Run for the Border

A recent Gunsmoke File detailed some of my dealings with the fine men and women of the Immigration and Naturalization Service, and the trauma which lies therein. In fairness though, it has to be said that no matter how problematic working with those folks might be, it pales in comparison to the challenges of dealing with their cohorts who man the borders of the nation. A group whose apparent frustration at their inability to stem the tide of illegal immigration manifests itself in a desire to make it as difficult as possible for anyone attempt to cross the border by following the rules.

I’ll admit, I deviated from the script somewhat in that I first entered this country from the Pacific, without the security of an onward ticket. My hair wouldn’t have passed muster on a parade ground, my clothes screamed ‘hippie’; and my passport was festooned with the colorful stamps of half a dozen Asian nations, many of them known for their uhm, pharmaceutical industries. But even so, I was in proud possession of a Visa issued by the US Embassy in Singapore and valid for up to 1 year, which by definition guaranteed me entry to the country.

Unfortunately, nobody told the Customs officials at Los Angeles International Airport. I was already in a state of some tension having gone 12 rounds with the booking clerk when attempting to board the plane from Hong Kong. He too, had misgivings about the validity of my Visa and was concerned that should US Customs decline to allow me entry, his airline would be forced to return me to Hong Kong at their expense. I assured him repeatedly that the Visa was issued by the US Government themselves, who employed said Customs Officials, therefore there wouldn’t be a problem and after a lot of wheedling on my part, he finally gave in. However, I suspect that had that flight been overbooked, as was common, I might have been bumped to make way for someone not expected to be back in a couple of days.

After 18 hours on the plane, all I wanted was a shower and a lie down, but instead I’d to run the gauntlet of an array of government officials, each determined to brighten his day by making mine miserable. At least, I think they were all government officials; one might have been the janitor because there were a heckuva lot of people taking turns at going through my backpack. They checked the pocket linings, confiscated my stove’s fuel canisters (which shouldn’t have been on the plane in the first place), took the batteries out of my Walkman, opened the back of my camera (ruining most of my photographs from China – thanks guys) and quizzed me endlessly as to my reasons for visiting Asia.

"Buy many drugs when you were there?" One asked.
"Why yes," I replied "They’re in the top pocket of my bag. Would you like some?"

OK, I didn’t say that. I just kept answering their questions politely until they released me to the next sadist. Finally they conceded that there were no legal grounds to detain me longer and I was released into the Land of the Free™.

It was a few weeks before I encountered Customs Officials again, following a sojourn into Mexico. To encourage trade along the border towns, no Visas are required unless you plan to venture more than 10 miles into the country but as I intended to do just that, I was careful to ensure my documentation was in order. There was nobody on duty as I walked across the border but a couple of days and several miles later, Mexican officials placed a stamp in my passport to show that I had indeed entered the country. The problems didn’t start until I attempted to re-enter the US at El Paso, Texas.

"Why didn’t you have the Mexicans stamp your US Visa as well?" asked the unsmiling official.
"Because nobody told me I was supposed to." I replied.
"Well, your Visa’s no longer valid. We can’t let you in."
"Then what am I supposed to do?" I pleaded, "I can’t stay in Mexico!"
"Go speak to the people in the office. See what they say."

And with that, I was unceremoniously bundled off the bus, which continued into town without me.

Much later, the official behind the desk deigned to acknowledge my existence.

"What are you talking about?" he barked "Why would the Mexicans stamp your US Visa? It’s nothing to do with them."
"I’m just telling you what the guy outside said."
"Get the hell outta here!"

It’s a long walk from the border into downtown El Paso, particularly when you’re carrying a heavy backpack, dusk is falling and you have the only white face for miles around. Still, at least it gave me time to invent various epithets for the customs officials.

Interestingly, I heard some of those soubriquets repeated back to me, by the customs officials when next I encountered this rare breed. This time I’ll admit, I had broken the rules, albeit inadvertently. Simon from Britain and I were exploring the delights of Southern Arizona and wound up one afternoon in the charming hamlet of Douglas. Wandering up to the gate we fell into conversation with the Mexican lady manning her country’s defenses.

"Are we allowed to come across and walk around?" we asked, thinking of the "No Visa unless you’re going further than 10 miles" rule.
"Sure, no problem" she told us.

So, come across and walk around we did. Of course, what we should have done; was ask the Americans if it was OK to do this. As we discovered when we tried to walk back.

Simon at least, had his passport in his pocket. As a legal resident, I had no reason to carry mine so it was safe and sound in a drawer at home. As was the letter from the US Government explaining that my permanent residency status had been approved and I would be receiving my new Green Card shortly. Which meant the only legal documentation I carried was my Arizona driver’s license. Which meant I could easily get locked up for this. Or worse. Much, much worse.

So as the official berated us for our faux-pas, I was frantically reasoning that while Simon’s English accent was a dead giveway, I had yet to open my mouth. Therefore, she didn’t know I wasn’t an American.

Fortunately she ran out of steam after a while and let us go. I’m not sure my John Wayne impression could have held up to the test.

This Gunsmoke File was nominated for in July 2006.