The Environment

Drawing by Patrick Alvarado, 8, of Mexico City, son of 1997-98 DRCLAS Visiting Scholar Arturo Alvarado and Barbara Driscoll

In planning my schedule for the weeks of research I spent on the U.S.-Mexican border this summer, I knew I would have to factor traffic into my plans. This was certainly on my mind as I began to set up appointments in sister cities along the border for the summer to study the roles of two bi-national institutions that have been able to play in alleviating environmental problems in the border region.

There may be less of a theoretical border with the creation of NAFTA’s bi-national institutions, the subject of my research this summer, but the endless lines of cars constantly reminded me of the physical reality of the border crossing, a noxious mix of carbon dioxide and beeping horns. After my first full day of work in Ciudad Juarez, I prepared to cross to the El Paso side at 8 p.m. I feared the worst and began to mentally prepare myself for sitting on the bridge over the Rio Grande for at least an hour. But as I turned off the highway and towards the bridge, I saw no line of cars unfolding before me. I passed through customs in under five minutes and merely had to smile and reply “US” when asked my citizenship before I was waved across to the US side. Shocked, I was sure it was a fluke.

The next day I prepared myself for the border crossing. I left Juarez an hour and a half before my 3:00 meeting in El Paso. I ended up spending an hour in the International Boundary and Water Commission office waiting for the appointed hour to arrive. By now, after only two days in El Paso/Juarez, I was sure I had the system figured out: clearly, as long as one did not travel at rush hour, one would have no difficulties entering the US. I began to put this theory into action. My third day of research I called my host family in El Paso and told them I would be home by 8:30 for dinner. I left the office at eight and sat for almost two hours on the bridge in the dreaded traffic I had heard so much about. The customs officer even asked me to step out of my car and searched it thoroughly. I didn’t get home until 10:30; a dinner of cold lasagna was waiting for me in the fridge and much of my host family was already asleep. I considered myself lucky that the only repercussion of my first encounter with the endless lines of cars was a cold dinner as opposed to a missed meeting. I never allowed less than an hour for a border crossing after that night.