The Border is a privileged site inasmuch as it crystallizes both material investments and symbolic stakes. They phenomenally reflect or divulge the nature of various crucial social processes, of their own determinations.
The Border is an imaginary boundary requiring barbed wire and fence sufficient to keep out hardworking economic migrants but porous enough to allow recreational drugs to reach the suburbs.
The Border is historically youthful. Up until 1914 one did not need a passport for any country except Russia. The European emigrant, if he could scrape together a few pounds for the passage, simply set sail for America or Australia, and when he got there no questions were asked.
A Border is scratched across the hearts of men by strangers with a calm, judicial pen, and when the borders bleed we watch with dread the lines of ink across the map turn red.