I almost didn’t go.
There was no meeting I had to attend, no consulting project waiting for me, and no formal invitation. I simply felt pulled back to Tijuana. I wanted to see what had changed since my last visit in 2023. I wanted to reconnect with people I deeply admired. Mostly, I wanted to bear witness.
My first visit had been with the now-concluded Border Task Force, where attorneys, healthcare professionals, and volunteers partnered with Madres Deportadas y Familias en Acción (Deported Mothers and Families in Action). Executive Director Maria Galleta had organized a full day of people seeking legal guidance, medical care, and, perhaps most importantly, someone who would treat them with dignity.
I also met Black migrants from Haiti, Somalia, and other countries who described being repeatedly pushed to the back of the line by both Mexican and U.S. authorities. Their stories stayed with me long after I returned home.
So when I crossed the border again last month, I wasn’t looking for dramatic headlines. I was looking for understanding. I also arranged to meet Magda Bautista, Director of CEJUM, or Centro de Justicia Para las Mujeres del Estado De Baja California, CEJUM, the Women’s Justice Center of Baja California.
Before leaving, friends warned me about cartel violence. One friend who grew up in Tijuana agreed to drive and accompany me and laughed as she said, “You’re white. Let’s talk about how you’re going to blend in.”
And yet, what I found was exactly what I have found every time I visit Mexico: extraordinary kindness. Yes, parts of the city feel worn and complicated. But everywhere I went, I encountered people choosing compassion over fear and service over indifference.
By the end of the day, I realized this wasn’t really a story about immigration. It was a story about humanity.
Five Takeaways
1. Deportation is often the beginning of another crisis
Every day, three ICE buses arrive from the Adelanto Detention Center and release deportees behind Madres Deportadas. They step off wearing identical gray or white sweatpants, making them immediately recognizable and vulnerable to exploitation. Many have not eaten. Most have nowhere to sleep. Nearly all arrive traumatized. Many women and girls have experienced sexual violence during their migration journey.
I was reminded that trauma isn’t only psychological. It is practical. Before people can heal, they need food, clothing, identification, safety, and someone who understands how to navigate systems that can feel impossible.
2. Bureaucracy can be as formidable as any border
To work legally in Mexico, deportees must obtain five government documents. Without money, transportation, or identification, even the required new birth certificate with a QR code becomes an obstacle. We often praise resilience, but resilience is a tough match for barriers that were never designed with people experiencing extreme hardship in mind.
3. Time moves differently for families living in uncertainty
I met a Haitian family I had first encountered two years earlier. They are still there. Their ten-year-old son now speaks Spanish fluently and has become the family’s interpreter everywhere they go. Watching him was both inspiring and heartbreaking. Childhood has a way of adapting, even when it shouldn’t have to.
4. Real leadership rarely makes headlines
Maria Galleta has created more than a nonprofit. She has created a place where people can catch their breath. There is coffee, a hot meal, donated clothing, legal help, social workers, healthcare volunteers, and even a therapy dog.
Across town, Magda Bautista leads CEJUM, where women and children escaping violence find legal services, counseling, shelter, and beautiful, calming spaces that communicate safety the moment they walk in. And also, a therapy dog!
One works outside government. One works within it. Both understand the same truth: healing begins with dignity.
5. Compassion is infrastructure
As someone who spends my professional life helping nonprofits, funders, and public agencies strengthen systems, I left thinking less about what these organizations do and more about how they do it. Policies matter. Funding matters. Effective systems matter. But every meaningful system begins with people who refuse to look away. Compassion isn’t the opposite of strategy. It is often where strategy begins.
One Thing You Can Do Today
When I asked Maria what would help most, she didn’t ask for anything extraordinary. She asked for ground coffee, creamer, sugar, Cup-a-Soup, paper towels, toilet paper, a new hot plate, and Costco gift cards.
That answer has stayed with me. A cup of coffee is never just coffee. It says, “You are safe. You are welcome. Someone sees you.” Sometimes the smallest gifts restore the greatest measure of dignity.
If you’d like to help Maria, please reach out to her via her Facebook page.
And One Unexpected Bonus
Tijuana is a city of contradictions. It is resilient, creative, generous, and far more complex than the stories most of us hear. As my friend Gregorio Luke shared, it also happens to be where Caesar Cardini invented the Caesar salad on July 4, 1924.
If you ever visit, go to Caesar’s Restaurant and order the tableside Caesar salad. It’s an incredible experience in all the ways. More importantly, allow yourself to see a city that cannot be reduced to headlines.
I crossed the border hoping to understand what had changed. I came home, reminded of something much more enduring: even in places marked by hardship, there are people quietly building islands of hope every single day. They reminded me that lasting change doesn’t begin with grand speeches or sweeping policies. It begins with one person deciding that another person’s dignity matters.
And perhaps that’s a lesson that travels far beyond the border.