk about fear and loathing. I still remember one of the women in the garbage dump hugging me. There were a bunch of missionaries, and she’s all hugged-up on me, and “Oh, Luis, Luis, Luis.” And she said, “You know why I love Luis?” And they’re like, “Why?” “He’s not afraid of us.” And I was like, “Ah, yeah, man.” And she’s like, “He doesn’t care if I have lice.” And I was like, “Whoa, what?”
[laughter]
So I think you gotta be willing to put your life — not just your money, but your life where your mouth is. I had a little deal with God. I was like, “I’ll do this if I don’t get lice, all right?”
[laughter]
AUDIENCE MEMBER 2: This is two questions. You can answer either, both. What is the hardest thing about non-Latino audiences? When presenting your work way up North, what must you do differently compared to Los Angeles, San Antonio, or even Chicago?
MR. URREA: Not a doggone thing. It’s absolutely wonderful. There’s nothing — sure, in San Antonio we speak Spanish more. But other than that, no. These are readers. People are readers; they want to know things, or they wouldn’t be reading. So no, I feel — we have this phrase in Spanish, “en familia.” You’re “in your family” everywhere I go, because people are kind.
[applause]
MS. TIPPETT: So if the “we” is not a melting pot, what is it that we’re evolving towards? What would your hope be, your dream, that we’re evolving into?
MR. URREA: Oh, gosh — Star Trek.
[applause]
We’re going to have a culture, perhaps, where there’s a kind of federation of planets. What is wrong with seeing a stranger in the dark and having that stranger only raise a hand to you to wave hello and not hit you? What’s wrong with that? And it seems so simple to me, and enjoyable, to be able to appreciate someone else’s culture or music or cuisine, or even to listen about their religion and say, “That’s very interesting.”
MS. TIPPETT: I like that. So we evolve into just enjoying each other more.
MR. URREA: Well, wouldn’t that be nice? I think it sure would — except maybe in sports, right?
[laughter]
MS. TIPPETT: We can still hate each other in sports.
MR. URREA: Yes, oh, absolutely.
MS. TIPPETT: This is a beautiful book of poetry.
MR. URREA: Thank you.
MS. TIPPETT: The Tijuana Book of the Dead. And actually, the first poem in here is called “You Who Seek Grace from a Distracted God.” And it’s way too long to read. But I’m so intrigued by where it ends. And I even wondered, maybe, if you would just this page. But I want to know about all these I love yous. Would you just read that and then talk to me about where that goes? What’s happening there?
MR. URREA: Well, the first line of the first poem is, “You who seek grace from a distracted God,” and the last line of the last poem is, “You are not forgotten.” Hence, in my mind, this is the world’s longest sentence. And it’s all about God — or about our yearning. And so this is a poem that was inspired by anti-immigrant rhetoric, and it’s a journey through the first hours of the morning of people desperately trying to get to work. And this is an echo of my own mornings, taking many buses to many awful jobs. And so you’re standing in the downtown plaza.
MS. TIPPETT: You can start earlier, or wherever you want.
MR. URREA: I’ll find a spot, so it makes some sense. And you’re standing with all the people there.
“in tedium you walk silent, counting your manifold sins, / to the plaza, stand / in the crush of your family—these children heading for trade school, / the wheelchair man, the woman and her shopping cart, / the nodding hooker with blue tears on her cheek, paisanos / y borrachos, Ticos, Boricuas, Xicanos, Apaches, / Taínos, Habaneras, cariocas, Mayas, / tattooed cholo Samurai’d and inscrutable leaning back, / hushed as he watches / you. And you want to, you / really want to, you are bursting with it, you / are burning with it, you / who have no words / want to cup their cheeks in your hands, / you want to hold their faces between your palms, / you want to say it—say it, you have nothing / to lose—just say it: say // I love you. I love you. / I love you. I love you. / I love you. I love you.”
[applause]
Partially, it’s really hard to say “I love you” a lot, to people, I think — certainly, to an audience. Interestingly — it’s funny you choose that, because that’s how they started the ballet. They made me say this to all these strangers. And often, if I’m feeling really dramatic, I will gesture to each part of the audience when I do it, because I want it to be sort of a pagan benediction, in a way.
[laughter]
But yeah, you want to say it. We all want to say it. But we can’t. And I deal with so many kids who can’t tell their story, and they don’t think anybody loves them. They think nobody cares. They think everybody hates them. They’re waiting to be thrown out of the country or their mothers to vanish. So part of it is talking to people who need to say it more. Part of it is talking to myself, to say, “Don’t be a coward. Tell people you love them.” And part of it is, I’m often talking to 600 kids, not you adults, and I telling them, “I love you. I love you all,” because somebody’s got to. You’ve got to — if I could have a radio show, I would just read them a story every night and tell them I love them.
[applause]
MS. TIPPETT: This has been so beautiful. And I wanted to ask you, as we finish, if you would read these lines from Nobody’s Son, which is kind of a memoir; notes.
MR. URREA: Yeah, OK. “Words are the only bread we can really share. When I say ‘we,’ I mean every one of us, everybody, all of you, each Border Patrol agent and every trembling Mexican peering through the fence. Every Klansman and each NAACP office worker. Each confused mother and every disappointed dad. For I am nobody’s son. But I am everyone’s brother. So come here to me. Walk me home.”
[applause]
[music: “There Go the Leaves One by One” by Lullatone]
MS. TIPPETT: Luis Alberto Urrea is an English professor at the University of Illinois at Chicago. His many books include: Into the Beautiful North, The Devil's Highway, The Hummingbird's Daughter, and The House of Broken Angels.
STAFF: On Being is Chris Heagle, Lily Percy, Mariah Helgeson, Maia Tarrell, Marie Sambilay, Erinn Farrell, Laurén Dørdal, Tony Liu, Bethany Iverson, Erin Colasacco, Kristin Lin, Profit Idowu, Casper ter Kuile, Angie Thurston, Sue Phillips, Eddie Gonzalez, Lilian Vo, Damon Lee, and Jeffrey Bissoy.
MS. TIPPETT: A big thank you this week to ArtReach St. Croix, the Stillwater Public Library, Trinity Lutheran Church in Stillwater, and the NEA's Big Read program. A special shout out to Heather Rutledge, Stephani Atkins, Traci Post, Travis Nordahl, and Phil Kadidlo.
[music: “Quiet Mind” by GoGo Penguin]
Our lovely theme music is provided and composed by Zoë Keating. And the last voice that you hear singing our final credits in each show is hip-hop artist Lizzo.
On Being was created at American Public Media. Our funding partners include:
The George Family Foundation, in support of the Civil Conversations Project.
The Fetzer Institute, helping to build the spiritual foundation for a loving world. Find them at fetzer.org.
Kalliopeia Foundation, working to create a future where universal spiritual values form the foundation of how we care for our common home.
Humanity United, advancing human dignity at home and around the world. Find out more at humanityunited.org, part of the Omidyar Group.
The Henry Luce Foundation, in support of Public Theology Reimagined.
The Osprey Foundation, a catalyst for empowered, healthy, and fulfilled lives.
And the Lilly Endowment, an Indianapolis-based, private family foundation dedicated to its founders’ interests in religion, community development, and education.
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Thank you I really needed this reminder today about the love for every human being <3
Oh my Beloved, so much more good going in than we can see! And in it, in Divine LOVE (God by any other name) we are far richer than we know! But here it is, #THEANSWER, we CAN know and see if we will surrender to LOVE. }:- ❤️ anonemoose monk