In New Mexico’s Bootheel–one of the most remote regions of the southwest– endless swaths of creosote, mesquite, and other typical plants of the Chihuahuan Desert are interrupted by stark metal structures, booths, floodlights, and US Border Patrol Agents. On a dark desert highway in Santa Cruz County, Arizona, trucks are positioned seemingly every mile, breaking the darkness. Is this standard procedure? Is there a wanted fugitive on the run? We may never know. What we do know is that the omnipresence of the Border Patrol is common throughout the desert Southwest. Even in the region's sparsely populated areas, the Border Patrol’s presence surpasses that of all other groups, a sobering reminder of an artificial creation: the US-Mexico Border.
Growing up in San Diego, California, the border has always been a constant presence in my life. The organized chaos of border crossings, the stark contrast of the fields of Otay Mesa on the US side to the bustling vibrance of Tijuana on the Mexican side, constant law enforcement presence, and, more recently, ICE deportation raids. All of these are grave reminders of this invention of our modern colonial mindset, a typical example of a simplistic “solution” to a complex issue.
In Nogales, a border city, a 30-foot-tall Ozymandian fence with barbed wire lining the top, splits the city in two. On one side, the United States features a heavy law enforcement presence, shops selling cheap goods, relatively few pedestrians, and pandemonium at the border crossing. On the other side, tienditas, lots of traffic, and a vibrant, yet visibly poorer city exist. This community was here before the wall was built, before the militarization, when this added complexity was not here. Mike Wilson, a Tohono O’odham writer and activist, confirms that this wasn’t always the case. His people have lived in the Borderlands for millennia, before the relatively recent creations of the United States and Mexico, and the border split his community in two. Mike tells us that until the 1990s, the border was not militarized. He mentions that 1993 was a turning point, the ratification of the North American Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA). This is when popular crossing sites like San Diego-Tijuana and El Paso-Juarez were essentially closed to migrants who could not navigate the intentionally convoluted immigration system. Additionally, NAFTA left many Latin American farmers in economic ruin, forcing them to migrate to the United States, while also ramping up border security and militarization. Through this militarization and economic destitution, as well as political violence–often funded or supported by the United States–millions of migrants were forced to travel through the remote corners of the desert southwest, hoping to reach larger cities like Phoenix and Tucson, where they would move to all regions of the country.
Mike shows us a map. It’s a map of Southern Arizona that features standard political boundaries, highways, cities, and federal land. But across the map, there are many red dots. Each red dot, Mike tells us, represents one migrant death. An area where human remains were discovered and identified. 4345 of them in total from 1981-2024, according to Humane Borders. Mike tells us this is due to the arid, remote nature of the region and extreme dehydration. Human smugglers, often affiliated with drug cartels, exploit and lie to migrants, telling them they are only “4 hours” from Phoenix, despite being hundreds of miles away, leaving them to bake in the desert sun. This inspired Mike to place several 55-gallon barrels of water across the Tohono Reservation, which shares 71 miles of border with Mexico and contains at least half of the migrant deaths. When asked why he did this, Mike says, “Because it’s the moral and humane thing to do.” Yet, through immigration hysteria, intimidation, and coercion, Mike was forced to remove the barrels out of fear of banishment from his tribe, fear of possibly being labeled a “terrorist”, and the stigma associated with challenging tribal and federal authorities.
There is one thing that the border militarization cannot keep out, nature. In the Sky Islands region of Arizona, six distinct ecozones converge to form one of the world's most biodiverse areas. Two bird migration corridors intersect here, along with migration routes of bats, bees, insects, plants, and mammals. Jaguars and Ocelots live here, and this is the only part of the United States where they are found and are an integral part of local culture. There is incredible plant biodiversity here; over 7,000 plant species reside in the region, attracting birds, bats, and other migratory animals. These animals and plants have no regard for the artificial barrier; they’ve been crossing it forever and will continue to do so, lest the border wall be built 100 feet taller.
Back in Nogales, a horn blares in the distance, and something remarkable happens. The wall opens, and a Ferromex/Union Pacific freight train emerges from it. This happens four times a day, a railroad employee tells our group, a reminder that this border is closed to many people, but not international commerce. Animals, plants, and even human infrastructure crossings prove that the border and its militarization are arbitrary. Yet this forces us to consider why we have made this anthropogenic imaginary our reality.