Growing violence in Ciudad Juárez

I was reading the New York Times yesterday evening and ran across an article by Dan Barry titled "This Land: Border Towns Across Rio, Worlds Apart in Drug War." The article brought me to tears. As I've mentioned before, I spent some time in the border region of El Paso and Juárez back in 2002, so as I read of the escalating violence, increase poverty, and growing fear of those bound to life on the 'wrong' side of the river, in my mind I couldn’t help but see the faces of the children and families I met while I was there.

I wonder if Christina is still running the children’s library and organizing HIV/AIDs efforts in her impoverished community. I wonder if Alma – whose house burned to the ground while we watched – is safe somewhere. And I wonder about the children I met -- Carlos, Junior, Melissa, Armando, Esperanza, Elian, Jonathan, and the others. Most of them would be in their early teens now. Are their families still together? Are they split across borders, hundreds of miles apart? Are they involved in the cartels? Are they safe? Did those who wanted U.S. citizenship receive it? Those seeking asylum? Are they in school? I know that I will never have the answers to these questions. So, when I read the Times article, I can’t help but wonder if the slain children, the families trying to figure out how to survive, the communities torn by violence, drugs, and poverty have the faces of people who shared their meals with me, told me their stories, and offered me their kindness.

The article talks of walking across the border. I’ve made that walk. It names streets and describes markets on both sides of the river that I’ve frequented. It describes communities that, for a brief time, welcomed me into their membership.

I read this article, and I don’t know what to do about it. I feel very far away. And very small. In the article, they mention the work of Annunciation House, which is the organization that hosted me while I was in the region. They are continuing to serve as a voice for the voiceless, a hand of aid to the helpless, and a source of comfort and solidarity for the downtrodden. So, as I struggle to make sense of the continuing terror overtaking Juárez, I direct our eyes to their work. Perhaps we can support them as they support others.

Further Readings/Resources:
NYT 2/13/10 "Border Towns Across Rio, Worlds Apart in Drug War"
10/8/09 "A Place at the Table" - a video documentary about the work of Annunciation House
NYT 4/16/09 (video) "Juárez: Children in the Crossfire"
NYT 1/23/09 "Two Sides of a Border: One Violent, One Peaceful"
AP 2008 "Drug Violence: Mexico hit by rising wave of drug-fueled violence"
TIME.com 2001 "The New Frontier/La Nueva Frontera"
The El Paso Times' continuing look at escalating violence in Juárez.

(Image courtesy of Annunciation House)

Video Spotlight: Dessa's "Dixon's Girl"

Life's busy, but I wanted to highlight that Dessa Darling, an Minneapolis-based author, spoken word artist, and emcee that I really dig just dropped her first full length album -- A Badly Broken Code (which you can get more info about, download a free track off of, and/or buy here). Dessa's a member of the Doomtree Hip-Hop Collective and is also a founding member of The Boy Sopranos, an a cappella group. And she teaches composition, songwriting, and hip-hop at the college level. (Awesome, right?!)

I love the strong voice and raw talent she brings to her music. Swing by her MySpace page to hear a great sampling of her work, and below is the first video single, Dixon's Girl, from her album:


Being a woman in music, especially in hip-hop is not easy. Dessa wrote up a little essay at the turn of the year about her experience being a woman in hip-hop. Here it is:

My membership in Doomtree has been the largest single factor in my career as a hip hop artist. I make music with with smart, funny, good-hearted guys who aren’t particularly concerned with the fact that I’m a woman. So my gender hasn’t played a very large role in my process of making music. My gender has, however, affected the presentation of that music.

The fact that I’m female seems to be more interesting to listeners and critics than it is to the people I work with. And I think I understand why. Women are rare in hip hop and novelty is interesting. My private fear, as a person who hopes to have a sustainable career as an artist, is that people might become interested in me for the wrong reasons. Youth is brief and beauty is fleeting, and I don’t want to tether my reputation to variables that are so temporary–and that are completely distinct from my art and from my character. The challenge for me has been to find a way to work as a rapper without diminishing my gender (in effort to fit into a pretty masculine environment) or exalting it (for some easy coverage). It’s a surprisingly fine line, and honestly I’ve made missteps on either side of it.

The other primary challenge is probably even better known to actresses than to rappers. It involves trying to understand the motivations of men who profess to be interested in professional collaboration. To be totally frank, I’m a little nervous that this paragraph will come off as whiny–but it’s an honest account of my experience, so here goes:

As an artist, it’s marvelously exciting when someone you admire offers you a professional opportunity–it’s one of the best feelings in this line of work. As a single, female artist in her late twenties, one of the worst feelings you can have is when you realize that someone has offered you a professional opportunity because he’s hoping for a romantic encounter. The artist part of you feels disappointed because the proposed collaboration was not motivated by a respect for your art. The female part of you feels insulted for being deceived. The human part of you feels embarrassed for having hoped…and then been duped. Repeat this experience at a regular interval, year after year, and it’s hard not to feel a little jaded about the way that people work.

But all said and done…I love being a woman. And I love being an artist. And I’m privileged to live in a culture that allows me to be both in almost any manner that I please. The challenges are offset by the genuine responses that I get from listeners, and by the thrill I get working with the other artists in Doomtree.

Give her a listen. It's good stuff. Promise.