The Border, Again

The panel consisted of Jan, the primary author and editor, Dagoberto Gilb, Ceclila Ballí, Dick Reavis, and Rolando Hinojosa. In the crowd were others of note, among them Bill Wittliff, the screenwriter and producer of Lonesome Dove and many other movies of note (he’s also an award-winning photographer).
The audience consisted mainly of students and faculty from Texas State University, the host of the event and also the location of an art and photo exhibit that features Wittliff’s works. I sat in the crowd and listened. Jan introduced me. I stood and received a round of applause—something I am not really comfortable with. You see, I have to live in this skin, and what I know about myself isn’t pretty. Obviously most of them hadn’t read my book, or they wouldn’t have clapped so loud.

The group discussed a lot of border issues—after all—the river we wrote about does form a large portion of the chasm that separates the United States and Mexico. Or what’s left of the river anyway. I thought the segment delivered by Dick Reavis was particularly good. I found myself agreeing with most of what was said.

Nearing the end of the presentation, questions and comments were taken from the audience. One woman, obviously from Mexico, said something about the way we as Americans are quick to point out the deficiencies we see in Mexico yet seemingly oblivious to our own faults and shortcomings.

Then it happened. Jan looked at me and asked if I had anything to say on the subject.

Deer in headlights. Who, Me? Blood rushed to my face. Brain lock. I stammered and stuttered through a poorly delivered and ill-conceived statement. The worst thing was that I couldn’t find a way to put and end to it.

Damn it.

Afterward I thought of all the things I should have said and cussed myself for having failed the task. About all the people I know and love that suffer due to the policies of our countries.

Damn it. Damn me.

Here’s what I should have said:

The border towns and the surrounding communities have never been well-represented by their respective governments; unemployment has always been high on the American side of the river, and outside of the American owned maquilas (factories) in border cities, it has always been tough for Mexicans to make money by any legitimate business.

The highly touted maquilas haven’t helped much. They draw people from starving communities but the numbers just don’t add up. In essence the wages paid amount to slave labor. No one in the United States would tolerate such treatment for a minute. Huge slums and crime-infested neighborhoods now surround them—full of people that left their homes for the false promise of a better life—people who now find themselves in a fight for survival in a place where a life ain’t worth a quarter.

Since 9-11, border security has been tightened. It is now illegal to cross into the United States anywhere other than at an official border crossing. This sounds reasonable, if you are unfamiliar with the region. The reality is much different and unacceptable to those who live on the border. Kind of reminds me of the wall that once separated the two Germanys. We tore that one down; now we’re building another.

While we see the river and the border as this grand chasm, those that grew up along its banks have brothers and sisters, parents, aunts and uncles just yards away and they cannot visit them. Businesses and commerce that kept them alive have been killed.

If for instance you live in Santa Helena, Chihuahua, you must drive eight hours to Ojinaga, Chihuahua to get to a legal crossing to the west, or perhaps six hours to the east to Ciudad Acuña, the nearest crossing in that direction. Assuming you have a pickup truck and lots of gasoline. And you live less than a hundred yards from the United States.

Before the law was changed residents of Santa Helena took a small boat across the river and traded at a store in Castalón on the American side. The store is now closed for lack of business, and by necessity; most of Santa Elena is no more.

Santa Elena is not the only town in such condition. Lajitas, San Vicente, Boaquillas, and others have suffered similar fates. And towns like Piedritas where I once lived, further south of the river but still in an area largely inaccessible from the Mexican side, have also shrunk into relative nonexistence.

So-called free trade does not exist for the poor. This is a privilege reserved only for large corporations and those with resources to take advantage of the law. For an American corporation free trade means the ability to use slave labor to produce products. And the ability to import the products made without tariffs.

In foreign countries like Mexico, it means hordes of people working for wages that will not provide an adequate existence. It also means a wave of immigrants leaving the country looking for better pay and work here in the US. Border conditions also make the illegal businesses of producing and selling drugs all the more attractive.

Save me from the pious prayers for the poor in your rich cathedrals. They are hollow words. Either we come up with some way to insure a better life for those in foreign lands, or we will continue to reap the products of our policies: waves of illegal immigrants, illegal drugs pouring into our country, further loss of jobs in our own land, and at some point, those that hate us enough to become terrorists.

It is already becoming dangerous for Americans in many parts of the world. I can’t help but wonder what would happen if we really tried to help the poor of the world instead of oppressing them.