A Drive Along the Border

I've lived in Arizona well over a year, but it took a trip to San Diego to actually see the United States-Mexico border. When I looked at the route my phone told me to take, I knew I'd drive along the border for a few miles. I was excited to at least look into Mexico, especially since I've been cautioned not to drive into Mexico and my expired passport means I won't even be walking into Mexico.

And I did, indeed, get to at least look into Mexico. The memories of those few miles of road make me wince. You see, when I started looking for the border fence I've heard so much about, I wasn't quite sure what I was looking for. So there was this not too intimidating fence that I drove by and wondered, "Is that it?" I should have known that if you have to ask, no that's not it. For when I saw the looming border fence, there was no doubt that was it. It rose dark on the horizon. In a different landscape, it would look quite large. Open desert tends to dwarf things and throw off perception, especially for people like me who have mostly lived in other places. Still, the border fence rose out of the ground, twisting and turning, snaking its way across the desert.

Rationally, I knew that the landscape on either side of the fence would look mostly the same. Still, I found myself a bit surprised that the dunes to the left and to the right of the road looked the same, as did the distant mountains on either side. In between, there was only this winding, snaking fence--more shadow than anything as the road moved me farther from it. Without it, there's no way I could have drawn a line in the sand between the U.S. and Mexico.

On the way to San Diego, it seemed I followed the fence for miles and miles. On the way back, it seemed so short a distance. I can't say which perception is truer. By the time I was driving near the border fence headed back to Phoenix, I'd come to recognize the white and green vehicles of border patrol. Some were sedans, some vans, some SUVs, some trucks, but all with the same distinct markings. I didn't worry about my speed so much around those vehicles, which were far more numerous than any regular law enforcement vehicle.

I learned to recognize those vehicles when I went through a border patrol checkpoint. It was clearly designed to be mobile, or at least moveable, which I imagine happens with some regularity. All the traffic on that stretch of I-8 was funneled into a single point by concrete barriers normally used for construction. A construction site style trailer sat to one side. Border patrol vehicles were everywhere. I sat there, behind maybe half a dozen vehicles in line. Six cameras were pointed at me before I reached the officers. One of the officers had a dog. Another officer held a flashlight. I think there were more officers standing there, but those are the two I remember. I rolled down my window because that seemed the most logical thing to do. The officer barely glanced at me before he said, "Thank you, ma'am." As I drove away, I wondered if it was the color of my skin that meant I was waved away so freely. My old pickup truck has caused suspicion at other times since moving to Arizona, but that suspicion always wanes quickly. I'd bet a great deal of money that happens because my skin is light.

And still I wince at the entire experience. My stomach feels a little strange when I think about the fence and the checkpoint. I can't put my finger on why those things happen. I know I'm bothered by such visible symbols of a fear of people other than us. I know I'm bothered by the Christian failure to welcome the immigrant. I know the feeling of military presence--even if that's not what it should be or is called--is unnerving to me. For once, my mostly dormant patriotism rises from its sleep, certain that we've somehow traded freedom for an illusion of security. I know that I'd rather any government spend money on schools than guns.

The best summary of what I know: we're getting it wrong. Our resources--money, time, energy--are being spent in ways that don't fix our problems. We're getting it wrong. There has to be a better way to live together than what we're doing now.