CALOR DE LA FRONTERA

Its gonna be a hot one, mis camaradas! And I'm not just talking about the weather--already a roasting 107 degrees down here. Down here being 'round about sixty miles - como el cuervo vuela – from the sand-drawn line between Mexico and America. A lot of the nearly unbearable heat emanates from the orifices of Arizona's SB (SomeBitch) 1070 PRO/CONs. Governor Jan Brewer, SomeBitch extraordinaria, recently signed off on what has to be one of the most unsurprising new laws of the post 9/11 era. Unsurprising given that between 2005 and 2009, legislators introduced over 5000 bills aimed to stop the “unlawful entry and presence of aliens”. In 2009, 1500 were considered and 15 percent enacted. Another thousand have been introduced so far this year. At the federal level, legislation has been side-railed in favor of the good old boy (joined more and more by the good old girl) “special interests” parties.

But, no matter how caliente things get, migrants keep coming in. Some are obviously headed for cooler climes up north, others are content to just hang around these parts. And what is the Border Patrol doing while this is going on? From my point of view (which is all too close these days), they are jaw-jacking at the side of the road, hanging around in droves at local diners, running escort duty for bicyclists, or chilling in their air-conditioned carros. Though lately, some are having a killer party of their own sort.

Yeah, I know its not easy to keep determined migrants on their own side. The border isn't some tidy little thruway vulnerable to the eagle eyes of soldiers, vigilantes, and cameras. Deserts, canyons, and mountain highlands straddle both sides of the fence-under-construction, with each zone offering up lots of hiding places. One might easily understand how difficult it would be to flush aliens out the deep, remote canyons and rugged, forested mountains. But the desert? Isn't it just a flat bunch of sand, clay, and cactus? Oh no, bro'! Even the low-lying mesquite or needle-sharp yucca can shelter a determined indocumentado. Plus, we've got our own species of do-gooders armed with binoculars, water, and food offering up their "protection". No doubt, some have genuine concern for those seeking life's necessities in greater abundance than is available at home. But, just as certain are the Good Samaritans out to feather their own nest, more concerned with their prestige and the tale they'll tell their friends. They hunt for “UDAs” almost as closely as the BPers do (and NO, that is NOT “Beaner People”, yo – its Border Patrolers, they also hunt the waters of the Gulf of Mexico!).

So, how big a problem is this alien business, really? I've read the reports, viewed scores of images, and listened to the rhetoric of the PRO/CONs. Seems to me, most people are oversimplifying the situation (see also, Grindaderas). Usually its Criminality vs Racism 101, an updated version of Eagles versus Doves. Thus, a lasting and acceptable solution remains elusive. I don't have an easy solution either, but I do have a strong interest. As long as I am living in these border badlands, I want to grok as much of the whole as possible before going off half-cocked like most folks. So I am doing my own research.

First off, not all migrants are alike by any stretch – in looks, intentions, or impacts. Second, movement is variable, some use this area as a short-term stopover on their way north while others stay for an entire season. Further, north-south movements are a long-standing, multi-generational practice. Borders are relatively recent constructs, part of the futile attempt to control the comings and goings of a diverse, unwieldy, and freedom-seeking population. And many have kin they want to see now and then. Finally, there are innumerable routes for flight, not a single course characterized by specific geographic or ecological boundaries.

Given this absence of easily identifiable routes and the harshness of the environment, I am amazed, even awed, at the tenacity and focus required to complete this long – perhaps many hundreds of miles – and arduous journey. Some never make it, succumbing to the intense conditions, as skeletons in the desert reveal. But so important (dare I say, natural?) is this movement, that it is and always will be attempted. Those that do make it rely on the sun, moon, and stars for navigation. Perhaps an internal compass. Knowledge of the terrain, water sources, and wild foods is also key to reaching the final destination. These days, figuring how to stay out of sight (and hand) is just as important.

I've been taking trips into the mountains lately to see what I can learn first hand. I always chuckle when I see BP at the side of the road as I head up. Its the same chuckle as when I'm driving the highways eighty miles north of the border. These well-traveled roads seem an unlikely spot to trap their prey. But then again, I've seen some shifty-looking characters flit by while the cop focused on me with suspicion. (Sometimes, I think this “border problem” is just one more excuse to increase surveillance - which now includes road blocks, high-tech AV equipment, and low tech dogs – and state control of our lives. Sort of an expansion of the cages holding an easily frightened population. But, I suppose I'm just a being cynical.) Once in the forest, a large sign by the side of the road greets me: Travel Caution. Smuggling and illegal immigrants may be encountered in this area." A little farther on, a much smaller and less accessible sign warns me about the possibility of “Africanized bees”. Interesting, no? I continue onward and upward “at my own risk” after taking note of my total lack of a fear response.

One of the complaints PRO/CONs make is about environmental damage caused by inmigrantes ilegales. Now, I have spent a lot of time in US forests and deserts and its hard to imagine anything worse than the devastation caused by clear-cutters, strip-miners, and overgrazing ranchers. Not to mention the loads of crap left behind by hunters and gun enthusiasts of a certain caliber. Nonetheless, I keep a lookout for any sign of negative impact. So far, all I have found is a canvas day pack with a plastic water bottle tucked in a pocket. I wonder where the person is now...

What I really needed to complete my research was contact with a genuine, certifiable alien life form. Since I often go up into the forest to get out of the worst of the daytime heat, I figured others might do the same; so recently, I positioned myself strategically near a running creek. After a couple hours of thinking, daydreaming, and dozing – la siesta is an awesome thing – I heard a rustling. Then another. And another. Subtle but distinctive calls of one to another ensued. Would I soon be face-face with one of my southern neighbors heading for places unknown, but obviously oh so, inviting? What would they do if they saw me? Quietly, patiently I waited.

The first one to come out in the open was known by the name (as I found out later), E. Trogon. She was followed by one, “Crissal Thrasher”. A few minutes later, Roufous Selasphorus and Ruby came out of the trees, though they were just barely visible. All drank, played, poked around in the dirt and brush, then just moved quietly along their way. This rare glimpse into the lives of those who do their own thing, no matter what, moved me. Shed a new light on the dangerous illusions of “American intelligence, bravery, and freedom”. If they did any damage to this sky island forest, I wasn't able to find it. One thing they did leave behind was a smile, if a sad one at that. As an old song flew unbidden into my head - accompanied by just as old a feeling, that of being squeezed too often between alienation and assimilation - I thought, “hey, music nazis, besa mi culo!” And I sang it and laughed and cried 'til there was nothing left but that also ancient, familiar and fierce longing, still to be fully realized. 'Cause I'm as free as a bird now, and this bird you'll never change. Fly free bird, fly!

NO PAPERS, NO FENCES, NO BORDERS!