A Rio Grande fence will separate families, wreck economies, and threaten wildlife, but it won’t stop illegal immigrants.
Mary Jo McConahay | September 07, 2007 | Features
On hot summer days I would sit atop the water tank on the west side of the stone cabin ... watching turkey vultures climb invisible thermals, listening to the soft cooing of white-tipped doves, and gazing at the mosaic of greens that rippled into the distance. Something told me that I should swallow every angstrom of this beauty, commit it to memory, and hold it firmly in my heart.
Arturo Longoria, Adios to the Brushlands
Exhausted, a party of birders slips down the last few feet of a dry arroyo and collapses onto flat, cool stones near the spot where the water begins. Three sleek kayaks and a lumbering canoe sit beached just beyond reach of the licks of a lazy stream, near the tiny town of Salimeño. “We could secede again,” says one of the birders in a tone that sounds only half-joking. He doesn’t need to explain, because all present know the history of the short-lived, combative Republic of the Rio Grande (1839 to 1840). On the floor of the limestone arroyo, giant, fossilized oyster shells shine bright and curvy-edged in the sun. When a song comes from the brush, one of the birders automatically identifies it as “green jay,” and the others assent without missing a beat in a conversation threaded with anger and frustration.
Up and down the Lower Rio Grande Valley, rebellion is in the air. Residents like the birders, and civic officials, are receiving top-down orders from Washington to accept a border fence many do not want, walling off their river. It will reverse new economic ebullience, opponents say, change their border culture, and bring down the curtain on rare critters of which they are stewards, including some found nowhere else in the world.
In Washington, anti-terror legislation is invoked to convince locals they have no choice ...
http://www.texasobserver.org/article.php?aid=2576