Walls to Protect or Walls to Divide?
by friar Rijo Mulavarickal Polachan, OFM Conv.

I am friar Rijo. I grew up in Kerala, India, and I now serve with the friars in El Paso, Texas.
When I think of my childhood, I remember simple and joyful days. On weekends, my friends and I would wake up early in the morning and play cricket until our parents came looking for us and dragged us home for lunch. We would stop at anyone’s house to eat, even the homes of those on the opposing team. Before smartphones, tablets, and social media, life seemed more open. Neighbors knew one another. Children moved freely. Doors felt more welcoming.
When I return home to Kerala now, I see something different. There are tall boundary walls, chain-link fences, security cameras, and “Beware of Dog” signs. People may be more educated and economically secure, but many seem more separated from one another. That change makes me think about my life now in El Paso.
When I first arrived in Texas three years ago, I was amazed by the cultural diversity and hospitality of this border community. El Paso has a beauty all its own. Yet every day, as I drive along the border highway to the University of Texas at El Paso, where I serve in Catholic Campus Ministry, I see a wall.
I have heard many stories of earlier days when El Paso, Texas, and Ciudad Juárez, Mexico, felt more like one shared community. Families visited one another. Students crossed back and forth. Life moved across the border with a freedom that many now remember with sadness.
Today, the wall stands as a visible sign of separation. For some, it may represent protection. For others, it is a reminder of fear, division, and uncertainty.
The students I serve often carry these feelings in their own hearts. International students, in particular, speak about anxiety, immigration concerns, financial pressure, and uncertainty about the future. Sometimes I can read that unease in their eyes before they even say a word.
And yet, when I see birds flying freely over the border wall, my heart is lifted.
Those birds remind me that God’s Creation does not see borders the way we do. They remind me that the human family is larger than the divisions we build. They remind me of the prayer to St. Francis that Pope Leo XIV offered during this Jubilee Year, asking that we seek the source of all reconciliation, the One who breaks down every wall.
This does not mean the world is simple, or that borders, safety, fear, and responsibility are easy questions. But it does mean that as Franciscans, we must keep asking what kind of walls we are building and whether they protect life or divide hearts.
St. Francis calls us to be instruments of peace. In El Paso, that call becomes very real. It asks us to stand with those who are afraid, to listen to those who feel forgotten, and to build bridges wherever the world raises walls.