By Jordan Antebi
Along the dusty roads of Naco, a small southern Arizona town, a mountain looms in the distance, jutting above the flat plain. The expansive vista of brown grasses and shrubs from the main highway gradually slopes toward the landform on the horizon, only interrupted by a thin brown line, a fence barely visible from this vantage point, that spans in each direction.
The mountain is Mexico, and the line, America’s border fence with its southern neighbor.
Photo by Jordan Antebi
This is the sight greeting Princeton journalism students 1.5 miles from the international boundary, whose security was an important issue during the 2018 election season.
Viewed from afar, the border is unmistakable. An 18-foot fence of rusty-red steel physically demarcates the international boundary and cuts across the landscape like a knife, contrasting with the verticality of surrounding mountains. Up-close, the fence is even more imposing. Comprised of tall bollards held together by steel beams, it dwarfs the casual observer, preventing all but the occasional wildlife from passing through.
To the untrained observer, visiting the border feels anticlimactic. Unlike the immigration politics in D.C., the scene here is tranquil, even placid. The breeze rustles a bush. A cow moos on a nearby ranch. An insect buzzes past. There is dead silence.
On the Mexican side, however, discarded trash is visible, scattered haphazardly on the ground. Dip tins, cigarette butts, automobile tires show signs of human activity, despite the absence of anyone in sight. The aesthetic contrast between this disordered refuse, and the solid, stable border wall in front of it evokes a tension, a certain uneasiness about the calm.
Photo by Jordan Antebi
One local Border Patrol agent, speaking on background, mentions the story of a colleague, agent Brian A. Terry, now namesake of the nearby patrol station. Agent Terry, a member of the agency’s special operations unit, was killed in a December 2010 firefight with smugglers brandishing AK-47s. He was the first of two law enforcement agents killed here in Naco between 2010 and 2018.
Until the mid-2000s, Naco’s fence consisted of World War II-era corrugated metal panels nailed to wooden posts, a setup that made patrolling the border difficult. At about 6-8 feet feet high, many immigrants simply climbed over it. The present structure, a $2.3 billion project funded during the presidency of George W. Bush and installed during the Obama years, has significantly reduced the number of undocumented entries but still some migrants—civilians and smugglers—scale it with a ladder.
The Central American cartels, whose scouts criss-cross Naco’s borderlands, are widely acknowledged here as the most brazen of the fence scalers. In addition to ladders, they use airplanes, tunnels, air cannons, even blow torches to get drugs such as marijuana, heroin, and methamphetamine across. In broad daylight, coyotes have been observed cutting holes in the fence, chaining the cut-out piece to a pick-up truck, then hitting the gas.
Photo by Jordan Antebi
Despite the appearances of calm, the Border Patrol agent says cartel scouts await armed with rifles and body armor in the nearby mountains and scrubland to call in the next shipment. They surveil the border constantly, keeping tabs on American security operations, as well as police and civilian movements on the American side. They also know the weaknesses of U.S. security systems.
“You’re probably being watched now,” he adds half-jokingly, and gestures toward the mountain ahead.
Hearing this, some of the Princeton students accompanying the agent squirm. One laughs nervously, while another sticks his hand through the fence, and waves.
Photo by Jordan Antebi
Standing in silent witness to the border traffic is the official survey marker between the United States and Mexico. Erected during the nineteenth century, the medium-sized, metal obelisk painted in silver and black lettering stands between the mountains of both countries, like an arbiter of estranged siblings.
In many ways, the monument embodies the area’s complicated historical past, present and future.
2000 miles away in the U.S. capital, elected officials prepare to restart the contentious debate over immigration reform. Here, the marker stands as a symbol of stability in an ever-changing political landscape. Washington D.C versus Mexico City. Open borders versus closed borders. Civilians versus law enforcement. Law enforcement versus smugglers. Liberals versus conservatives. Moderates versus extremists.
An inscription at the base reads: “THE DESTRUCTION OR DISPLACEMENT OF THIS MONUMENT IS A MISDEMEANOR, PUNISHABLE BY THE UNITED STATES OR MEXICO.” It is a reminder of legal commonality, despite the ongoing, politically challenging search for immigration solutions.
Meanwhile, another day comes and goes here at the border in Naco. The expansive countryside, mountains rising from the plain. The fences, and high-tech cameras. The silence. The tension.
Photo by Jordan Antebi
