| | |  Editorials | Issues | September 2008 
Mexico: The Shadow of the U.S. Border Fence
 Associated Press
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| | The Tijuana River (kroimela) | | |
U.S. Border Patrol agents in shiny white pickups keep most migrants from crossing the yellow stripe, painted on the concrete bed of the dry Tijuana River, that marks the U.S. border.
Tijuana, Mexico - The United States is just across the yellow line, painted along the concrete bed of the dry Tijuana River.
A permanent vigil by Border Patrol agents in shiny white pickups keeps most migrants from crossing the stripe. And between the rusty walls that guard the banks, riverbed drifters pass sleepless nights in the glare of stadium lights guarding the American Dream.
Junkies shuffle home to cardboard beds in drainage culverts. Weary migrants with creased deportation orders in their pockets dream of a way back across. Cut-rate migrant smugglers sell anyone a cheap boost over the walls.
"Almost all of us are here because they threw us out over there," says Juan Saucedo, 29, sharing a bag of dry Coco Krispies cereal with some other river dwellers. His nickname here is "Zacatecas," after the central Mexican state he left at 14 for Long Beach, California.
Deported seven years ago, he washes car windshields at stoplights and earns just enough to keep heroin withdrawal at bay. Sometimes he can pick up a little more from the smugglers, who pay for help distracting the Border Patrol while their clients climb over.
Last month, Border Patrol agents clashed with a group throwing rocks at them over the fence, a common diversion. Most were dispersed with pepper spray. One man refused to run, so an agent drew his rifle and shot him in the behind.
The man was briefly hospitalized. The agent - a 10-year veteran - was reassigned to administrative duties pending an investigation. And life in the wall's shadow continues as before.
Just a week after the shooting, Zacatecas joins a group of people telling dirty jokes and shouting an occasional greeting through a grated window in the border wall, trying to engage the agent watching from a jeep parked just a few feet away on the U.S. side.
The loudest laughs come from Carlos, a restless 23-year-old deported from Los Angeles two months ago with a big tattoo on his back of La Santisima Muerte, or "Holy Death," a sort of Mexican anti-saint that looks like the Grim Reaper.
Suddenly the jokes cut out and all heads snap toward a hitch in the wall just east of the river. A woman just climbed over, the whisper comes. A waiting car suddenly speeds from a parking lot on the U.S. side, whisking her away into the night.
"Wait, so she crossed over there?" a reporter asks, pointing to a nearby carport that casts an impenetrable shadow on the Mexican side of the wall, creating a rare blindspot for would-be crossers.
Suddenly the jokes cut out and all heads snap toward a hitch in the wall. A woman just climbed over, the whisper comes. A car suddenly speeds from a parking lot on the U.S. side to scoop her up.
"Wait, so she crossed over there?" a reporter asks, pointing to a nearby carport that casts an impenetrable shadow, one of many blind spots on the Mexican side.
But pointing is bad form here. Border Patrol cameras watch every move, and the smugglers don't want to give their tricks away.
"You just cost me a hundred bucks," says a grinning Carlos, who asked that his last name not be used to avoid police trouble.
He can afford to joke tonight: now that his client is safely away, he acknowledges he made $200 for coordinating the woman's crossing, diversion and all.
Carlos ambles back down the yellow line to the other bank of the canal, away from the cameras, and fishes a crumpled joint from his pocket.
A steady breeze blows the marijuana smoke behind him, back into Mexico. With the night's crossing done, the only sounds are crickets and the whoosh of traffic on a Tijuana freeway just south of the river.
Carlos smiles wide as he exhales. "All that's missing is a guitar." |
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