Sarah Frank raised money to purchase menstruation products to bring to immigrants in need.
There’s been a rash of media coverage about the deplorable conditions faced by immigrants in detention centers along the Texas/Mexico border. But fewer eyes have been on what happens after detainees are released by Homeland Security to await court dates, dropped at the nearest Greyhound Bus station with the clothes on their backs and little else. I decided to drive to the border to see the situation myself and help those struggling after their release.
As a sociologist who studies menstruation, I know that menstruation products are frequently sidelined as necessities during humanitarian crises. I recently took to social media to raise $2,500 to purchase pads, tampons and hand sanitizers. Friends and former students of mine helped put together 500 kits that I could hand out at the border.
I left Madison on June 30 and drove over 21 hours to San Antonio, Texas. There, I visited organizations in the city that directly assist immigrants, including the San Antonio Food Bank, Catholic Charities Guadalupe Center, Daughters of Charity, two RAICES centers and the Interfaith Welcome Coalition.
Almost every volunteer or organization staffer seemed genuinely surprised that I was there with menstruation kits and various other supplies. The women and girls I gave bags to thought at first that I was trying to sell them something. I had to explain that the bags were free and for anyone who needed them. The travelers I met in San Antonio were mostly on their way to other places, but they had come from bus stations in southern Texas towns like Dilley and McAllen, where detention centers are located.
The next day I drove to McAllen, a few hours south of San Antonio. I left half a dozen bags in the McAllen bus station and a box full of menstrual products in the bathroom. I talked to a few families in the waiting area and gave away as many bags as I could. I met with the Angry Abuelas and Tías, a group that welcomes detainees to the McAllen bus station. I learned that Border Patrol takes everyone’s shoelaces and that some women did not have access to menstrual products in detention, while others did.
Outside of the station, the surrounding shops were mostly retail for quiñceaneras, weddings, and proms. Across the street and down the block there was a storefront with a Catholic Charities sign temporarily tacked above glass double doors.
Hundreds of travelers — adults and children — were inside; some were waiting in line to check in with the group, while others sat on the floor or against the walls. There were sleeping mats stacked and pushed against the wall. Most of the people in line had nothing in their hands — they have nothing. A woman speaking in Spanish was giving legal advice over a microphone and a crowd gathered around her. I felt useless. I turned to someone in a volunteer T-shirt and asked what I could do with the products I had brought. She walked me across the room to meet a young volunteer who took me to the donation area.
In order to get there we had to weave through at least 200 people. I tried to make my body small, apologizing each time I brushed against someone. There were two men monitoring entry to a room with food for the immigrants; they pulled two trash cans aside to let us through and then sealed the entry point. The volunteer led me through a small kitchen where women were preparing food and then took me up a staircase to another room. There were people sleeping and waiting for help in every corner. Three volunteers were sorting and piling donated items, including clothing, hygiene products and baby supplies. I placed my bags in the feminine hygiene section and asked what was needed most — shower items, body wash and deodorant, said the volunteer. I asked how many people Catholic Charities was seeing each day. “One thousand or so,” she said.
She showed me back to the main center and I looked out into the crowd. I still remember the sounds of children crying and people coughing.
The detention centers certainly require additional scrutiny, and conditions there need drastic improvement. But in the nearby cities on American soil, people are also suffering. There are not enough volunteers there to help; too many people think someone else will do the work. I hope more people who feel helpless will find their way to volunteer work at immigrant centers in their cities to work face-to-face with the people who need it most. If you can take time to travel south, make arrangements with the people who are already doing this much needed work.
Since first soliciting donations for my trip to the border at the end of June, I’ve decided to continue this work. The Menstruation Collective is now offering assistance to the Interfaith Welcome Coalition and the Angry Abuelas and Tías in southern Texas and we hope to assist in humanitarian crises around the United States.
Sarah “Frankie” Frank is a graduate student and lecturer in sociology and legal studies at UW-Madison and founder of the Menstruation Collective.
