Border Patrol Rescue Beacons

I am doing an in-depth research project on Humane Borders, a faith based organization that maintains water stations throughout the desert. The piece isn't done yet, but I have discovered something I stongly support - Border Patrol Rescue Beacons.

You see, what Humane Borders does has become quite controversial. Many say that because the organization provides water for illegal immigrants, they are aiding or supporting illegal immigration. Humane Borders strongly denies these accusations and says they are just doing the humane thing; providing people with water. That seems like a legitimate argument. People have to be pretty coldblooded to argue against saving lives and stopping suffering. But a few of the border patrol agents I spoke with raised a legitimate concern. They say that the coyotes are now using the water stations as a selling point. The coyotes convince immigrants that they will survive the journey because there are water stations in the desert to help them. In reality though, the desert is huge and vast and there are only about 80 stations so the chances of finding one is slim. But with the idea that help will be available the immigrants head out into a deadly desert with a false sense of hope.

So back to my original point - border patrol rescue beacons. The agents that I spoke with said that this is thier alternative the water stations. The rescue beacons are 40 feet tall stations, with bright blue lights on top, and a button with a sign that reads push for assistance. The sign is in English, Spanish, Tohono O'odham and also has a picture gram. When the button is pushed trained medical personnel respond immediately to help the immigrants. Then, because these beacons are operated by the border patrol the immigrants are returned to Mexico. It seems like a win-win situation. People don't die, and nobody can be accused of aiding illegal immigration.

An argument against the beacons that crossed my mind is that the illegal immigrants won't use the beacons because they don't want to return to Mexico. But, I think if the choice is between death and returning home, they will return home. Besides, according to Humane Borders the point of the water stations is not to help illegal immigrants make it into the US, it is to make sure they don't perish in the desert. The border patrol beacons will do just that.

The one problem I see with these beacons is that there are not enough of them. One of the agents I spoke with was concerned that because there were only 80 Humane Borders' water stations in the desert, immigrants that were relying on them would not be able to locate one. Compare that 80 to the 21 rescue beacons that are currently in the desert and the problem seems much worse. The beacons are a great idea, but there needs to be A LOT more of them.

Here are some links to press releases from the border patrol talking about the success of the beacons.

CBP Arizona Border Patrol Rescues Six Over Weekend

CBP Border Patrol Rescues 14 More Illegal Aliens

Here is a story in the Washington Post about the beacons.

Desert beacons lead to illegals

Here is a story in National Geographic that talks about the beacons. Also, check out the photo gallery that is attached to the story. It tells the story better than words can.

Border Patrol: Along the Devil's Highway

Not your average town

When most people hear 'border town' they automatically think of trashy, dirty indistinguishable towns. I can see and hear it in people's responses every time I tell them where I'm from. But Bisbee doesn't fit that mold. Bisbee began as booming mining town back in the 1880s. When the mines closed the town became a refuge for hippies from around the country. With them came culture, art, and an overall feeling of acceptance and peace. Today that feeling remains and has been joined by other groups to create a truly diverse population. Bisbee attracts an older generation, looking to retire and enjoy the peaceful surroundings and intimate community setting. It has a large Hispanic population that bring rich Mexican tradition into the mix. And it has the younger generation who, born in Bisbee, soaked up the diverse community to become unique, diverse individuals of their own. Bisbee is not your standard border town. It is a place with a lot of history, a lot of culture, and a lot of really friendly people.

These videos illustrate a small part of what Bisbee has to offer.

A Walk Through My Front Yard

These are views from different sides of my house. Illegal immigrants come over these hills and head towards town.



This is a wash directly in front of my house. It is hard to see in the pictures above, which is exactly why the illegal immigrants use it as their path into town.



The illegal immigrants leave behind clothes, water bottles, backpacks, gloves, etc.



I came across two barbed wire fences while walking through the wash. Both of them had been cut through so the illegal immigrants could avoid climbing out of the wash.



One of the backpacks that I came across looked much newer than the rest I had seen. I opened it up to find a full change of clothes: a pair of pants, a shirt, and a pair of socks. In the pants pocket I found bus tickets used to travel north through Mexico. The date on the last ticket was from 5 days prior. Most likely the owner of the backpack was in the wash only one day before I was.

Bisbee Beats to it's Own Drum

Since leaving Bisbee I have found that things I consider very normal seem odd to most outsiders (i.e., people who aren't from Bisbee). It is a place filled with diversity and that diversity is the norm. But once I left, I realized that all places aren't so accepting. Bisbee is quite a unique town... people come from Mexico, people come from South American, people come from all over the world, and with them comes a uniqueness I have only encountered in Bisbee.

Check out some of these videos to get a feel for what it is like in Bisbee.

Earth Day Festival

This may seem odd to most people, but scenes like this one are quite normal in Bisbee. The town and its people are very earth friendly and everyone is proud to show it in any way that they can - Even if it is just dancing barefoot to Bob Marley in the local park.

I actually know quite a few people in this video, but that is to be expected in Bisbee.

Art Car

Although this video only shows one, there are quite a few of these cars driving around in Bisbee. Some have a theme (i.e., dolls, Christian symbols, metallic...) some don't, but they are all interesting and creative.

Pride Day

The mayor, Ron Oertle, annouces it official pride day in Bisbee. I interviewed him for one of my stories about illegal immigration. To read the story click here.

Fourth of July Parade

This is our Fourth of July Parade. Believe it or not, it's actually a big deal. Everyone from town comes out to join the festivities. After the parade everyone heads downtown to watch the traditional Fourth of July mucking contest.

Mucking and Drill Contest

This tradition is left over from the mining days. It is one of the many events on the Fourth of July. Others are; the coaster races, the B Hill race, barbequing in the Vista Park, the parade in Warren, and of course the fireworks, which are set of from the top of a tailing pile (dirt removed from the earth during the mining days).

All of these videos show only a miniscule part of Bisbee's uniqueness. It is a place like no other and although I have come across many, many people who turn up their noses at our different ways, I am proud to be a native Bisbean.

Border Town Fashion... Yes, it's different

There is no doubt about it; fashion in border towns is different from the rest of the U.S.

Hispanic style had a significant impact on the fashion and trends we followed. Older members of the community might not have felt this influence, but as high school-aged teenagers, everything from the way we did our makeup to the kinds of shoes we wore reflected Hispanic style.

When I started out to write this blog, I thought I would do some research first. I searched far and wide for articles, opinions, blogs, anything that talked about this subject, but I found nothing. I found articles in fashion magazines about the influence of Chinese style and the influence of African-American style, but none about how Mexican style impacts U.S. fashion. So I’m going to write what I know about it, because I experienced it first hand.

First of all, let’s talk about the jewelry. Gold, gold, and more gold. You won’t find Hispanic girls wearing silver or even white gold for that matter. It’s all about the yellow stuff – and lots of it. These 7 day bracelets (or semenario bracelets) were one of the most popular things to wear. I’d say starting in about 4th grade girls began wearing these thick, gold bangles. Often they covered about a ¼ of their small arms, but that didn’t stop the trend. In fact, like the bigger the bracelets were the better.

The same went for earrings: big and gold. Pretty much all of the girls wore hoops. Other styles just ceased to exist. Guys on the other hand wore diamond studs.

And as for necklaces, it seemed that everyone owned one of these script name necklaces. Of course, in gold.





In addition to jewlery Hispanic makeup trends influenced the girls at my high school as well. To shape their eyebrows, instead of plucking or waxing, many of the girls just shaved them off and drew on new ones. One arched line of dark, brown eyeliner replaced their original eyebrows. What always made me laugh was when they didn’t draw them on quite right. Too high of an arch left them with a constant look of surprise. I always wondered what they looked like when they washed their faces at night. I mean, you don’t sleep with your makeup on, so that means the eyebrows come off too. I guess this trend ruled out swimming as a hobby as well.

One of the other makeup trends was wearing thick, dark lip liner. Usually lip liner is blended into the lipstick color for a more natural look, but many of the girls drew a thick, dark line around the outside of their lips and just left it there.

This is a picture I found on the internet of a girl that represents both of these trends.




As for our hair, there was really only one way to do it: long, with layers, curled under at the ends with a thick curling iron. Bangs were optional, but when girls did have them they were big and curled like Selena’s in this picture.



I’ve also noticed that Mexican fashion had an influence on our shoes. Usually when women dress up, stilettos are the shoes of choice. But in Bisbee, you wouldn’t find any thin heels, only chunky ones. Chunky, platforms like these were what the girls always wore.

A fight to be white

In my last blog I talked with a few people who also grew up close to the U.S.-Mexico border. I wanted to find out how others felt about their experience. One person mentioned that the Mexican culture is more aggressive. At first I wanted to disagree with this statement, but then I got to thinking. First of all, I don’t agree that as a whole the Mexican culture is more aggressive. I have traveled to Mexico many times and find that Mexican people are usually compassionate, warm-hearted people. But, at my high school, it was a different story.

Usually being Caucasian would make me the majority race, but in Bisbee this wasn’t the case. I was the minority and I was treated like one. In most parts of the U.S. racial discrimination is aimed at people of other races; Mexicans, African Americans, Middle Eastern people. It’s not so often that being white makes you the target. If a Caucasian person wants to experience racial discrimination all they have to do is attend Bisbee High School.

Every year the first weeks of high school are filled with student fights. My freshman year blood was splattered across my locker on the second day of school. By week two a student had to have his jaw wired back in place. There were fights in the cafeteria, there were fights in the hallways and in classrooms, there were fights in the parking lot – my educational experience was one mixed with fear. But I couldn’t let that fear show through. That would have made me an easy target. So instead I stood up for myself.

Everyday day after my third period class I would walk past a Mexican girl who decided I was going to be the target of her hatred. This girl had no reason to dislike me, but as she passed by me each day she glared at me. I suppose she was expecting me to look down at the floor and each time that I didn’t her anger grew. Pretty soon the insults starting coming, most of them were in Spanish – things like “stupid, white bitch” were the most common. For the most part I just didn’t react, but I never look down. She didn’t like that so one day she punched me in the face. One thing that I will say about the Mexican culture is that they wear a lot of jewelry – nice, big, gold rings. That felt great across the bridge of my nose.

Like I said earlier, if you don’t stick up for yourself, you just become an easy target, so I fought back. There was a teacher standing near by, and a few of my friends as well, so the fight was quickly broken up.

The transition into high school is an awkward, difficult period for most youth. But as a white teenager, attending Bisbee High School, you face quite another monster. I can’t count the number of times I was called a white bitch or the number of racial fights that took place at my high school, but I can tell you that it was A LOT. Surviving Bisbee High School as a skinny, white girl meant you had to be careful, you had to have friends that would stand up for you, and you had to hide that fact that they scared the crap out of you.

Enough about me already

Let’s hear from other people to find out what they did and did not like about growing up in a border town.

Serena Sullivan, 22:

“I liked being able to cross the line to drink and go party when I was 16,” she said. “I also liked being able to go over there to buy food or have dinner,” she added.

Serena also said she enjoyed experiencing Mexican culture.

“We don’t have as much culture over here,” she said.

What Serena didn’t like about growing up so close to the Mexico was constantly being surrounded by the Border Patrol.

“Having them everywhere is like having the government around you all the time. Even though they don’t have anything to do with me they’re everywhere and I’ve always hated that,” she said. “They can pull us over and hold us if we’re speeding and they’re not even cops,” she added.

David Gallaher, 22:

“I liked the convenience of being able to go get palettes and fresh tortillas and stuff like that,” he said.

David also liked the varied experiences that living in a border town exposed him to.

“It’s cool because there are all kinds of different people that come through the area,” he said.

But being Caucasian sometimes made David feel uncomfortable when he crossed the border in Naco, Senora.

“I feel kinda awkward, like the outcast, when I go over there because Naco is pretty segregated,” he said.

Sage Alexander, 21:

Sage agreed that one of best parts about living in a border town was being exposed to a wide variety of cultures, customs, and people.

“There are so many different kinds of people,” he said. “Now I’m comfortable with a lot of variety,” he added.

But Sage says there is a negative aspect to the Mexican culture as well.

“There is more aggression in the Mexican culture. I saw more people getting fights that were Mexican,” he said.

Christina Gomez, 22:

Christina was grateful to live close to the border because it made her appreciate even small things about living the United States.

“As soon as you get into Naco everything is so trashy and you can instantly tell you're in Mexico. It made me appreciate our 'every once in a while pothole' and the two stop lights we have in Bisbee.”

Appreciating the opportunities we have as U.S. citizens only made Christina more compassionate towards the illegal immigrants she constantly saw during her youth.

“It's so sad and I feel so bad for them,” she said. There way of life it so sad that they're willing to risk there lives to come to our country,” she added.

Christian Ramirez grew up three miles north of the U.S./Mexico Border in California. Click here to read his story and find out how his expereinces have shaped his life.

Can I use the holy water too?

Last Wednesday at about 3 o’clock, I walking through campus to my afternoon class, and a girl walked past me with ashes smeared across her forehead. I don’t know if anyone else found this to be odd, but I certainly did not. In fact I was a little surprised I hadn’t seen more of it. You see, in Bisbee I was the oddball; the one walking around without the ashes on my forehead.

Growing up in a border town means growing up with a lot of Mexicans, and that means growing up with a lot of Catholics, which I am not. This meant that I was excluded from many of the things that most of my peers were involved in, like Ash Wednesday. By the time I reached high school, that didn’t bother me at all. But as a young adolescent, trying to fit in with my friends, I just wanted to be like everyone else, and in Bisbee that meant being Catholic.

Think back to when you were in elementary school and junior high. If all of your friends wore polka dot shoes laces, you wanted to too. If all of your friends wanted to dye their hair neon colors, you wanted to too. All of my friends wore gold crosses and I wanted to too.

Being baptized, going to St. Patrick’s every Sunday, going to Catechism after school, buying beautiful, frilly dresses for first communion; my not being Catholic continually kept me from fitting in. After Saturday night sleepovers at my best friend Christina’s house, I would wake up to her family getting ready for church. Christina and I spent the majority of our childhoods together, which meant we were both included in the other’s family events, like going to church. So I went. But I always felt out of place. As everyone in the church stood to take communion, I would sit. My friends and members of my community would all walk past me and quite honestly I felt guilty, like I had done something wrong.

So as that girl walked by me on campus, it got me thinking about Ash Wednesday and Lent when I was in high school. I was one of the few who didn’t give something up for the 40 days prior to Easter. I was one of the few who still ate meat on Fridays*. I was one of the few who wasn't Catholic.

I made momentary eye contact with that girl as she passed by and I think she may have felt like I used to- like the minority.

The pictures in this blog are from:
http://vineyardmen.typepad.com/men_of_the_vineyard/images/ash_wednesday.jpg
http://www.arnettslaboutique.com


*Our cafeteria actually stopped serving meat on Friday during Lent – Now that I think about that, it seems a little odd. Aren’t church and state supposed to be separate? Why would a public school cafeteria not serve meat on Friday during Lent?

But it wasn’t just marijuana,

(For privacy purposes I will not be revealing any information about the people I mention in this blog. Everyone will simply be referred to as a friend.)

I think it’s a pretty widely accepted fact that high school students come into contact with marijuana, and yes, most of them try it. But how do you feel about fourth graders being exposed to it? That’s how old I was the first time I saw drugs at school. My classmate had a stash in his crayon box, which he showed me when the teacher wasn’t paying attention.

Growing up in a border town exposes youth to a drug culture that I have come to understand is not the norm. Drugs flow up from Mexico to be distributed throughout the United States and border towns are the first stop. On the surface Bisbee may appear charming and quaint, but if you look a little deeper, you’ll find a different story.

My reputation in Bisbee was that of a “good kid.” I was always on the honor roll, I was an athlete, I was in student council, yearbook, national honor society… Yet, this culture even found its way to me. I was in the eighth grade the first time I came across a drug other than Marijuana. One of my friends showed up to a slumber party with “Angel Dust”. The rest of us didn’t really know what to think, and most of us didn’t try it, but some did… we were only 13.

And then came high school. I think what marijuana is to most high schools, cocaine is to Bisbee High School. It didn’t take long before I saw friends sniffing the white lines up their nostrils. Coke was a common thing. Most often I would see it at parties, but in reality is was everywhere. It was in people’s cars, it was in people’s wallets, it was in people’s lockers, everywhere. Usually I saw people sniffing it, but once or twice I walking in on a lighter heating up a spoonful to be smoked. If a Bisbee High School student wanted to buy a baggie of coke during lunch hour it wouldn’t have been hard. And the teachers and administration all seemed oblivious. One time, during my first period English class, the subject of drugs came up. We let on to the fact that drugs were very prominent at school and our teacher was absolutely shocked, so was I. I was shocked he didn’t know.

But the students didn’t just use, they dealt too. Someone very close to me got caught up in it and it destroyed our relationship. First he sold only weed, but then he moved on to coke and things got bad. He had access to such large amounts of drugs, that he got hooked. I continually struggled with him over it, but my words fell on deaf ears.

One night, at about 1 a.m., he called me crying and I could tell that he was completely coked up. He quickly ended our conversation and left me on the other end worrying. I decided to drive to his house. When I got there the house was silent, and I peered into his room, but it was empty. Then I heard him crying in the bathroom. I opened the door and a wave of shock ran over me. There was blood everywhere; smeared across the walls, on the bathtub, on the toilet, in the sink, on the floor, and worst of all, all over my friend. I began to panic, but calmed down a little when I figured out it was all coming from his nose. He was shaking, and crying, and talking incoherently. He was terrified that his parents were going to find out so I went to work cleaning up the mess. After I had everything in order, I moved him to his bed and held him in my arms for hours, hoping he would be okay, until he finally calmed down. I’m not going to tell of all of my troubling stories because I could go on and on, but I will say that as a young teenager I dealt with situations like this one far too often.

To make matters worse, some got involved beyond personal use and small time dealing. One of my friends made quite a bit of money driving pounds of marijuana from Bisbee to Tucson. Dealers in Mexico would hook up with dealers in Bisbee, who would pass the drugs on to my friend for transportation to Tucson. Having a young teenage face made it easier to get through Border Patrol stops without being searched.

The heavy drug culture that circulates around Bisbee’s youth is detrimental and undiscriminating. It can find its way to even the “good kids” without much effort. But at that time it didn’t really strike me as unusual. I’d been dealing with it since fourth grade and didn’t know anything different. Now that I’m out of Bisbee, even though I’m much older, I come across drugs far less often. I’ve talked with friends from other areas of the country and when I tell my stories they’re amazed. As far as I can tell, most high school students didn’t face the influence of drugs nearly as much as those of us who attended a border town high school.

Now I worry that the effects are becoming even more harmful. After I graduated and moved away, the meth craze began. Stories from Bisbee about high school students destroying their lives make it to me every so often. Meth is such an addictive drug that even students who plan on trying it once, end up completely ruining their futures.

Honestly, I’m just glad I made it out.

The Sweeter Side

Illegal immigration, underage drinking, easy access to drugs… so far I haven’t painted a very enjoyable picture of the border, which may not be exactly accurate. Living in a border town has plenty of positive sides. Great produce, food and candy, cheap pharmaceuticals and medical work, and the chance to explore another culture sits minutes from our homes.

It’s a sunny Saturday afternoon and there isn’t much to do. People in other cities might head to one of the countless malls or the local theater to absorb more of Hollywood’s take on reality, but living in a border town expands on those options. How about heading across the line for some great fish tacos and a paleta (the Spanish word for popsicle)? Theses bars, made with whole chunks of fruit, became a favorite of mine early on. I always found myself going for the cantaloupe paleta, but the options aren’t limited. Mango, tamarind, strawberry, lime, coconut, arroz con leche, pecan, you name it, they’ve got it.

Oh, and the Mexican candy… yum. I think this is somewhat of a acquired taste, but as Border town kids, we loved it. Peanut mazapan, watermelon and mango lollipops covered in chili, sweet and sour lucas salt… okay, I think I could write a whole blog about the candy, so I’ll stop. But I think you get the idea. .Mexico has a lot to offer and living so close makes it that much easier for us to take advantage.

Beyond great food, living in a Border town has economic advantages. Two of my family members have asthma and buy inhalers on a regular basis. Buying them at U.S. pharmacies can start to add up, so they head down to Naco. It’s about a 10 minute drive to the pharmacies in Mexico, and the prices are MUCH cheaper. I can’t think of any of my friend’s in Bisbee whose families don’t take advantage of this. Whether its inhalers, antibiotics, or heck, I even had a friend who wanted to try out Viagra, Mexican pharmacies are cheap and convenient. And some people take it one step further. My uncle gets his allergy shots in Naco, one of my friends has all of her dental work done there, and another one of my friends had her braces put on in Mexico. For those of us who live in Border towns, Mexico is our resource and putting it use seems quite ordinary.

(By the way, purchasing pharmaceuticals in Mexico is illegal in the U.S. if you don’t have a prescription)

Photos in the blog came from the following Web sites:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/warmnfuzzy/161894796/
http://www.mexgrocer.com/9223.html
http://members.virtualtourist.com/m/1f247/e9cb4/a/
http://www.shop-progreso.com/dentists/marco_ramirez/index.html
http://westernblues.blogspot.com/2005_08_01_westernblues_archive.html

And I was only 15

Dancing and having fun with my friends – that’s what I thought it was all about. Being beaten, raped, robbed, or even worse just didn’t cross my mind.

Living close to Mexico can provide great opportunities to experience another culture and its customs, but it can also provide many dangers. As soon as you step over that line, the customs and laws of the U.S. no longer govern your actions. Instead you are subject to a new set of laws and for a group of high school students bored on a Friday night, the temptations are great.

I was 15 the first time I went to a night club in Mexico. Looking back on that experience I can’t believe I went. I had no idea what I was in for.

Going over there is a lot easier than most people think. You drive to a parking lot near the port of entry, walk across, and within two blocks you’ll be at your first club. Forget that you are obviously underage – nobody cares. There is nobody at the border making sure you’re at least 18, and the bouncers at the clubs couldn’t care less how old you are.

We all thought it was great. We could dance. We could drink. We could do whatever we wanted. Nobody cared. But that was just it. Not only did nobody care what we did, but nobody cared what happened to us.

As a group of young teenagers none of us had much experience with alcohol. We didn’t know how to drink responsibly and soon enough nobody was really in control. One of my girlfriends was pulled into a small room connected to the club, but none of us even noticed she was gone. Three men, two of them club employees, spoke to her in Spanish. She tried to back away, but they wouldn’t let her leave. As the men approached her another club employee came in and began yelling at the three men. They argued aggressively, but finally let her go. Thankfully nothing happened to her, but something so easily could have.

As the night progressed our group got separated. I don’t know what it is about being a teenager, but it somehow gives you the feeling of invincibility. We thought nothing bad could happen to us and we acted accordingly. When I finally decided to leave the club, I was with only one of my girlfriends. Everyone in the group had split up, heading for nearby clubs. As we left, four Mexican girls, all much older than us, started screaming at my friend. Neither of us understood what they were saying, but before I knew it all four of them were attacking her. I tried to pull them off of her, but with all of the limbs and dust and chaos, I couldn’t even see what was going on. My friend was screaming, they were kicking and punching her, and I was getting tangled up in the mess. A few guys that were standing nearby ran over and pulled our attackers off just long enough for us to run. And that’s what we did. We ran all the way back to the border.

And once again I saw that nobody cared. We were both covered in blood and slightly incoherent, but besides asking us for our residency, the agents at the border didn’t seem to think anything of us.

Events like this one were quite common for the high school students in my town. But many of us were willing to risk the dangers of heading down to clubs in Mexico in exchange for the excitement it provided. I can’t tell you how many terrifying stories I heard, yet we still went, and the high school students today still go. Now, looking back, I am very aware that my decision and the decision of my friends to ignore those dangers was a terrible one. We weren’t old enough or mature enough to take care of ourselves, but we didn’t know that and Mexico didn’t care. So although Living on the Line does provide many positive opportunities, it also presents some very scary, dangerous ones as well.

Here is a link to Pachanga's website, the club that most of us went to in high school.

What this blog is all about

With my last blog, I just jumped right in. I offered no explanation for why my blog exists and what I want to do with it over this semester. So that’s what I’m here to do. The name, Living on the Line, refers to growing up in a border town.

Growing up, I did realize that living where I did provided me with many unique experiences. I guess just how different life in a border town can be didn’t really hit me until I moved away. So I’d like to use this semester to dig into some of those differences. In my last blog I talked my experiences with illegal immigrants. But, constantly seeing illegal immigrants is only one of the many, many parts of living on the border.

There are so many things I could write about:

Attending the public schools in Bisbee was quite an experience. Being white made me the minority. I faced racial discrimination, and had to constantly defend myself- verbally and sometimes physically because I was a “white girl.”

Throughout my high school life I saw more drugs than what I now realize is normal for a high school student. The drug culture is huge in most border towns and even as a young girl it was hard to avoid.

The opportunities to experience another culture are everywhere. From going over to Mexico to get lunch on a weekend afternoon, to participating in a middle school exchange program with students in Mexico, to learning the language, living on the border lets you see Mexico in a way others can’t. And let’s not forget about the food. The authentic Mexican food cooked by my friend’s mothers just can’t be topped.

As 16 year old kids we could drive across the border and go to clubs at all hours of the night. The dangers we faced there were very real and when I look back on those experiences, I’m surprised nobody ever got hurt.

Those topics are just a few I would like to cover this semester. If there are any others that you readers would like to hear about, just let me know.

I get to decide their fate

Without any true qualifications and for really no good reason at all, I get to decide the fate of illegal immigrants trying to make their way into the United States.
My home in Bisbee is on the edge of town, three miles from the Mexican border. Our kitchen has a large bay window facing the unoccupied mountains that separate the US from Mexico. So when I emerge from bed in the morning, get my bowl of shredded wheat and plop down at our kitchen table, this is the picturesque view I enjoy. But far too often this docile scene is disrupted by a tired, hungry, and determined line of people walking steadily towards town.
So time and time again I am faced with the same decision; do I call the Border Patrol or do I let these people, who have spent their life savings, and risked their lives to get here, complete their journey? There are two very compelling arguments for both sides of this question and for a long time, without a strong opinion to pull me to one side or the other, I remained inactive. But right there I had made a decision. By not doing anything, I was helping all of these illegal immigrants successfully enter the United States.
The rants of our government and media saying, “We must protect our borders!” and their claims that terrorists could make their way into the US by crossing the Mexican border would creep into my mind. Arguments about the loss of jobs to illegal immigrants willing to work for far below minimum wage and the heavy burden that illegal immigrants put on our healthcare system would wander through my thoughts. But then I would look at them. It was not uncommon to see women and children walking through my “front yard.” I would imagine myself in their position: trying to make a better life for myself and my family, just trying to survive, and I was torn.
But then the problem got worse. Lines of up to twenty illegal immigrants were passing by every couple of days. Their paths were getting closer and closer to my house. And then finally, a man knocked on our door. In broken English he asked to use the phone. At first we refused, but when he came back a second time, he said his family needed help. We allowed him to use our phone, and shortly after a truck pulled up in front of our house and about fifteen people emerged from the bushes to pile in. He had lied. Most likely he was the coyote in charge of leading this group into the US. The following day eight more illegal immigrants were picked up in our driveway and with that, we called the Border Patrol. It seems they had tagged our house as a safe spot. Not calling was one thing, but actually aiding them was quite another.
Now, when we see those lines of solemn immigrants walking across the hills in front of my house, we feel compelled to call the Border Patrol. And with each one of those phone calls, I know that I have ruined someone’s dreams for a better life. But, I also know that I have done right by our government and by our law. But who is to say which is better. After all, just because our government decides something does not make it right. Overall, it is a decision that I feel unqualified to make, but Living on the Line forces me to do just that.