Paz Sea

I've been having a pretty great week so far, which is a relief because last week was probably one of the most difficult since I have been here.

I spent what was a pretty relaxed weekend puttering around a book/record/organic clothing store in Bisbee, and taking a group of high school students from New Mexico out into the desert with a group of recovering drug addicts from Mexico. I would include both of these on my top 50 favorite things to do in life.

I also spent the weekend persistently harassed by various law enforcement agencies, which has become an increasingly large problem in my life. On an average day in college, where I rarely drove, or an average day in Longmont, where I drove quite often, my encounters with law enforcement were brief at best, often little more than a passing glimpse of a squad car, and a quick check to make sure I wasn't doing more than ten miles per hour over the limit. Here on the border guys with guns have become a fairly constant part of my everyday existence.

Here's a case study over the course of a weekend:

Thursday- Stopped in the desert by a patrol from the Mexican Army, complete with hummer and rifles.

Friday- Stopped by U.S. Customs and Immigration at the border for a check on my identification, citizenship, and criminal record.

Saturday- Stopped in the desert once more by the same Mexican Army patrol. Questioned more thoroughly about why we were there. Questioned by U.S. Customs and Officials at the border where my car was searched. Stopped by U.S. Border Patrol on the highway because my rear lights were not working. Asked about my citizenship.

Sunday- Stopped by U.S. Customs and Immigration at the border and questioned about my citizenship, residency, and status of my identification cards.

I suppose that a logical response to all of this law enforcement could be a feeling of overall safety and security. Outside of Baghdad this has got to be the most heavily patrolled U.S. territory in the world. The thing is, safety and security is not really the feeling that I get. Instead I find myself becoming increasingly paranoid, scared of these officials. I often feel like I am about to be arrested for something even though I have done nothing wrong.

To explain this I have to go back a little bit and say something about immigration and border policy. In order to combat the twin scourges of illegal immigration and illegal drug smuggling the U.S. government has granted a wide range of powers to a large number of law enforcement agencies. Border Patrol trucks are everywhere in Douglas, along with Customs trucks, Police cruisers, National Guard vehicles, and Cochise County Sherrif SUV's. The County Sherrif's officers are particularly intimidating because instead of shotguns they carry AK-47's. There are Blackhawk Helicopters. There are cameras. And believe it or not, they are watching.

The other day a friend crossed the border and gave his ID to the U.S. Customs and Border Official. "Mr. Bassett," he said, "Where do you work sir?" With Just Coffee, my friend replied. "I already knew that," the agent sneered, "Your name was included in a recent intelligence update." Seriously, I'm not making this stuff up.

For a while I have been comforting myself by saying that I have done nothing illegal here in the United States, that I am a citizen in good standing, and that if it comes down to it I have the money for a lawyer. I have told myself all of these things to keep the fear at bay. This is totally ridiculous. If I am this nervious/afraid/whatever of these officials, how afraid would I be if I wasn't so white/rich/educated/generally anti-authoritarian/working for people who would bail me out? Have we come to a point in America where the price of security is a state of fear?

I try to remind myself that I am not an American, I am a follower of Christ who happened to be born in America. I love some things about this country, and there are more than a few that I hate, but all of this masks a more profound and important truth in my life. I love the Gospel and everything that it stands for, and that's where my allegiance should be. This does not mean that I ignore the clear benefits I receive from citizenship, or somehow reduce my responsibility for seeking justice in the land of my birth, but it does mean that ultimately this place is not my home.

And I have begun thinking about something else as well. At the end of John's biography on the life of Jesus, after his death and resurrection, Jesus meets with his disciples in a house where they are hiding from the Jewish authorities. In this time of persecution, and among a great deal of fear, Jesus's words to his followers are simple and clear: Paz sea con ustedes. Peace be unto you. From now on I have decided to live like I believe what he said. In the presence of guns I'm going to live at peace. Peace be unto you as well.