By
Greg Grandin
Since its founding in the early 20th century, the U.S. Border
Patrol has operated with near-complete impunity, arguably serving as the
most politicized and abusive branch of federal law enforcement — even
more so than the FBI during J. Edgar Hoover’s directorship.
The 1924 Immigration Act tapped into a xenophobia with deep roots in
the U.S. history. The law effectively eliminated immigration from Asia
and sharply reduced arrivals from southern and eastern Europe. Most
countries were now subject to a set quota system, with the highest
numbers assigned to western Europe. As a result, new arrivals to the
United States were mostly white Protestants. Nativists were largely
happy with this new arrangement, but not with the fact that Mexico, due
to the influence of U.S. business interests that wanted to maintain
access to low-wage workers, remained exempt from the quota system.
“Texas needs these Mexican immigrants,” said the state’s Chamber of
Commerce.
Having lost the national debate when it came to restricting Mexicans,
white supremacists — fearing that the country’s open-border policy with
Mexico was hastening the “mongrelization” of the United States — took
control of the U.S. Border Patrol, also established in 1924, and turned
it into a frontline instrument of race vigilantism. As the historian
Kelly Lytle Hernández has
shown,
the patrol’s first recruits were white men one or two generations
removed from farm life. Some had a military or county sheriff
background, while others transferred from border-town police departments
or the Texas Rangers — all agencies with their
own long tradition
of unaccountable brutality. Their politics stood in opposition to the
big borderland farmers and ranchers. They didn’t think that Texas — or
Arizona, New Mexico, and California — needed Mexican migrants.
Earlier, in the mid-1800s, the Mexican-American War had unleashed a
broad, generalized racism against Mexicans throughout the nation. That
racism slowly concentrated along an ever-more focused line: the border.
While the 1924 immigration law spared Mexico a quota, a series of
secondary laws — including one that
made it a crime
to enter the country outside official ports of entry — gave border and
customs agents on-the-spot discretion to decide who could enter the
country legally. They had the power to turn what had been a routine
daily or seasonal event — crossing the border to go to work — into a
ritual of abuse. Hygienic inspections became more widespread and even
more degrading. Migrants had their heads shaved, and they were subjected
to an increasingly arbitrary set of requirements and the discretion of
patrollers, including literacy tests and entrance fees.
The patrol wasn’t a large agency at first — just a few hundred men
during its early years — and its reach along a 2,000-mile line was
limited. But over the years, its reported brutality grew as the number
of agents it deployed increased. Border agents beat, shot, and hung
migrants with regularity. Two patrollers, former Texas Rangers,
tied
the feet of one migrant and dragged him in and out of a river until he
confessed to having entered the country illegally. Other patrollers were
members of the resurgent Ku Klux Klan, active in border towns from
Texas to California. “Practically every other member” of El Paso’s
National Guard “was in the Klan,” one military officer
recalled, and many had joined the Border Patrol upon its establishment.
For more than a decade, the Border Patrol operated under the
authority of the Department of Labor, which in the early years of the
Great Depression, before the election of Franklin D. Roosevelt and his
appointment of Frances Perkins as secretary of labor, was a major driver
pushing deportation. Perkins, even before she entered FDR’s cabinet,
had already criticized Border Patrol brutality. In office, she
tried to limit the abuses
of immigration officials as much as she could, curtailing warrantless
arrests, allowing detained migrants phone calls, and working to extend
the protections the New Deal offered citizens to migrant workers,
including an effort to make abusive migrant labor contracts more
equitable.
Reform was short-lived. The White House, bowing to pressure from
agriculturalists, placed the Border Patrol, and migration policy more
broadly, under the authority of the Department of Justice.
More laws
further criminalizing migration reinforced the Border Patrol’s power.
For example, the end of the Bracero guest-worker program, along with the
1965 Hart-Celler Act, which for the first time
assigned quotas
to Mexico and other countries in the Western Hemisphere, now meant
that thousands of seasonal Mexican workers were officially “illegal.”
Exporting Paramilitary Policing
At the same time, experience gained in migrant interdiction began to
be exported internationally. The Border Patrol is often thought of, even
by critics of its brutality, as a sleepy backwater federal agency, far
removed from the Cold War’s ideological frontlines. But the Patrol
played a role in expanding the radius of Washington’s national security
doctrine — the tutoring of allied security forces in counterinsurgency
tactics — and accelerating the tempo of paramilitary action.
The career of John P. Longan, who worked as an Oklahoma sheriff before
joining the Border Patrol, is illustrative. Following stints in New
Mexico and Texas, Longan was tapped to help run Operation Wetback, a
mass deportation drive focused mostly on California that, as the Los
Angeles Times put it, transformed the patrol into an “army” committed to
an “all-out war to hurl tens of thousands of Mexican wetbacks back into
Mexico.”
Modern armies need a modern intelligence service, and Longan,
operating out of an unmarked location in an old Alameda Navy
installation, updated the Patrol’s ability to gather and analyze
information — including information extracted during interrogations —
and then act on that information quickly. A few years later, Longan
transferred to the State Department’s Public Safety Program, doing tours
in a number of third-world hotspots, including Venezuela, Thailand, the
Dominican Republic, and Guatemala. According to Stuart Schrader, in his
forthcoming “Badges Without Borders: How Global Counterinsurgency
Transformed American Policing,” Longan was one of a number of Border
Patrol agents recruited to train foreign police through
CIA-linked
“public safety” programs, since they were likely to speak Spanish. And
having worked the southwestern borderlands, these
patrollers-turned-covert operators were familiar with societies built
around peonage-like labor relations; they seamlessly extended the kind
of free-range immunity they enjoyed at home to poorer, oligarch-ruled
nations like Guatemala.
In Guatemala, Longan used the intelligence techniques similar to the
ones he developed in Operation Wetback to train local police and
military officers, creating an “action unit” that could gather
information — also mostly from interrogations, many of them including
torture — and act on that information in a rapid manner. Within the
first three months of 1966, “Operación Limpieza,” or Operation Clean-up,
as Longan called his project, conducted over 80 raids and scores of
extrajudicial assassinations, including the murder, during one four-day
period in early March, of over 30 political activists (I describe
Longan’s time in Guatemala in detail
here).
Likewise, through the early 1970s, the U.S. trained Latin American
security forces, the majority from countries run by military
governments, at the Border Patrol Academy in Los Fresnos, Texas, where,
according to the Los Angeles Times, “CIA instructors” trained them “in
the design, manufacture, and potential use of bombs and incendiary
devices.”
In This Place, You Have No Rights
Starting in the 1970s, investigative journalists began to report on
Border Patrol abuse. Such exposés were damning, but largely ignored.
John Crewdson, for instance, won a Pulitzer in 1980 for a series of
articles published in the New York Times, including one titled “Border
Sweeps of Illegal Aliens Leave Scores of Children in Jails,” yet his
1983 book based on the series, “
The Tarnished Door,”
is out of print. Crewdson’s reporting on the Border Patrol and the
immigration system deserves a revival, for it provides an important
back-history to the horrors we are witnessing today.
Patrollers, he reported, regularly engaged in beatings, murder,
torture, and rape, including the rape of girls as young as 12. Some
patrollers ran their own in-house “outlaw” vigilante groups. Others
maintained ties with groups like the Klan. Border Patrol agents also
used the children of migrants, either as bait or as a pressure tactic to
force confessions. When coming upon a family, agents usually tried to
apprehend the youngest member first, with the idea that relatives would
give themselves up so as not to be separated. “It may sound cruel,” one
patroller said, but it often worked.
Separating migrant families was not official government policy in the
years Crewdson was reporting on abuses. But left to their own devices,
Border Patrol agents regularly took children from parents, threatening
that they would be separated “forever” unless one of them confessed that
they had entered the country illegally. Mothers especially, an agent
said, “would always break.” Once a confession was extracted, children
might be placed in foster care or left to languish in federal jails.
Others were released into Mexico alone, far from their homes — forced to
survive, according to public defenders, by “garbage-can scrounging,
living on rooftops and whatever.”
Ten-year-old Sylvia Alvarado,
separated from her grandmother as they crossed into Texas, was kept in a
small cinderblock cell for more than three months. In California,
13-year-old Julia Pérez, threatened with being arrested and denied food,
broke down and told her interrogator that she was Mexican, even though
she was a U.S. citizen. The Border Patrol released Pérez into Mexico
with no money or way to contact her U.S. family. Such cruelties weren’t
one-offs, but part of a pattern, encouraged and committed by officers up
the chain of command. The violence was both gratuitous and systemic,
including “stress” techniques later associated with the war in Iraq.
The practice, for instance, as recently
reported, of placing migrants in extremely cold rooms — called
hieleras,
or “ice boxes” — goes back decades, at least to the early 1980s, with
Crewdson writing that it was a common procedure. Agents reminded
captives that they were subject to their will: “In this place, you have
no rights.”
Some migrants, being sent back to Mexico, were handcuffed to cars and
made to run alongside them to the border. Patrollers pushed “illegals
off cliffs,” a patrol agent told Crewdson, “so it would look like an
accident.” Officers in the patrol’s parent agency, the Immigration and
Naturalization Service, traded young Mexican women they caught at the
border to the Los Angeles Rams in exchange for season tickets, and
supplied Mexican prostitutes to U.S. congressmen and judges, paying for
them out of funds the service used to compensate informants. Agents also
worked closely with Texas agriculturalists, delivering workers to their
ranches (including to one owned by Lyndon B. Johnson when he was in the
White House), then raiding the ranches just before payday and deporting
the workers. “The ranchers got their crops harvested for free, the INS
men got fishing and hunting privileges on the ranches, and the Mexicans
got nothing,” Crewdson
reported.
Subsequent reporting confirms that the violence Crewdson documented
continued down the years, largely unabated. The remoteness of much of
the border region and the harshness of its terrain, the work that
straddled the line between foreign and domestic power, and the fact that
many of the patrollers were themselves veterans of foreign wars (or
hailed from regions with fraught racial relations, including the
borderlands themselves) all contributed to a “fortress mentality,” as
one officer put it. Patrollers easily imagined their isolated
substations to be frontier forts in hostile territory, holding off
barbarians. They wielded awesome power over desperate people with little
effective recourse. Based on information provided by local migrant
advocacy groups, Human Rights Watch wrote in 1993 that in one such
substation, in Harlingen, Texas, “physical abuse is often coupled with
due process abuses meant to terrorize victims of brutality.” Most
captured migrants, beaten or threatened with a beating, signed
“voluntary departure agreements” and were “quickly repatriated.”
Between 1982 and 1990, Mexico City sent at least 24 protests to the
U.S. State Department on behalf of Mexicans injured or murdered by
Border Patrol agents. Just as soldiers use racial epithets for the
people they are fighting overseas, Border Patrol agents have a word for
their adversaries: “tonks.” It’s “the sound,” one patroller
told
a journalist, “a flashlight makes when you hit someone over the head.”
In neighborhoods filled with undocumented residents, the Patrol operated
with the latitude of an occupying army. “Mind your own fucking
business, lady, and go back into your house,” one patroller
ordered
a resident in Stockton, California, who came out on her balcony to see
him “kicking a Mexican male who was handcuffed and lying facedown on the
ground.”
It wasn’t just the federal Border Patrol that engaged in such sadism,
but local law enforcement as well. In 1980, a Texas lawyer affiliated
with the United Farm Workers
obtained videos
of 72 interrogations of migrants that took place over the course of the
previous seven years, recorded by the police department in McAllen,
Texas. The images were disturbing: Police took turns beating one
handcuffed Mexican man, bashing his head on the concrete floor,
punching, kicking, and cursing as he pleaded for mercy. The tapes were
made for enjoyment, as a kind of bonding ritual that would later be
associated with the abuse committed against Iraqi prisoners in Abu
Ghraib: As the officers gathered “night after night,” they drank beer
and watched “playbacks” of their interrogation sessions. It was, said
one of the men involved, a way of initiating new recruits into the cult
of border brutalism.
There have been contradictory judicial rulings, but historically,
agent power has been limited by no constitutional clause. There are few
places patrollers can’t search, no
property
belonging to migrants they can’t seize. And there is hardly anybody
they can’t kill, provided that the victims are poor Mexican or Central
American migrants. Between 1985 and 1990, federal agents shot 40
migrants around San Diego alone, killing 22 of them. On April 18, 1986,
for instance, patroller Edward Cole was beating 14-year-old Eduardo
Carrillo Estrada on the U.S. side of the border’s chain-link fence, when
he stopped and shot Eduardo’s younger brother, Humberto, in the back.
Humberto was standing on the other side of the fence on Mexican soil. A
court ruled that Cole, who had previous incidents of shooting through
the fence at Mexicans, had reason to fear for his life from Humberto and
used justifiable force.
Such abuses persisted through the 1990s and 2000s. In 1993, the House
Subcommittee on International Law, Immigration, and Refugees held
hearings on Border Patrol abuse, and its transcript is a catalogue of
horrors. One former guard, Tony Hefner, at the INS detention center in
Port Isabel, Texas,
reported
that “a young Salvadoran girl” was forced to “perform personal duties,
like dancing the Lambada, for INS officials.” (In 2011, Hefner published
a
memoir
with more accusations of sexual abuse by, as Hefner writes, the INS
“brass”). Roberto Martinez, who worked with the San Diego-based
U.S.-Mexico Border Program for the American Friends Service Committee,
testified
that “human and civil rights violations” by the Border Patrol “run the
gamut of abuses imaginable” — from rape to murder. Agents regularly
seized “original birth certificates and green cards” from Latino
citizens, “leaving the victim with the financial burden of having to go
through a lengthy process of applying for a new document.” “Rapes and
sexual abuse in INS detention centers around the United States,”
Martinez said, “seem to be escalating throughout the border region.”
Brutality continued as Washington further militarized both the border
and broader immigration policy — first after the 1993 signing of the
North American Free Trade Agreement, and then years later with the
creation of Immigration and Customs Enforcement and the establishment of
the Department of Homeland Security after the 9/11 attacks. Since 2003,
Border Patrol agents
have killed
at least 97 people, including six children. Few agents were prosecuted.
Last year, a 19-year-old Guatemalan Maya woman, Claudia Patricia Gómez
Gonzáles was killed,
shot in the head by a
still-unnamed Texas Border Patrol agent shortly after she entered the United States.
According to a recent
report
by the American Civil Liberties Union, young girls apprehended by the
Patrol have been physically abused and threatened with rape, while
unaccompanied children have experienced “physical and psychological
abuse, unsanitary and inhumane living conditions, isolation from family
members, extended period of detention, and denial of access to legal
medical service.”
The viciousness we are witnessing today at the border, directed at
children and adults, has a long history, a fact that should in no way
mitigate the extraordinary cruelty of Donald Trump. But it does suggest
that if the U.S. is to climb out of the moral abyss it has fallen into,
it has to think well beyond Trump’s malice. It needs a historical
reckoning with the true cause of the border crisis: the long, brutal
history of border enforcement itself.