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This week on Arizona Illustrated we visit a shelter for migrants seeking asylum in the US who are now stuck in legal limbo in Sonora, Mexico; David Andres has a passion for documenting the Sea of Cortez through photography and painting; one artist is reminding us of the people behind the tragic statistics of femicide and learn about a shrine dedicated to a sinner in downtown Tucson.
Centro de Esperanza
Migrants who came to the border hoping to seek asylum under a Biden-era program are stuck in limbo with no way to go forward and no way to go home — some of whom are now separated from family members who gained humanitarian parole into the U.S. in the final days before Trump took office. To learn more go to sheltersforhope.org
David Andres – Sea of Cortez
The Sea of Cortez — nestled between the Baja California Peninsula and mainland Mexico — is a glittering extension of the Pacific Ocean, a living jewel with more than 2,500 miles of coastline. Made legendary in the 1940s by the great explorer Jacques Cousteau, who was awestruck by its staggering biodiversity, he famously named it “The Aquarium of the World.” The name has endured, and rightly so: this sea harbors over 900 species of fish, 695 species of vascular plants, 39% of all known marine mammals, and one-third of the planet’s cetaceans. It stands as the most biologically rich body of water on Earth — a cathedral of life beneath the waves. In recognition of its unparalleled ecological value, UNESCO declared it a World Heritage Site in 2005.
Yet even paradise trembles under threat. Pollution, coastal development, and relentless overfishing are eroding this fragile marine sanctuary. Mangrove forests — vital nurseries of life — are being cleared, while climate change fuels rising seas that swallow salt marshes and shift delicate coastal ecosystems. Recent fishing reports tell a bittersweet story: stormy weather has slowed the catch, yet the ocean still yields tuna, dorado, and marlin to those who brave its waters. The balance, however, grows ever more precarious.
For David Andres, the Sea of Cortez is more than a subject of study — it is a lifelong passion, a calling. His journey began with a dive beneath its surface, where he was captivated by its kaleidoscope of color and motion. Determined to share its beauty, he mastered underwater photography, bought a boat with friends, and made the sea his home. Over decades, he has watched its wonders and its wounds, translating both into art that calls the world to attention — a plea to save this heavenly sea before its song fades forever.
Femicides and Art
Diana Russell names femicide as “the extreme end of a continuum of anti-female terror”—a terror that threads through women’s lives in ways so constant, so rehearsed by society, that it can almost disappear into the everyday. This continuum stretches from words meant to wound to acts meant to break: rape, torture, sexual slavery, incestuous and extrafamilial child abuse, physical and emotional battery, sexual harassment in streets and homes and classrooms, genital mutilation, unnecessary gynecological surgeries, forced heterosexuality, forced sterilization, and forced motherhood disguised as the criminalization of contraception and abortion. It includes the denial of food, the carving of bodies in the name of beauty, and all the violences that teach women to shrink themselves to survive. And when these violences—any of them—end in death, Russell writes, they become femicide.
But femicide is not only the blow, the wound, the final act; it is also the silence that allows it. It is the covert killing of girls—mass infanticide and sex-selective abortions borne of cultures that privilege sons over daughters. It is the death delivered by institutional neglect: by criminalized abortion, by the persistence of female genital mutilation, by the slow, indifferent systems that look away until it is too late. And still, despite this crisis, most nations refuse to name femicide for what it is. Laws remain blind to misogyny’s architecture; policies fold the deaths of women into bureaucratic statistics, denying the deep, ancient hatred that fuels them.
Against this darkness, Vanessa Saavedra creates light.
Born in Jalisco and raised in the borderlands of Nogales, Saavedra carries within her the tension of two worlds—worlds marked by beauty, grief, migration, and resistance. Her MFA thesis exhibition, En Memoria Digna, rises where a Día de los Muertos altar meets the intimate warmth of a family photo wall. In that sacred meeting place, she summons the memories of Cecilia Yépiz (1971–2021) and Anapaola Jaramillo (2007–2020)—two lives stolen, two lights extinguished before their time. Guided by their families’ love, Saavedra attempts the impossible and necessary task: to hold even a small fragment of who they were, to cradle their essence in her hands.
In her work, objects and images breathe. An altar remembers our dead through the sweetness they once savored; a living room preserves them through photographs that pin down fragile, shimmering moments. Each object—humble, familiar—becomes a vessel heavy with truth. It carries the scent of a favorite food, the echo of a laugh, the weight of a life that mattered.
Through her art, Saavedra fights against erasure. She insists that in a world soaked in violence, we must look closely—so closely that the statistics blur and the human being appears again. Her art refuses the cold narratives imposed on victims of femicide. Instead, she centers their joy, their tenderness, the small and sacred details that made them irreplaceable. She urges us to see—and to act. To understand that behind every number is a universe of memory, love, and possibility stolen. In honoring Cecilia and Anapaola, Saavedra calls us to witness. And witnessing, she reminds us, is the first step toward justice.
Tucson Tours – El Tiradito
Tucked away in the heart of downtown stands El Tiradito, the only shrine in the United States dedicated to a sinner. Built in the late 1800s, it honors the tragic tale of Juan Oliveras, a young man killed in a forbidden love affair. This monument has since become a place where locals light candles and leave notes asking for miracles. Blending folklore, faith, and community memory, El Tiradito is both a historic landmark and a local oddity. It’s a shrine of passion, loss, and hope that continues to draw visitors who believe its walls still hold power.