So far this semester, I’ve found myself often pondering and citing the idea of the “virtual border,” given to us by the author David Spener in his book Clandestine Crossings. In this writing he goes on to explain how this virtual border is characterized by a “social space of illegality,” becoming a boundary between migrants and American society that follows them even into the furthest depths of U.S. territory. By labeling migrants as “illegals” or “aliens” this border is reinforced by suggesting criminality or otherness, stigmas already deeply embedded in the American social thought process. The reality of this discriminatory, segregating and all too real concept has been increasing apparent in my day to day experiences here in Tucson, but I have also come to realize that social space occupied by migrants, their families and the generations to come have implications that must be both considered and challenged.
This virtual border is an instant reflection of identity. No doubt that recent legislation like Arizona’s LB 1070 and the ban on ethnic studies (HB 2281) not only condone blatant racism, but also target the legacy of Mexican-American families and their heritage as some sort of threat to national security, virtually militarized to mock the real international border. Sure, Arizona is a border state; we call it the Borderlands, and “border issues” ripple out from the border itself. But Spener’s virtual border has permeated even beyond the Borderlands buffer region, as evidenced by the immigration enforcement that has spread throughout the country. Alabama’s HB 56 and the prevalence of ICE activity are examples of ways both State and Federal officials employ their power to expose this invisible social border and enact fear into the US’s 10-12 million undocumented migrants, their “legal” family members and friends, and even those of us who consider ourselves advocates or allies.
Nonetheless, even I am to blame. I can call myself an advocate or an ally, if it helps to settle my conscious about the realities facing our nation. But I am as guilty as most for allowing a sort of normalization to occur, where we engage in the discourse of illegality concerning the migrant population, and speculate on the legality of others. When Yendi Castillo-Reina spoke to us the other day, she made clear the thought-process of many Americans: “As long as it is not us, it’s ok.” We may not condone structural violence or militarization of the border, but our silence says otherwise. I grew up nearly 3,000 miles from the U.S.-Mexican border. The Hispanic population of the State of Maine is negligible, especially in comparison with most other states in the nation. Before Border Studies, I had little consciousness as to how the larger structural issues contributing to international migration and the response by the American government might affect me. And I suspect a lot of people feel the same way, even some of those who live as close to the “actual” border as I do now. Ignorance doesn’t afflict those who are physically distant from the border, but those to decide to remain distant consciously.
For me the virtual border emulates the way in which a cellular membrane absorbs nutritious particles and deposits waste through a process known as endocytosis. The border, or the membrane, folds in on itself, encasing the particle. Elements of that particle may diffuse through the border for the benefit of the cell function. Migration is necessary, and migrants contribute to the U.S.’s necessary low-wage workforce. Border militarization and the response by the U.S. government generate revenue for private industries, ensuring, at least for some, capital gain. Then the heathen cell spits out the remains—the unwanted—or the men and women tried inhumanely through Operation Streamline.
The permeability of this virtual border is debatable, however. While the system seems to want to control what goes in and what goes out, it would be ignorant to say that has been widely successful. From my perspective, on the ground, riding down 6th Avenue in South Tucson, or eating dinner with my host mother, the imprint of the region’s various ethnic heritages cannot be denied. Our historic attempts toward Anglo-centrism have been resisted by swaths of vibrantly painted murals, taco shops, and the Sonoran corruption of the American classic—the hot dog.
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