Near the border, a hawk circles the empty fields that begin San Diego. The scene evokes the loneliness you feel as you walk through the muddy landscape of Friendship Park. Passing over the bridge that separates the mud and the sand, a tower comes into sight. The border fence, made of tall metal rods, radiates feelings of sadness. When the talks begin, I dive deep into my thoughts. The presenter says that those who only want to start a better life end up deported, back where they started. They have even less money from paying their smugglers. How can people be so cruel as to divide people through a fence? In the early 1970s, when the park was established, did anyone think to split it down the property line? What was it like then? And what would have become of the park, and America, if not only this border, but all borders, were destroyed? I look back on the fence, and hear voices of migrants. “Hurry,” they would say, “Almost there.” Who would know if I walked among migrants searching for the American Dream? Who would know if they found it?—Shea Saulino To learn more visit: https://sites.google.com/a/hightechhigh.org/ms-deluca-s-8th-grade-humanities-class
