Breaking Down Fences
By Bentley de Bardelaben
Thursday, April 24, 2008

Approximately one month ago, I had a unique, uncomfortable and unforgettable experience while standing alongside the Pacific Ocean; a setting that generally provides me great pleasure and peace.  For as long as I can remember, I have had a special connection with large bodies of water, i.e. lakes, seas, and oceans.  At a minimum, the sight, sound and smell of them allow me to achieve a level of serenity, joy and admiration. 

 In my attempt to reconnect with a familiar friend, I spied the behemoth presence of an uninvited intruder while I stood atop a precipice.  Stretching out in front of, beside and behind me was a massive iron border fence, dividing two nations. On the north side of the fence is the United States of America. To the south is the country of Mexico. In 1848, this border was established with the signing of the treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo that officially ended the Mexican War.

As the sun set, I found myself gazing upon the gigantic and gaudy proverbial line anchored in the sand, appearing to have no end along the horizon into which it cut. I stood on the south side of the fencing within the city of Tijuana, Mexico. To my north was the city of San Ysidro, California, where two U.S. border patrol cars were parked.  Also hovering above and before them was a costal helicopter.  Feeling frustration, I decided to venture down to get a closer look at an ocean that seemed to be spewing an abnormality from its mouth. 

As I walked down a paved path, I noticed a Hispanic family before me picnicking on the beach alongside the border fence. Undistracted by the fence, these parents, grandparents and children seemed to be having a wonderful time on that beautiful spring day. Yet, as I moved closer, I noted something odd about their chosen position. Instead of facing south, away from the fence, they faced north, toward it. 

Suddenly, a small laughing child stood and began running toward and through the fence.  There was just enough space for him to get through. Playfully, he ran to and fro, yet to my surprise, as I came upon them, I saw that there was another family sitting on the other side. Shocked, I began to watch the interaction between them. At one point, they passed a baby through the fence. At another, they held hands. They even hugged. This family, though divided by this metal barrier, broke bread to be together. Their joy, their determination, their will to be present was something to marvel.

My soul ached as I watched them. In 1848, who could have imagined the outcome that I witnessed; a land and peoples, their hopes and dreams, divided by an invisible line and treaty which once offered opportunity for all families, currently separated by fences.  Martin King, Jr. once stated that “the moral arc of the universe is long, but it bends toward justice.”  Whether or not they sensed my troubled heart, I knew that this experience had altered the way that I would conduct my cultural proficiency workshops, especially as it pertains to the Latino experience.  I now realize viscerally that our U.S. histories as people of color are more similar.  Undoubtedly, my work will begin reflecting this powerful, yet painfully lesson learned.