There is an old saying: “In Ireland a hundred miles is a long way, and in America a hundred years is a long time.”
I drove 2,000 miles exploring the Texas-Mexico borderlands, experiencing a landscape so vast, so endless and unforgiving, on my return it felt as if I had been to space and back. Driving through the hallucinatory desert mountains, I wondered at the fates of migrant travellers who cross this parched expanse on foot.
There is no absence of history on the border, even if towns and cities are few and far between. In centuries past, this landscape was the ultimate frontier for Anglo-Americans moving southwest, and for Mexicans moving north.
It has known bloody revolution, state-sanctioned racial violence, cycles of economic growth and decline, and all the turmoil born of a border divide. Tejanos have another saying: “We didn’t cross the border, the border crossed us.”
In El Paso, at the far western edge of the border, I visited the celebrated writer Benjamin Alire Sáenz.
His house was a mess with stacks upon stacks of his latest book, Aristotle and Dante Dive into the Waters of the World, which had just debuted at number one on the New York Times bestseller list.
For years, Sáenz has been a well-known poet and novelist in the borderlands with a devoted following, but his recent celebrity baffles him.
“Growing up as a poor Spanish-speaking kid on the border, I have no idea what to do with the money. I find myself giving it away.”
As we waited for a friend of Sáenz's to arrive with food from across the border in Ciudad Juárez, he looked at his phone and let out a mischievous laugh. "They're trying to ban my book."
Texas state representative Matt Krause, a Republican candidate for state attorney general, had just released a list of 850 books for investigation.
In a letter, Krause demanded that Texas schools identify how many copies of each book their libraries contained; the amount of funds spent to acquire the books; and any other books that address “human sexuality”, “HIV”, “Aids” or “any material that might [...] convey that a student, by virtue of their race or sex, is inherently racist, sexist, or oppressive, whether consciously or unconsciously”.
The language is from Texas House Bill 3979, the so-called critical race theory law. I was stunned to find how ubiquitous this phrase, abbreviated as CRT, has become in the United States, splashed across the news and tripping from the lips of parents on the playground.
I stopped for petrol-station coffees and Dairy Queen ice creams. The miles passed and my mind wandered
In reality, CRT is an advanced method taught in graduate schools. It understands racism as systemic rather than just a function of individuals’ beliefs and behaviours. CRT is not, and has never been, taught in schools to children. Fox News would have millions of parents believe otherwise. It prefers an uncomplicated, uncoloured version of history.
Mind wandered
Krause’s list extends the racialised focus of CRT hysteria to include works addressing sex and sexual orientation. Sáenz’s Aristotle and Dante series tells the story of two boys who fall in love in El Paso in the 1980s. Sáenz is often approached by readers who say Ari and Dante’s story saved their lives.
Pouring a glass of wine, Sáenz smiled. “Every writer knows, the best thing you can do for sales is to ban the book!”
I left El Paso and made my way along a thousand miles of border, hugging the Rio Grande in near-total isolation. Passing through small border towns, I stopped for petrol-station coffees and Dairy Queen ice creams. The miles passed and my mind wandered.
Reaching McAllen, at the southeastern edge of the border, I encountered a new landscape, the Rio Grande Valley. The strange mountainous shapes of the western borderlands had flattened out. A haze lay low over the city. I entered heavy traffic-alert, changing from lane to lane.
I parked in a lot full of giant trucks and stepped out into the heat. Entering a noisy restaurant full of families and conversations in both Spanish and English, I found Trinidad Gonzales.
Gonzales is a historian of the Rio Grande Valley and a co-founder of the educational non-profit Refusing to Forget, which has uncovered, documented, and commemorated the history of state-sanctioned racial violence against ethnic Mexicans in the early 20th century. Gonzales is a descendant of some of those victims. He was also involved in the battle over House Bill 3979.
“We’ve lost the linguistic fight over the term critical race theory,” Gonzales said. “But if you don’t find your community’s history within the curriculum, it sends a clear psychological message to you that your community is not valued.”
CRT laws are being passed in states throughout the country, and local school board meetings have become battlegrounds, with parents arguing over how America’s complex histories should be taught.
“People who believe racism doesn’t exist are very adamant that it is not discussed in the histories,” Gonzales said. “And people who feel racism does exist think we need to study it in the past so that we can make things better today.”
