We Provide Humanitarian Aid
We respect human rights and one's ethical responsibility to those who are suffering.
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Border Vignettes
Each month we will feature one of the stories from
BEARING WITNESS: HUMANITARIAN STORIES FROM THE ARIZONA BORDERLANDS, a compilation of personal stories from local volunteers about their experiences working with migrants at our southern border. The complete book is available at local bookstores and on Amazon. Proceeds go to GVS Samaritans. The Beginnings of the Southern Arizona Humanitarian Movementby Randy Mayer, pastor,
Good Shepherd UCC, Sahuarita, AZ Sometimes we look back over events and see that there was a lot more happening there than we could have ever imagined when we were actually living, breathing and walking it at the time. The birth of the humanitarian movement in Southern Arizona has had a hallowed presence that was not always recognized at the time but is palpable when you look back.
It started on Pentecost Sunday 2000, when people of faith and conscience gathered at the Friends Meeting House in Tucson, to have a conversation about the immigration flow that was being pushed in our direction. Word of the meeting had spread quietly and efficiently to people and places that had shown interest and concern for the issues that were quickly becoming an epidemic. I had gotten the word and had invited the UCC pastor in Nogales to come along. In hindsight it was a lot like that gathering of folks in the ancient near east when they gathered on that first Pentecost. They huddled in a room afraid of the forces on the outside that were pushing in. They still had no clear purpose or mission. Some were on the edge of giving up, ready to fold, and give in to the forces of the culture. We too gathered in a room, not quite sure what our purpose was or what we should do. Some were even ready to give into the forces that said let the government handle the problem. After all, we knew that the Border Patrol’s Operation Gate Keeper in San Diego and Operation Hold the Line in El Paso had been effective in closing the flow of immigration in the urban areas of the U.S./Mexico Border. And now they were pushing the immigration flow through Arizona. The Border Patrol’s strategy was to push the migrants to the Arizona section of the border where it was hot and rugged, with little infrastructure , and the Tohono O’odham land would work in their favor. The desert would serve as a natural deterrent; people wouldn’t cross , but if they did, they could track them down or they would die. The spirit began to move in that room as former Sanctuary leaders shared wisdom from their struggle of standing in resistance and offering hospitality in the 1980s to Central American refugees who were fleeing the U.S. backed wars in their homeland. It was as if the winds of the spirit blew and the tongues of flames melded our minds and wills together. Something got a hold of us and clarity began to take shape around some ways that we could take action. We talked about the underground railroad of the emancipation period, the big dipper, the north star. We started to channel the same spirit as we came up with ways that we could care for the migrant in our midst. Someone in the back said,” We only hear the government’s take on the issue. We need another perspective. “ Another said “Why not put water in the desert?” Someone else chimed in, “We can use blue flags and the big dipper as our symbol like they did in the underground railroad days freeing slaves.” Leroy Cook was a patriarch of the Good Shepherd. His wife Marjorie was wheelchair bound for more than 10 years. Leroy treated her like a queen, caring for her at home long after she should have been in a care center. At the urging of his family, Leroy took Thursdays for himself where he could wander and explore the mountains and backroads in his old Chevy Blazer. Most of the roads were poorly maintained, rugged, and dusty, an intricate web that connected ranches and old mining claims. They ran east and west and north and south , and many were there before the Gadsden Purchase, backroads into Mexico. Sometimes if Leroy wasn’t careful, he could veer into Mexico. In those days there was hardly a fence; more often than not in those uninhabited areas far from the human touch , there were just sparse piles of rocks or an occasional post that attempted to approximate that there was an important dividing line somewhere along there. In those remote areas Leroy would often find sojourners coming up from Mexico and Central America. Sometimes he would give them a lift into town and enjoy the company. He had been a farmer in Nebraska, and he came from strong stock, surviving the plague in Elwood, Nebraska when most of his peers died. He liked to tell the story that he advanced two years in school during the plague because he was the only student and his sister was the teacher. There were positives from advancing so quickly, but there were also negatives. When he graduated from high school he was just 16. Leroy became a successful farmer and was well known in the area for his hard work and innovation. He was usually leading the pack trying new soil conservation methods. As a leader in the area he became the co-op manager for Farmland Industries for 10 years. It was in this role that he traveled to Latin America to work with some farming cooperatives there; he was always ready to broaden his horizons and share his knowledge and expertise. When Leroy heard that there was a group of church people that was going to be putting water out in the desert to help thirsty migrants, he was the first to volunteer. His 88 years of life experience had taught him that reaching out to those in need was a natural part of his life. It was easy for Leroy to make the connection that many of the migrants crossing the border were peasant farmers , like the people he had worked with in Nebraska and the farm cooperatives that he had helped develop in Latin America. While I didn’t know it at the time, getting Leroy Cook involved was probably the most brilliant pastoral decision I ever made. Leroy was a patriarch of the Good Shepherd. Leroy was well loved and deeply respected; he lived his faith, he didn’t preach or judge, he just lived life with grace and dignity and treated everyone as if they were important. I remember the day clearly when we loaded up his pick-up truck with a dozen one-gallon water jugs, a brand-new plastic garbage can with a lid, a few blankets, packages of granola bars, a blue flag , and some electrical conduit, and headed down the Santa Cruz Valley, about 10 miles from the U.S./Mexico border. We got off at the first Rio Rico exit and headed east across the Santa Cruz River and followed the railroad tracks up to a place where a couple of migrant trails ran north. There were migrant belongings left behind: an empty water bottle with a Mexican label, a tee shirt hanging from a mesquite tree, a toothbrush under a sage bush and the trails were full of foot prints; we knew the trail was well used and active. It was in that location between the railroad tracks that headed north and the dry Santa Cruz River that we set up the very first humanitarian aid station. Placing blankets and clothing, wrapped in plastic, in the garbage can along with. the granola bars, we put the water bottles around the garbage can like anchors keeping it in place. Two or three media vehicles were there ready to document it all on camera and feed it back to Tucson for the 5:00 o’clock news. Leroy Cook was front and center hoisting up the flag, just like the classic photo at Iwo Jima. But this time it was a plain blue nylon flag atop a 30 foot economically constructed flagpole made of electrical conduit. The flag was azure blue, the universal symbol for water , a foreign color in the parched desert, painted from the neutral color pallet of pale greens, tans and browns. Migrants would be able to see the flag for miles and make their way to its lifesaving aid. In 2000 the immigration conversation in the United States was fairly quiet, the terror of 911 was on the future horizon, and the record number of immigrants crossing the U.S./Mexico border was still in its silent phase. The U.S. population was preoccupied with so many other things. So when members of the Good Shepherd congregation turned on their televisions that night, they were treated to a heartwarming story of people of faith and conscience lending a hand in the brutal Sonoran desert. They saw one of their own members, front and center living out his faith, offering a cup of water in Jesus’ name, loving the neighbor as oneself. Everyone was unanimous; if Leroy Cook was involved, it must be an admirable project, something we all should support. In those early years of my ministry, I was led and mentored, even sheltered by the wise ones who knew the way. It was their deep roots and centeredness that allowed our migrant ministry at the Good Shepherd to become established like the old saguaro that puts down a deep tap root and then develops an intricate root system that radiates out like a web as wide as it is tall, anchoring itself on rocks to withstand the wind and elements. Copyright © 2026 Bearing Witness All rights reserved |
Death MapShows locations of migrant deaths for the period 1981-2023.
Bordado
Hand embroidered cloths, wrapping food with love and hope, were carried in backpacks, then left behind in the desert. Found rarely now, due to the commercialization of border crossing, the ones we have are dearly treasured.
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Updated July 2026 SW
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