I am one of the first in my family to be born in this country. In January of 1969, my father, his parents, and his four siblings were granted asylum in the United States as refugees from Morocco. When I was a child, he gave me the booklet he studied to receive his citizenship, an heirloom. I slept under a large map of the United States that he nailed to the wall above my bed. I understood he had to fight to become a citizen of this country. I understood I should be proud to be an American.
I began this project, Promised Land, in December of 2020, when contractors across the border states were racing to build the border wall. In protest, I took my camera south, to the people and places that exist between the actual border and the 100-mile range of Border Patrol’s jurisdiction. I wanted to find out who the United States was trying to keep out, and why.
My 8x10 format camera, built in the 1930s, is as necessary to my process as is my access to extended periods of immersion. The qualities that make the camera slow to work are exactly why: it requires a collaboration between the image’s subject and myself. If I am creating a portrait, the person in front of my lens must be comfortable; I spend time with each person, engaging in conversation, hearing their stories. If I am making a landscape, I must wait in that place for the light.
As of December, I have been working on Promised Land for one year. In this time, I have made 935 images in three border states, and I kept written journals as I’ve traveled. I am planning annual trips to the area, living in my truck while I work, between the months of October and April. This allows me to travel on the smallest possible budget, while remaining nimble and nomadic.
The other aspect of this project that is important to me is that I am volunteering with respite centers for migrants while I am living along the border, creating this work, to further understand the realities for people who wish to seek asylum in the United States. I will return to Nogales, Mexico, to continue volunteering and photographing with the Kino Border Initiative; Agua Prieta, Mexico to continue work with Centro de Recursos Para Migrantes; El Paso, Texas, where I will work with the Annunciation House; and Ajo, Arizona, to follow and photograph the Aguilas del Desierto. A slow document, a record of people photographed, on their own terms, is the only way I know to create systemic opportunities for empathy during a migratory crisis that is just beginning, one that will only escalate in the era of climate change. With your help, I will make this record.
