Walking Beside Each Other: Qamar Elia

Qamar Elia, B.S. Biology '26, Pre-Dental

El Paso, TX 2024

During my freshman year of college, I went on my first service immersion trip to El Paso, Texas. As
an immigrant myself, despite my family and I struggling in our own immigration journey, I got to immerse myself and listen to the stories of other immigrants. This service trip showed me a side of immigration I had not experienced myself: families forced to
leave with no time to plan, crossing deserts and borders with no certainty about what comes next, and risking everything to survive. It made me reflect on how every single one of us in America, whether we were first-generation immigrants or descendants of immigrants, all had a unique, often difficult and dangerous story that led us to the promised “land of the free and home of the brave.”

Throughout the week, we visited shelters, listened to immigration lawyers, and met families who had crossed the border. We heard stories of long journeys, impossible decisions, and parents risking everything to keep their children safe. I remember sitting with one immigration lawyer who explained how, despite everything happening at the border, Congress has not passed any major immigration reform since the 1980s. Hearing that made it even more clear how deeply broken the system is. To realize that while families continue to face unimaginable risks and hardship, the policies meant to protect or support them have barely changed in decades. More than anything, what mattered most was not what we could do, but how fully we could be there to honor the weight of the stories being shared, hold onto them long after we left and to keep questioning the deeper injustices that shape these realities.

I remember one hike we did up Mount Cristo Rey. The sun was high, the heat pressed against us, and the trail climbed sharply over rocky ground. After a couple of hours, my legs were sore and the heat weighed on me, but even as I struggled, I knew exactly where the trail would end. I knew I was safe, and that when it was over, there was a home waiting for me. As we climbed higher, a low humming sound cut thr
ough the quiet. We looked up to see a Border Patrol helicopter circling above us. For a moment, they seemed to think we were migrants trying to cross. Later that day, we saw another helicopter, but this time it was chasing a group of migrants further down the mountain. Watching it was a chilling sight; seeing people running through the same rocky terrain we had just hiked, but with none of the safety, rest, or certainty waiting at the end. As I kept walking, I could not stop thinking about the families we had met that week. Families who crossed far more dangerous and uncertain paths with no other choice or guaranteed destination. They carried children on their backs, packed their entire lives into one small bag, and kept walking into complete uncertainty, not knowing how far they would have to go or whether they would even make it. The tiredness I felt on that short trail did not even come close to what they had been through, and it made me realize how easy it is to take for granted the simple comfort of knowing where you are going and trusting that you will get there. 

Every day of the trip brought a new objective, but we were never handed a full schedule. Living that way gave us the chance to fully be in the moment. Being able to slow down, turn everything else off, and focus on where I was taught me that sometimes the most meaningful kind of service is not about “fixing” anything, but about sitting with people, even when you do not have answers, and carrying their stories with you. 

From the first day, our group started to connect in a way that grew stronger as the week went on. By the end of the week, it was hard to believe we had only just met. We learned together, leaned on each other, and shared the weight of what we were hearing and seeing. It showed me how powerful it can be when people stand together and fully commit to being present. That support helped us hike to the top of the mountain that day, and standing there together after everything we had seen and heard throughout the week was one of the most meaningful moments of this experience. It was a small moment of peace in the middle of everything we had been processing, and it reminded me of the strength that comes from simply showing up for one another. 

One of the biggest things this trip continuously reminds me is how easy it is to stay comfortable in your own world and not think about what others are going through. Being in El Paso reminded me that just because something is not happening around me does not mean it is not happening at all. This trip did not give me easy answers, but it made me want to keep learning, to speak up for those who do not always have a voice, and to keep fighting for others as we would for our families. We are all connected, and if we are in a position to listen, to speak, and to advocate, then we have a responsibility to do so. 

Here is a quote an immigration professor gave us in El Paso that has stuck with me since: “The truth is that the mass deportation of nonwhite people and immigration bans based on nationality, religion or race are quintessentially American. Although the anti-immigrant language…. and the violence at the border today may make some Americans uncomfortable, this is exactly how America has treated non white immigrants throughout its history. It is who we are. The question is whether it is who we want to be in the future.”