Sister Maria Louise Edwards and Sister Paula Mary Palasz are participating in a Border Witness Journey, traveling from Eagle Pass, TX, to El Paso, TX, and concluding with a Justice Conference in Ajo, AZ.
Witness at the Border organized this Workshop for Justice and the short journey from March 9-16, 2025. The journey began on March 9, with stops in Eagle Pass (2 nights) and El Paso (2 nights), before ending in Ajo, AZ. The Justice Workshop will take place in Ajo from March 14-16. Below is Sister Maria Louise Edwards’ reflection from Day 1.
Day 1
Today, Sister Paula and I stood in places where policy became suffering, where human lives were lost and forgotten, and where the land itself carries injustice.
Day 1 of the Border Witness Journey began in Eagle Pass, TX, at a shelter that once served 1,500 migrants daily. Today, it sits empty—a stark reminder that people are still fleeing, still desperate, but now trapped elsewhere, unseen. A woman in our group was moved to tears, recalling her time volunteering when the shelter was full.
We then visited Potter’s Field, a section of Maverick County Cemetery where unidentified migrants are buried—those who died seeking safety, their names lost to the desert and the river.
At the Rio Grande, we saw the floating buoys and razor wire we’d heard so much about. They now carve through the river—a river that, for so many, has become a grave. A landowner, torn between grief and the reality of what she has witnessed, told us at least 1,500 people have drowned in these waters over the past five years. She has watched bodies pulled from the river, still covered in mud when their families came to claim them at the morgue—left unwashed, unacknowledged, as if they were less than human.
At Shelby Park, once a community space, we saw it fenced off, a militarized zone, guarded by an officer in fatigues. We stood on a hill, witnessing what was once a gathering place but is now a symbol of how the border is no longer just a line.
We visited the churches—once places of refuge, now silent. The doors remain closed because there are no migrants to serve. But in that silence, there is a sense of waiting—for what is coming.
We ended the day witnessing Operation Lone Star’s Forward Operating Base—an 80-acre military camp, built to house thousands of National Guard soldiers deployed to enforce border security. We did not see much activity, but the barracks, the vehicles, the sheer scale of readiness—it was all waiting.
Today was a day of bearing witness to what is happening, hearing first-hand the stories of those who have suffered here, and seeing a glimpse of what is yet to come. It was not loud. It was not chaotic. It was silent. It was sobering. It was waiting.
We are only at the beginning, but already, we feel the weight of what we are witnessing.
Tomorrow, we travel to El Paso—the next stop on the journey.
