In Brownsville, Texas, on the Gateway International Bridge over the Rio Grande, it is impossible to cross to the Mexican side with Pastor Abraham Barberi without being stopped every two steps. Hi, hello! What about? How it goes ? » Dressed in jeans, the bald pastor, who has a goatee on his chin giving him the appearance of a “cool guy” who is not yet fifty, is known to everyone, from migrants to stray dogs.
“It’s not always like this,” he jokes.
In 2016, Abraham Barberi began coming under this same bridge, in Matamoros, a Mexican city under the yoke of the cartels that control drug trafficking and migrants. He came to offer food and drink to the migrants who were camped there, but above all to lend a sympathetic ear. “I quickly understood that beyond food, they had a great need for spirituality,” emphasizes the Baptist missionary and founder of One Mission Ministries.
A Mexican immigrant himself, Pastor Barberi, who has become an American, certainly has a particular sensitivity. Nomadic and precarious, migrants have necessarily become “priorities,” he maintains. “As a Christian, my responsibility is to help all people in need, whether they are asylum seekers, the poor and the sick… even dogs!”
Yet this father of four was not destined to become a man of faith. At the turn of the 1980s, his vocation was rather… the electric guitar. “I was a teenager with very long hair, I wore jeans skinny and black t-shirts and, with my cousins, I listened to Led Zeppelin, Kiss, Black Sabbath.”
His passion led him to play in various heavy metal bands and, even today, he continues the adventure as an amateur with his band My Place Was Taken, whose songs carry messages of God and love. He has even performed in concerts and festivals in Mexico, the United States and even Europe.
As a Christian, my responsibility is to help all people in need, whether they are asylum seekers, the poor and the sick… even dogs!
CBP One, a “political” tool
On this hot May day, Pastor Barberi leads us past the Gateway Bridge, on the banks of the Rio Grande. Trash and torn clothing litter the ground, evidence of the many migrants who passed through. “See, over there, that was one of the places where they crossed. They stretched a rope between the two banks,” he says, pointing to the river. “In the middle, it’s 10 feet deep, and the undertow is strong. Many drowned.”
After the pandemic hiatus, thousands of migrants were entering the United States daily at various points along the border from Mexico, with peaks of 10,000 per day in spring 2023.
In the crowded Matamoros camp, the pastor gave masses while others distributed food and taught the children. These migrants are now only about fifty.
Sitting in the shade, Yohandry enjoys a moment of rest in this makeshift camp, without toilets or water. “These are our bicycles. We call them the warriors,” says the 23-year-old Venezuelan proudly.
With a friend, he traveled the 1,000 km from one Mexican border to the other, sometimes by bike and sometimes by train, using information gleaned from Instagram and Facebook as his only compasses.
Like other campers, he would like to successfully file an application through CBP One (Customs and Border Protection). Since May 2023, this border services application allows asylum seekers to obtain an appointment at an official point of entry.
But for more than 100,000 people trying to connect each day, CBP One is only giving about 1,500 appointments. “You need a better connection if you don’t want to wait months,” the pastor advises them.
He rails against this “political tool” which makes the leaders look good. “It’s all well and good to allow them to seek asylum, but at the same time, [les autorités] expel thousands of migrants every day! And no one talks about that.
From slavery
As the US election approaches, Abraham Barberi is unsure about the future of migrants. The acceptance rate for asylum seekers is very low. Very few qualify and they go underground. The rest can wait up to five years for their court hearing, and often have to work illegally because they are not automatically granted a permit.
“These people are stuck in the United States even though they don’t want to stay. Life is expensive, and they have to send money home to their families. They end up working 15 hours a day, almost seven days a week,” he says. “It’s slavery.”
If Donald Trump is elected, the border risks closing completely, he laments. For his part, Joe Biden toughened his tone at the beginning of June by now imposing daily quotas for entries at the border.
More and more people are finally deciding to make their lives in Mexico, says Pastor Barberi. But those who still have unwavering faith in their American dream now prefer to wait far from the border cities. “With the kidnappings, it’s too dangerous,” says Pastor Barberi. “They go to the big cities, like Mexico City and Monterrey, where the cartels are never as powerful.” [hardcore] than here. »
From Hip-Hop Church to Shelter
In Matamoros, a few blocks from the border, the pastor’s church is also the kingdom of abandoned dogs. “I found this one tied to the big sun,” he says, vigorously petting a black dog.
Freshly painted, the now empty church is unlike any other, with its dormitories and graffitied walls. It’s hard to believe that there were once thousands of migrants within its walls. “There were really a lot of us, but we were well organized.”
In March 2021, Texas Governor Greg Abbott launched Operation Lone Star, a $10 billion-plus effort to militarize the border and block immigration. At the same time, authorities forced the dismantling of the camp under the international bridge in Matamoros. That’s when Abraham Barberi opened the doors of his church to migrants.
For a year and a half, the place was renamed Sweet Refuge Shelter survived on donations and the help of volunteers who organized activities. “We had to close it due to lack of funds,” the pastor explained.
Spared by the cartels
This apostle of deathcore music — among the most ” heavy ” metal — also began in recent years to bring in bands that young people liked. He sees it as a way to entertain them while keeping them on the straight and narrow, away from drug cartels. “Eventually, we became a hip-hop church,” the pastor laughs, acknowledging that this has given him a certain immunity.
“So far, it’s as if God has preserved us from the cartels,” he adds, giving an incredible anecdote.
At a concert by a rapper popular with the gangs, one of the cartel’s leaders asked to see the pastor in the parking lot behind him. The leader, who wore a cast on his leg after being shot, sat on the ground among about 20 heavily armed men. “He wanted to tell me that he and his teenagers loved the concerts and that I could call him if I needed anything,” he said, still looking surprised. The pastor offered to pray for his leg. “They all bowed down and I found myself praying with these guys.”
Abraham Barberi knows that if he and his church are left alone, it is because he is truly helping the community. “When you do good, you gain peace.” So be it, pastor.
This report was funded with support from the Transat International Journalism Fund-The duty.