John Annerino, Dead in Their Tracks (New York: Four Walls Eight Windows, 1999), 201 pp. with photographs, maps and appendices

Reviewed by Leslie Olson, International Studies, University of Denver, for Brownsville by Bus—December 2004

John Annerino was frustrated with the failure of the American press to document the disappearances and deaths of hundreds of Latin American migrants. He was furious with what seemed to be a general apathy for the plight of men and women willing to put their lives in jeopardy to reach the Great American Dream. Feeling that something must be written, Annerino tells in the first pages of Dead in Their Tracks of shaking off his loved ones’ concerns and the Border Patrol’s warnings in order to tell the story of the silent, violent deaths of men and women crossing the borderland deserts. Riding with Joe McGraw, a Border Patrol agent assigned to tracking in the Tacna corridor, John Annerino asked if there was any way—other than accompanying a group on their journey—to show how dangerous it was for immigrants to pass illegally through the killing grounds of the desert borderlands. The agent answered no, then shot Annerino a warning look, letting him know that such an author would be subject to all the hazards of any other illegal migrant if he tried. And Annerino did.

In our American cities, we control temperature with a turn of the thermostat; we control the light with a flick of a switch; and when we are thirsty or dirty, water comes rushing out of the tap with the slightest gesture of our wrists. The control middle class Americans wield over their small environments creates the impression that the long-standing plot of “man versus nature” has been resolved; that man has won. The omnipresent stories of vigilante ranchers, migrating terrorists and political amnesty for workers suggest that the borderland themes too, have shifted away from struggles with the environment to plots of “man versus man” and “man versus self.” However, in only two hundred pages of historical research, personal accounts of his travels with illegal migrants and Border Patrol agents, and graphic pictures illustrating it all, John Annerino shows that the potent struggle between man and the land is far from over. In his pages documenting his “miles in another man’s shoes,” Annerino shows that of all the dangers facing illegal migrants passing through the desert corridors, the violence between man and nature remains the most real on a 130-mile stretch of desolation between Arizona and Sonora, Mexico—Camino del Diablo.

Wendy Glenn of Malpai Ranch spoke of the bodies of migrants found on her land outside of Douglas, Arizona. She described the overweight, the underdressed, the ones ill prepared for undertaking the physically demanding task of crossing the border illegally. Her talk gave the impression that it was because of personal weakness that many did not survive the journey. Understanding—perhaps better than some of the people migrating—the severity of the land, Annerino trained for his trek along the historical killing ground by running seventy miles a week under the blaring Arizona sun. Still, after only a few days of traveling with a small group through the desert, the healthy long distance runner found himself falling behind, parched and burnt. Realizing the absurdity of the “experts” prescription of a-gallon-of-water-a-day—highlighted by the second appendix documenting the actual amounts of water necessary for desert travel—Annerino began to understand that his would not be the death of an American journalist, but only that of an ordinary man crossing the killing grounds. I found the pages Annerino filled with his fear of dying in the desert and of his interdependence upon strangers—whom others warned would “slit his throat for a sip of water”—deeply moving. The thirsty chapters spent in the hot sands with migrants remind of the immense strength and commitment of the men and women undertaking such a daring task.

If a criticism of Annerino’s book stands, it is that the text engages, at times, in hero worship of the people whose stories are told. Annerino’s motivating complaint—that the average American neither knew nor cared to know about the struggle to survive the migrants’ desert passage—was a response to the unwillingness to recognize the humanity of the individuals passing through the desert. It seems to me that the antidote for such a misconception is not to glorify the migrants—and, for that matter, the Border Patrol—as superhuman beings. Instead, it seems essential to show that the men and women who survive the desert borderlands are ordinary people willing to take extraordinary measures to meet their human needs. I feel that it is only when we recognize this on both sides of the border that we will begin to be able to discuss appropriate actions and policies meaningfully. Until then, and Annerino concurs: hundreds of more “John Doe Mexicans” will continue to pass through the killing fields or die trying.