Who Is Still Crossing the Border?

The Border Patrol stopped us as soon as we got down to the bank of the river between Mission and Reynosa, Mexico. The sun had started to set on an October day, and the Rio Grande reflected an orange light on its green surface as the photographer accompanying me checked some settings on his camera. Then we heard the sound of an engine rev, and the green-and-white truck rolled toward us, rumbling over the pockmarked grass. I had the unwelcome feeling that we’d done something wrong, but we were in Texas—we’d walked down to the river on the American side, and we were standing on the American bank. I slowly took my hands out of my pockets and held them open at my sides, so…

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