I tripped down south of the border via the tram line while visiting San Diego. At the end of the line I walked across the winding pedestrian bridge and out of the USA. Easy as dotting a period. Spent about two hours just walking around and people-watching.
It was on the return to my country where things got (needlessly) complicated.
Our well trained border control---largely Mexican---gave me a dickens of a time entering the USA. I, and only I, was stopped for some ten or so minutes at Customs Border Patrol (CBP) checkpoint while the woman checked and double checked seemingly every database for the teeniest tiniest blotch on my record. Every one else was was waved with bags and all.
No other people were subjected to this hyper scrutiny because none of the others in line shared my demographics: young, black male.
The officer's motives were racially motivated because, being of small mind, she found it unfathomable a negro would "visit"---visit?!---her poor motherland except for nefarious dealings. What, what, nefarious dealings, you ask? Why, y'know, drugs. Why, y'know, because all young black men deal in drugs...and, y'know, unlike Mexicans, don't have the luxury of simply visiting other countries.
More than a couple of things could have made my trip to Tijuana more pleasant not least of which is if the CBP scaled back on small-minded personnel. Still haven't heard back from Dept of Homeland Security on that one, though; so in the meantime, keep in mind this tale of travelling black from Tijuana.
Now...where was all this scrutiny some 8,000,000 illegal Mexicans ago? Oh, yeah, of course. In the same place it is now: U.S. Border Control (www.cbp.gov).
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