Not much is known about her, but the nine people gathered on January 3, 2020, to honor her life tried the best they could. A core unit from Pilgrimage of Remembrance.

The group has been doing this for about five years, and at last count has around 150 crosses planted in Cochise County, an area about the size of New Hampshire and Connecticut combined, in the southeast corner of Arizona.

They plan to keep doing this—sometimes just once a month, sometimes more—until the backlog of hundreds of names they have is complete.

Noe Alvarez Lopez

Noe Alvarez Lopez was the person honored when the group gathered on that brisk Friday morning, just days after the New Year.

One of the members of Pilgrimage of Remembrance recited an excerpt from a poem during the ceremony written by Elizabeth Nisly, a student at Eastern Mennonite University. Nisly joined the group a few years ago:

a landscape never intended for us the world shudders
with each human body 
needlessly broken dreams of something better
eroded to dust and sand

Karen Fasimpaur, a longtime volunteer with the group, talked about why she does these ceremonies.

“This work is important to me because it gives me a way to remember immigrants who were not welcomed here and a way to honor their unfortunate deaths,” she said. “These cross plantings are also a way to share their story and the idea that all people have value.”

Every ceremony starts out the same, with a gathering at the home of “The Sisters,” two nuns who lead the organization. Coffee and homemade shortbread—a special recipe with chocolate chips, coconut and pecans—welcomes those in attendance. Small talk picks up as a diverse group of students, retirees and advocates get to know each other.

The assembly then moves outside to form a big circle, with introductions continuing. People from a few miles away to the East Coast have visited at one time or another, all with a common goal that is close to them, remembering people who have died attempting to cross into the United States through the southern border.

The Sisters

Much of the planning, organizing, and set up is done by Sister Judy Bourg and Sister Lucy Nigh, two members of the School Sisters of Notre Dame. They run the organization’s branch in Douglas, Arizona, a border town in the southeast corner of Cochise County.

The Sisters have spent the last 10 years in Douglas helping migrants cross the border, volunteering at shelters and coordinating relocation services.

The School Sisters of Notre Dame is an international organization of religious women whose mission, according to their website, is to “proclaim the good news, directing our entire lives toward that oneness for which Jesus Christ was sent.”

Sister Lucy talks about her purpose in doing this. “I feel that we are doing one small thing to honor this person who lost their life in the desert and in doing so, lift up all whose noble intention was a better life for their family,” she said.

Sister Judy added: “I see each one of them as a hero—giving their lives for their families. I try to remember that they are a full person with hopes, dreams, talents, personality, successes and failures.”

Ricardo Olivares Martinez

After introductions, the caravan heads out to the site on January 9, 2020. Drives can be as short as 15 minutes, like in the case of Ricardo Olivares Martinez, or they can be up to an hour, like for Noe’s.

Ricardo Olivares Martinez’s site lies within earshot of the Geronimo Trail, a winding primitive road that heads eastbound out of Douglas, towards the San Bernardino National Wildlife Refuge, and further towards New Mexico.

When possible, the site is as close to the actual location where those remembered have been found. Most are on public land, with some on private land. The group always gets permission to be on the land in either case.

They use GPS coordinates compiled from the Red Dot Map, a project documenting locations of deceased migrants, by Humane Borders Inc., as a guide.

Upon arrival, and the location established, set up begins.

As a general rule, the cross never touches the ground until it is placed in the hole out of respect for the spirit of the person. One volunteer is designated to keep it straight and elevated when possible.

Members of the group then dig a hole while others scour the surrounding area for rocks to support the cross once it is planted. Sometimes it takes a few attempts to get a hole deep enough as the desert ground can be impenetrable in spots.

A square altipa, or ceremonial blanket, is positioned with a point facing east, while various objects used during the ceremony lie: Caracoles, or conch shells, a chalice burning with incense, and a handful of pine branches.

“Why East?” is the questioned posed during one of the ceremonies from Gabriel Saspe, a deacon and Pascua Yaqui Tribe member, who leads all ceremonies.

“We’re trying to get the cross to point East, the altipa corner East, the caracoles East,” Saspe said, answering his own question. “It’s because creation starts from the East.”

Once the items are readied, and the materials gathered, the ceremony begins.

The Border

Ricardo’s ceremony was frequently punctured by the sound of gravel trucks hammering down the Geronimo Trail, bringing materials in for the 19 new miles of the 30-foot border wall being built just down the hill from his cross.

The wall also played a part in Ricardo’s death. He was shot and killed near it by U.S. Border Patrol Agent Cesar Cervantes on June 4, 2003.

The Arizona Daily Star wrote that Cervantes said he shot Olivares because he feared for his life. Cervantes said several commands to stop throwing rocks at him were ignored.

The Department of Justice declined to prosecute. A ruling by U.S. District Court Judge Raner Collins said the shooting death was not justified, in response to a civil lawsuit filed by the man’s family, according to the article.

Cervantes “was not in imminent danger from the deceased, and the deceased was not about to commit a felony that endangered the well-being of another,” the judge’s order read.

While illegal border crossing by migrants are not as frequent or as publicized in Cochise County as other areas of the border, arrests and detentions have increased, according to U.S. Customs and Border Protection.

This has led to an uptick in deaths. The terrain is more treacherous in this region compared to areas of the border.

Fasimpaur describes the landscape of the area.

“The border land we live in is a rich and vibrant area,” she said. “It is beautiful, but it can also be dangerous. There are extreme temperatures, remote areas with no water, and harsh landscapes. I also think of the conditions in people’s lives that are so bad that walking here to an uncertain future is a better alternative.”

Statistics provided by U.S. Customs and Border Protection showed in 2019 Fiscal Year there were 63,490 apprehensions in the Tucson sector, which includes Cochise County and areas west of it.

They also recorded 61 deaths.

Leticia Villagran Flores

A long, unwavering cry from a caracole quieted the crowd of more than fifty people gathered at the start of Leticia’s ceremony on January 15, 2020.

Students from Mills College in Oakland, California, were in attendance. They were participating in a study-away program exploring the socio-political, cultural, and ecological issues that impact the borderlands.

Visiting with them were people involved in an immersion group with Frontera de Cristo, a Presbyterian border ministry that does work in the area and whose mission closely resembles that of the School Sisters of Notre Dame.

At the start, a circle formed so there would be, as Saspe said, “no alpha, no omega…we are all equal.”

Because of the size of the crowd, the best attempt at a circle ended up being an enclosed area surrounding the cross that wove around the thorny bushes and rocky terrain that defines most of the area.

Reports indicate that Leticia crossed the border with a group of people but was left behind because she got sick. Her attempt to enter the United States ended on private ranch land.

Sapse tries his best to paint a picture of what Leticia’s life might have been.

“If for some unknown reason we showed up at her house today, we could imagine a very humble kitchen, a very humble table, but what is not humble, is the community that she has,” he said. “The community has come together, not for cafe, but for cafecito, there is a difference.”

Cafecito, Saspe explains, is a much more intimate reference for getting coffee, reserved for the closest of friends and family.

“It’s how you say it that makes a difference,” he said. “So imagine the family is sitting there, sipping cafecito, and someone says, ‘what’s that smell?’ It’s the prayers that our group is going to produce now.”

The next two steps in the ceremony deal with purification and invitation: First by smell, then by sound.

Sister Lucy, who refers to herself as the “fire keeper,” directs the cleansing ritual.

A chalice with burning copal—a tree resin with medicinal values which has been used in the Americas since the time of the Mayans—is brought to each individual, with Sister Lucy weaving the smoke around them with a sacred feather.

The purpose is to remove negative energy and thoughts before the ceremony begins.

“That’s the power of Mother Earth, of what she produces,” Saspe said. “This goes to the family. They know now that she’s not forgotten, that she’s not alone because you are here today.”

He continues, “Oh but you hear that sound too? What is that sound?”

The conch shells are now picked up, purified by the smoke, to sound off loudly in the six directions: East, south, west, north, sky, and earth.

The shells are joined by other instruments that were passed out—tambourines, maracas, rain sticks, flutes—creating a medley of tones that call out to Leticia and her family, inviting them to join the group in remembrance.

Brittany Nuño Pelayo, a senior at Mills College majoring in Child Development, spoke about this part in the ceremony.

“I was moved by the gestures of care that each person at the planting offered Leticia,” she said. “Although none of us knew Leticia personally, there was respect and love expressed to her in such a sad place, the place where her life ended.”

The Wall

With such a large group of out of state attendees during that day’s ceremony, organizers planned a visit to the border wall, which was only two miles from where Leticia’s body was discovered.

During the 10-minute drive, locals were quick to point out a ranch surrounded by high fencing. It included a cell tower and a helipad.

“Warren Buffett’s son, Howard, owns that,” said one of the members of the Pilgrimage of Remembrance.

At this particular point along the wall-within eyesight of Buffet’s ranch and a border patrol vehicle parked on a hill watching the group. Five crosses are propped up against the fence.

“From what we know, since we planted most of them, some were dug up and thrown over the wall, most likely by people who don’t agree with what we do,” Sister Lucy says. “Some were just probably toppled by grazing cattle, it makes a good scratching post. They were then brought to this location by good samaritans… I’m not sure why here.”

McKenzi Thompson, a junior Biochemisty major at Mills College, talked about what she saw there.

“I was incredibly hurt,” she said. “I couldn’t imagine someone in their right mind removing a cross buried to acknowledge the untimely death of a young immigrant. It is crazy that we live in a world filled with ‘that’ kind of hate.”

No Identificada

With most who perish in the desert, some form of identification can be discovered, allowing closure for family and friends. For few, it is impossible.

This was the case for the woman being honored on January 19, 2020.

Sister Judy talked about the area surrounding the cross, describing the various mountain ranges and landmarks.

“We know that many people have lost their lives in those mountains that we haven’t found”, she said. “This ground has been walked on by hundreds of people looking for a better life, and most made it through… Thank God. But our friend here didn’t.”

From the vantage point of the group, you can see the city of Douglas to the east, about a mile or two away, and the border wall to the south, less than a five-minute walk.

Saspe continues Sister Judy’s thought.

“I also read that our ancestral trail runs through here, so thousands, probably thousands of people have been through here, and not just humans,” he said. “It was not uncommon at one time to see jaguars migrating through here. No mas.”

After the purification and invitation, a bowl with branches from an evergreen tree were passed around, with each person taking a small piece or two.

They are then placed into the chalice to burn with the copal and also placed in the hole where the cross will go. The evergreen is a symbol of eternity and long life.

Lucy McIver from Eugene, Oregon, a spry woman dressed in a neon green fleece with long, glinting white braids, balances on her two hiking sticks as she talks about her part in the ceremony.

“I was beating the drum,” she said. “For me I was settling into the rhythm of the sounds and being part of the circle, just letting everything take over.”

The circle broke for a short time as the cross took its final position amongst concrete and stone.

The Cross Maker

Fedelina Ruiz Medina

Just a short distance away from Ricardo, wedged between the Geronimo Trail and the border wall, lay Fedelina’s cross.

After securing the cross into the earth on February 20, 2020, a circle is formed one last time. People were then asked to say whatever is on their mind.

Some expressed love and some frustration. Some said a prayer. Some read a poem. Some said nothing.

A blessing with holy water and a prayer was offered to those that wanted it. Jack Clark Robinson, minister provincial with the Southwest Franciscans, recited the following as he blessed:

May you never be touched but with love.
May you never touch but in love.
May you always be touched by God’s love.

Valeria Gonzalez, a sixteen-year-old junior at The Academy of the Holy Angles in Demarest, New Jersey, a School Sisters of Notre Dame institution, was on a mission trip with classmates to the area.

The sharing of thoughts and the prayer was especially important to her.

“I like a communal aspect, because we come from tri-state area and everyone is, you know, for themselves and there’s no connection like [there was] standing here in a circle and remembering a person who gave her life and is a victim,” she said. “We hear about it from the news, but we come here to really be aware of how much the politics about immigration has really impacted people.”

As the circle broke, one last thing is left at the cross: An ofrenda or offering.

The ofrenda can be anything, Saspe said.

“If you did not bring something, then go into the desert and find one,” he said. “If you cannot find something, then just rub the cross. Leave your DNA.”

Newly brought objects such as pendants, rosaries, and coins, glistened in sharp contrast to those brought from nearby, a rusty can, torn clothes, a disposable cell phone, a jack of hearts.

The group then cleaned up the area, collected their materials, and headed back to their vehicles. A poker table was set up and a modest lunch provided: Sandwiches, chips, refreshments and homemade shortbread—the special recipe with chocolate chips, coconut and pecans.

A excerpt of a poem written by Elizabeth Nisly that was spoken during the ceremony.

The earth weeps 
with each human being forced into the desert
a landscape never intended for us

The world shudders
with each human body 
needlessly broken

Dreams of something better
eroded to dust and sand

Ricardo was shot and killed by border patrol agent Cesar Cervantes on June 4th, 2003.