Friday, September 27, 2024

Wrong About the Border

 

   
What Harris and Trump Get Wrong About the Border

The Vice President rightly condemns Trump's racism, but doesn't push back on the claim that the we are being invaded, writes Andrés Martinez.

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What Harris and Trump Get Wrong About the Border

7 minute read
Ideas
Andrés Martinez is a New America fellow and professor of practice at the Cronkite School of Journalism and Mass Communication at Arizona State University.

Mexico, remarkably, is a word that is barely being mentioned in the lead up to the U.S. presidential election. It is not being discussed much on the campaign trail, even though the southern border and immigration are central protagonists in the contest. It takes two sides to have a border, but U.S. political discourse these days treats the 2,000-mile-border with Mexico as if it were the wardrobe leading to Narnia, or the edge of the known world represented by dragons on maps from antiquity. Pet-eating dragons, in Donald Trump’s narrative. Who knows, really, what we’re bordering.

Our southern neighbor and top trading partner was mentioned once in passing in the Sept. 10 presidential debate, and only in the context of auto manufacturing and trade policy. There was no mention of outgoing President Andrés Manuel López Obrador; the years of wrangling with his administration over various aspects of immigration policy; Mexico’s current democratic backsliding or the imminent arrival of President-elect Claudia Sheinbaum; the looming joint review of the USMCA trade agreement that must occur by 2026, the high-profile frictions around combating cartel drug lords. Nada specific.

It’s not surprising that talk about the border and immigration no longer borders anything resembling the real world. From the very day Donald Trump announced his first presidential run in June 2015, he has ruthlessly demonized immigrants as mystical, treacherous scapegoats for all our ills. And regardless of how much Trump’s insidious talk of Haitian immigrants in Ohio eating pets gets mocked, or how he fares at the ballot box in November, the sad truth is that he has succeeded in shifting the center of gravity on immigration in our politics.

All sides seem to accept the dangerous Trumpian worldview. Vice President Kamala Harris rightly condemns Trump’s more racist pronouncements and exaggerations, but neither she nor Democratic candidates in tight congressional races appear eager (judging by the commercials I am being bombarded with in my battleground state of Arizona) to push back on his movement’s premise that we are being invaded. Instead, they engage in arguments about who’s to blame for too many people coming, and who’s tough enough to handle the supposed crisis. I don’t see much of an appetite to point out that immigrants commit crimes at lower rates than native-born Americans, that we need more legal pathways to attract the workforce we rely on, or that countless economists point out that immigration remains a huge competitive advantage for the U.S. at a time of low unemployment and an aging population.

And I certainly don’t see political leaders refuting Trump’s doomsday proclamations by reminding voters that, whatever today’s frictions in the relationship, in the grand scheme of things the U.S. is very fortunate to border Canada and Mexico.

Indeed, sharing North America with these two friendly neighbors that don’t harbor ill will has provided the U.S. a luxury that no other continental power has enjoyed in modern history. Much like the island-based British Empire in its heyday, the U.S. has been free to project force around the world without having to worry about its own borders. It’s no wonder generations of national security and foreign policy elites in Washington are often more conversant in Russian, East Asian, and Middle Eastern affairs and geography than anything having to do with Canada or Mexico.

Harris has rightly accused Trump of preferring to exploit the idea of a border crisis to addressing it. But Trump hardly started this country’s venerable tradition of treating our most important trading partner with complacent, benign neglect. Because Mexico hasn’t posed a pressing threat to the U.S. for over a century, it could languish off the priority list of policymaking and most Americans. 

My home of Phoenix is one of the most vibrant metropolises of what I like to call MexUs, the glorious swath of the U.S. that was once part of Mexico, which spans from northern California to the Texas Gulf shores. If MexUs were its own country, it would be home to more than 85 million people and the third largest economy in the world.

I often point this out in speaking about the relationship (even to groups of military officials), not to make a huge deal of the fact that so much land changed hands as the result of a war that both Abraham Lincoln and Ulysses S. Grant decried as immoral, but to suggest we should be more appreciative of the fact that it isn’t a huge deal in the relationship. Elsewhere in the world, you can find flashpoints of ongoing tension and hostility between neighbors in many places where far less impressive slivers of land than California or Texas changed hands. 

The U.S. has a long track record of dealing decisively and effectively with existential threats. If the border did pose the national security crisis Trump and his MAGA allies suggest it does, we wouldn’t be relying on a federal law enforcement agency with fewer deployed officers than the NYPD to address it. Nor would we continue to muddle through with our lackadaisical and incoherent set of immigration policies that can be summed up as conflicting signs posted along the border, one reading “Do Not Trespass;” the other “Help Wanted: Inquire Within.”

Yet this approach isn’t a cost-free indulgence. With all the nonsensical talk of invading migrants and the border crisis, legitimate challenges and frictions aren’t being addressed. It is an affront to the rule of law to rely on a workforce of millions of undocumented migrant workers forced to live in the shadows because we haven’t provided adequate legal pathways for immigration. And you don’t have to be an anti-immigrant zealot to agree that in the absence of such realistic legal channels for immigration, the asylum-seeking process has been abused and that border infrastructure and public services in some communities when the number of arrivals spike are overwhelmed. But these are solvable problems if we were in a problem-solving mood.

As for our relationship with Mexico, in a more rational policymaking universe we would engage with its government to develop a regional, North American migration policy that reflected our interdependence. After all, in 2023 more than half the migrants seeking to cross our southern border came from countries beyond Mexico, and the occasional overwhelming spikes in arrivals tend to be driven by events in Venezuela or Central America. North America would do well to have a coordinated approach to immigration for the entire region, in the same way the European Union does. We would also try to align our energy policies and work toward shoring up the rule of law and democracy. The U.S.-Mexico relationship should be a considerable asset for both countries, but politics undermines its potential.

This is also true of America’s own relationship with its immigrant population, not to mention our heritage as a nation of immigrants. Immigration is a blessing the U.S. needs to nurture and manage, but our shared politicized narratives on the subject are veering so dangerously off course that a serious contender for the presidency can pass off talk of deporting millions of hardworking immigrants as a sensible proposal. If we continue down this road, we may end up with a truly existential crisis, not just one made up to fire up a political campaign.

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American Right-Wing

 

A Tale of Two Divergent Approaches to American Right-Wing Extremism

7 minute read
Ideas
Abramsky is a long-time political journalist and book author who has spent the last thirty years exploring the American political and social justice landscape. His latest book is CHAOS COMES CALLING: The Battle Against the Far-Right Takeover of Small-Town America

With the election less than two months away, at rallies, in interviews, and on social media Trump continues to reiterate old complaints: the 2020 election was stolen from him; the deep state is out to get him—and, he has implied, he will respond by jailing those deep state opponents; disloyal civil servants stabbed him in the back—and, he has intimated, he will repay them by firing thousands of non-partisan bureaucrats; undocumented immigrants are stealing jobsillegally voting, slaughtering innocent Americans. And so on. During the September 10 debate with Harris, he leaned into the debunked notion that immigrants in Ohio were stealing pets to eat. He refuses to commit to accepting the election result if he loses (though he recently announced that he will not be running in 2028 if he does). He reposts on social media other users’ comments about televised military tribunals for his enemies.

Time and again, Trump has ramped up the language of violence and intimidation. And in recent months, some of that anger and violence has boomeranged back at Trump—witness the most recent assassination attempt on September 15, 2024. Each day that Trump inflames the national discourse, so, as was the case with George Wallace’s hateful campaigns more than a half century ago, violence becomes more normalized within the political process.

Having written about Trump and the cult-like MAGA movement for the past nine years, I wish I could say that the fever has broken and that the combination of extremist and irrationalist rhetoric the GOP presidential candidate relentlessly pumps out into the ether no longer holds sway with enough people to propel him back into the White House. But, according to a rash of recent polls that show Trump’s popularity remains stable and that he is still competitive in the presidential election (for the more than 45% of the voting public that tell pollsters they plan to vote for Trump come November), MAGA’s appeal remains potent, or at the very least, palatable.

All of this is wearing, normalized even—and that’s a problem. Eight years after Trump’s shock election victory in 2016, four and a half years on from the pandemic’s onset, much of the non-MAGA electorate is exhausted. Many Americans, faced with the possibility of another Trump presidency, have opted to simply tune out. Astoundingly, in May, a PBS poll found that 55% of respondents weren’t paying close attention to Trump’s trials. In 2023, a Mood of the Nation survey found that among 18-25-year-olds half agreed either that it “makes no difference” whether they live in a democracy or a dictatorship or that “dictatorship could be good in certain circumstances.” For these surprisingly cynical young people, the American political system has degenerated into an ugly game that fails to deliver tangible benefits in their daily lives.

Read More: How Trump Weaponized White Rural America’s Shame

However understandable political passivity in the face of the relentless barrage of crude, violent rhetoric and of dysfunctional governing institutions may be, at the end of the day, it’s the wrong response. Because the truth is that when decent people tune out, bad actors end up winning.

That lesson was driven home to me during reporting trips for my book Chaos Comes Calling. In the fall of 2020, the little town of Sequim, on Washington State’s Olympic Peninsula, found itself at the center of a media frenzy. The COVID-19 pandemic was raging and the conservative mayor, William Armacost, a local hair salon owner, had been forced to substitute out his weekly meeting with constituents for a call-in radio show. It was during one of these broadcasts that Armacost urged his listeners to lend an ear to what QAnon had to say. It was, the mayor indicated, a movement of truth-seekers, and it was being unfairly denigrated by opponents.

Some of the mayor’s listeners were overjoyed, believing they finally had a local politician willing to speak truth to power. Many others, however, at a time when public health officials were being attacked by conspiracy-minded, QAnon-sympathizing mobs, and when the president himself was leaning into attacks on public health mandates and mocking his own public health officials, were horrified.

Armacost’s opponents started to organize so as to provide an alternative fulchrum for local power. They formed into a local Good Governance League. They knocked on doors and held community meetings. And they fielded political candidates to challenge the mayor and his allies on the city council, in county government, on local school boards. Their persistence won out. In 2022, and again in the primaries in 2024, they succeeded in turning back the far-right tide.

Today, Sequim is again governed by moderates, including Republicans who preferred competent government—the sort that could address local issues such as repairing roads and stimulating the development of affordable housing. The amped-up, rageful politics of the early pandemic era has been replaced by a calmer and kinder local politics.

By contrast, in California’s Shasta County, where a hard-right faction opposed to most public health restrictions had coalesced into a potent political force during the first year of the pandemic, a good governance league did not emerge, and local Christian Nationalists, militias, and anti-vaxxers went from strength to strength. They drove out the moderate Republican county leaders and replaced them with absolutists who wanted total non-cooperation with public health mandates. They fired the public health officer, after failing to issue even tokenistic statements of support for her when she was bombarded by death threats. They expended huge amounts of energy trying to turn the county into a “Second Amendment sanctuary.” And, in preparation for upending their county’s election system by scrapping their contract with Dominion Voting, they invited nationally known election deniers such as Douglas Frank into board of supervisors’ meetings to expound on theories about how the 2020 election had been stolen from Trump.

As Shasta swung rightward, local government became more and more dysfunctional, and meetings of the Board of Supervisors and of School Boards around the county became loud, crude, vulgar spectacles where people vied with each other as to how many insults they could hurl or how many outrageous claims they could make.

For many ordinary Shasta residents, it was easier to turn a blind eye than to stand up and confront the extremism in their midst. It was an entirely understandable response – it just happened to be the wrong one, ceding evermore of the county’s political ground to people who only a few years earlier would have been considered on the fringe right of the political spectrum.

Given the extraordinary threats to democracy now emerging in the political system, the stories of these two counties, and of the disparate responses to extremism, have huge resonance for American politics. In Sequim, commonsense and moderation ultimately prevailed. In Shasta, the anger-politics has continued apace, with dismal implications for the quality of local governance and for the ability of neighbors to disagree civilly without resorting to intimidation.

In neither 2016 nor 2020 did Trump come close to winning a majority of the popular vote. It’s highly likely that, this time around as well, he will fail to cross the 50%  threshold. Team Trump’s peculiarly cynical gambit seems to be that they can grubify the process so much that, instead of coming out in opposition, large numbers of people simply tune the whole thing out. And in swing states in which Democrats need very high levels of turnout in order to have a chance at winning, this will be enough to tip the scales in Trump’s favor even with a minority of the votes cast nationally.

It would be a truly American tragedy if, come November 5, that strategy was to work.

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Contact us at letters@time.com

TIME Ideas hosts the world's leading voices, providing commentary on events in news, society, and culture. We welcome outside contributions. Opinions expressed do not necessarily reflect the views of TIME editors.