As
I related in the previous entry, I saw examples of evolution and natural
history during my recent visit to Big Bend. But I also experienced a reminder
of one of the peculiarities of human evolutionary history: all humans are
descended from a recent common ancestor, therefore the human species is
genetically very uniform. When I descended from the Chisos Mountains and went
down to the Rio Grande, I came face to face with a reminder that the lines
separating human cultures and races is very thin indeed.
When
I was in high school in 1974, I was our school’s representative to Boys’ State,
a simulation of state government run by the American Legion. Most of the
instructors were military officers, and military recruitment was one theme. One
of our guest speakers was an astronaut who brought a prepared speech, but when
he saw us, he threw down his script and just answered questions. Some wiseass
asked him if, from orbit, he could see the little lines separating the
countries. He said no, and that he couldn’t see the lines separating race and
religion either. He got an ovation from that. Remember that this was back
before the fundamentalist culture wars in America, and back when race relations
were more strained than they are now.
On May 16, I
came right to the edge of the Rio Grande. It was not a grand river at this
time; it was more like a large creek, only about thirty feet wide in some
places. The challenge to rafters is to find water deep enough to float on. This
is the little line that separates the U.S. and Mexico. Technically, the border
runs down the middle of the river bed; the river ran in a narrow channel right
next to the cliffs of the Mexican side, while on our side there was a wide
rocky floodplain. Therefore, I must have actually been standing in Mexico. I reflected
on how porous the border actually is, despite billions of dollars spent by the
federal government to repel any Mexican who might venture (or any American
botanist who might wander) across the border. Commerce is what happens when
people try to make a living, and commerce is going to happen across the
U.S.-Mexico border whether regulated or not.
Such
was my conceptual view, but then something happened that put a human face on
it. I met two entrepreneurs, trying a creative way to earn money for their families.
“Jesús the Singing Mexican” stood under a tree on the Mexico side of the river
and sang folk songs he thought Americans would recognize. He had a donation
basket (actually an old plastic bottle) on the American side, and a canoe with
which I assume he would slip over to empty it occasionally. His friend Ventura
had some trinkets, rocks, and fossils on the ground near the trail. The prices
were labeled in pencil on cardboard or rocks. I was about to walk past them
when Ventura came running down to greet me and talk me into buying something.
Had he seen any federales, I assume
he could quickly have gathered his stuff, called for Jesús to bring the canoe,
and retreated to the Mexico side very quickly. While I have no desire for
trinkets, I really wanted to reward this entrepreneur, who might have been a
Mexican and who had not had any business that day, and it was a very hot day.
(Note to Border Patrol: I do not actually know whether Ventura was a Mexican
national.) I bought some items, which did not include drugs, alcohol, tobacco,
or firearms (please note, ATF and DEA) but which included a couple of wire
sculptures for my wife and daughter. My $20 bill must have been dynamite on his
side of the river, assuming he was Mexican. He said he had walked a couple of
miles to set up his wares. He said that now he felt like running home. (To
protect these two men, I will not mention the exact location where I met them.)
Ventura was a really nice guy. When he found out I was a botanist, we talked
about the trees on the tops of desert mountains. We formed the kind of close
relationship that people want to have with their customers.
Of
course, I have no proof that these two men were Mexican nationals and that our
business transaction was illegal. For aught that I could prove to the contrary,
they were Hispanic Americans sneaking into Mexico. But assuming that our
activity was illegal actually made it more enjoyable. I have frequently
commented in my blogs about the state of abject chaos in the American federal
government, especially Congress. (The same may be true in Mexico.) I have no
respect at all for our government. The feds could have, had they seen us,
self-righteously denounced the illegality of our business—the same feds who
cannot get anything done except to waste money. That is, assuming that Ventura
and Jesús were actually illegal Mexicans.
There
is only a thin line, even thinner than the drought-stricken Rio Grande, between
me and Ventura and Jesús; there is a deep gorge between me and Congress. I
actually respect Ventura and Jesús.
I
suddenly realized that I was alone with them, with a pocketbook and an
expensive camera. Of course, if they had taken anything, it would have become
an international incident and brought their business to an end. It was in their
interests to be nice to me. But I never felt uneasy in their presence. I am
distinctly uneasy in the presence of the IRS, which has still not given me my
tax refund, after over two months since filing, and which admits its own
horrible work. (The ousted IRS chief said to Congress on the very day that I
met Ventura and Jesús, “We provided horrible customer service.”) I have given
up expecting IRS to do anything right. I’ll choose Jesús and Ventura any day.
The
last thing Ventura wanted was water. Alas, I had only a mouthful left. I wished
I had thought about filling my leaky half-gallon jug at the hotel before I
left, then I could have just given it to Ventura—whom I, of course, had not
expected to encounter. Jesus (not Jesús) said that if all we have to give is a
cup of water, to do so. All I had was cash, so that is what I used. If I also
had water, what nice symbol of mutual respect it would have been. Technically,
it would have been illegal for me to give him that water, even if he had been
dying in the desert. But all he wanted was to not have to drink the green water
in the Rio Grande.
Meanwhile,
the U.S. federal government considers people like Jesús and Ventura to be
dangerous enemies of the United States. I can just imagine the helicopters
descending on “The Singing Mexican.” Or more likely a drone. (Okay, I’m
exaggerating.) Federal documents distributed to all park visitors say, “Mexican
merchants will be arrested for illegal commercial operations which may result
in a find and/or additional incarceration while awaiting adjudication prior to
deportation.” For poor Jesús, this would undoubtedly mean a very long time
sitting in jail before trial, especially since “the sequester” gives the federales an excuse to keep him locked
up and leave his family without income for months.
And
guess what. The Feds consider me to
be an enemy also. “Items purchased illegally will be considered contraband and
seized by officers when encountered.” Of course, I do not actually know whether
my purchase was illegal or not.
To
all this, the U.S. government gives a really bizarre justification. Why are
Jesús and Ventura so dangerous? Because when they walk on the trails they will
“crush plants along the river and cause erosion of riverbanks, and an increase
in garbage and contaminants along the Rio Grande watershed.” What? The
government document almost seems to be saying, “Them dirty Mexicans are
contaminating everything, their footsteps will hurt the crabgrass and salt
cedars, but it’s just fine with us if Americans pull their canoes and rafts up
over the riparian vegetation.” By the way, salt cedars are invasive trees that
the government spends a lot of money trying to eradicate, and I did not see any
garbage that these two men may have left. Maybe they peed in the salt cedar
bushes, which is something that Americans never
ever ever do.
What
advice do the federales give to
Americans? They point out, “Lack of water is a life-threatening emergency in
the desert.” (I would not have known this had not the wise and benevolent
government pointed this out to me.) So what are you supposed to do if Jesús or
Ventura asks for water? Jesus (not Jesús) would say, give them some. The U.S.
government says to inform government officials of their location. This command
comes not in a general location in the park newspaper but in the specific
bullet point about what to do if one of the Mexican nationals asks for water.
Of course, the nearest officials are many miles away and cell phone reception
is poor. So you are supposed to leave Jesús and Ventura behind and drive off
quickly to report them so that friendly federales
can swoop down and arrest them and give them water. (Note: If they were Mexican
nationals, Jesús and Ventura were not immigrants, just visitors.)
The
lines separating us are so little that I cannot resist crossing them. They are
certainly too small to see from outer space. Numerous races and cultures
evolved in prehistory. It looks likely that the future of human evolution will
be merger, not further differentiation.
So
here’s to “Jesús the Singing Mexican” and to Ventura the trinket vendor and to
our common humanity.
Note
that the next entries will be about the Oklahoma Evolution Road Trip, which
begins Thursday May 30.