I'm not a religious man, but I thanked sweet, gentle Jesus for a privileged life after reading the first two parts of The Devil's Highway. Stories like this always touch me. Not in the sense that I can commiserate from my own experiences, but in that I am routinely reminded of my fortunate lot and therein humbled. I am (and we are, I suppose) so damn lucky; our misery pales.
I liked the first part of The Devil's Highway more than the narrative of the latter chapters. It might be that the narrative gets too personal--it digs and pries into my conscience. Urrea's effect is commendable from a creative, story-building standpoint, but I would prefer not to feel worse about the world as I read further into a book. It's a slow crawl to heartache.
A recurring thought pesters me while I read The Devil's Highway: how unbearably awful must conditions be south of our border for such an outrageously high number of migrant Latinos to attempt such a dangerous excursion? I am not well enough educated on U.S.-Mexican diplomatic history to comment on why America is the pinnacle of 1st world success while Mexicans risk life and limb to flee, but the reason must be glaring. Right?
As Jason De Leon said, the only juxtaposition of 1st world and 3rd world on Earth is on our southern border. Not coincidentally, illegal immigration has become a pretty serious (yet still taboo) national concern. I know the U.S. has given Mexico billions of dollars over the past decades to deter the flow of immigrants, and I recognize that the problem is far more complex than economic stimulating gifts. But this seems to me like a problem that should have a simple solution. Who are we paying to figure this stuff out?
(It just donned on me that I'm starting to argue like Rush Limbaugh. My sincerest apologies, really.)
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