BORDERLANDS

Daniel Lombardi spent six weeks traveling the U.S. border with Mexico from West Texas to California, photographing the landscapes that history has sliced a political line through. He wanted to see if the landscape itself would reflect the debate that surrounds it. Would the political divisions be visible in the geography?

Culturally he found few dividing lines instead he found regional mixing zones where people and societies overlapped and mixed together. Geographically he found no distinct lines either, the rivers and canyons that mark the border served not to simplify but instead seemed to make political matters even more complex. Even the fencing seemed to bring chaos, starting and stopping illogically, and dividing landscapes that refuse to be divided, like rivers and sand dunes.

His images attempt to strip away partisan debate and show what the border really looks like. Without cable news blaring in the background what do we make of these borderlands?

Cars whip down Interstate 10 in El Paso, just north of the border fence, the unhurried Rio Grande and Juarez, Mexico.

Anti-vehicle fencing made from thick steel cuts through the Chihuahua Desert in New Mexico as a border patrol helicopter roars overhead.

Near this spot along the border in Organ Pipe National Monument a memorial marks where Chris Eggle was killed by a cartel hit squad in 2002. Chris Eggle was a law enforcement Park Ranger and his death prompted park managers to close nearly 70 percent of the monument in 2003. Though some small areas were later reopened, Organ Pipe remained largely closed to the public for over a decade. 
 

In Texas and New Mexico the border striped the Chihuahuan Desert. Then in eastern Arizona it rose and fell over "Sky Island" Mountains. In central Arizona the border drops in elevation and rises in temperature. This is the Sonoran Desert. 

Dusty wind whips a desert winter and the washboard road shakes the old suburban until my teeth bounce inside my skull like a baby rattle. Today is Three Kings Day, known as Tres Reyes Magos in these parts, and I have talked my way into a gift delivery charity trip. 
 

It's one of those Winter days where the sun shines through a crystal clear sky but the temperature is still nearly freezing. I want to see these rural villages for myself. I've seen the dots on the map and felt skeptical that people could really live so far out. Some of these little towns in northern Coahuila are hours from the nearest paved road and there is scant opportunity for employment.  
 

But there are people out here. Generous and community centered people that know you don't get far by closing yourself off from others.  These folks get by with two-way radios instead of cellphones, where all conversations are public,  and neighborly support replaces shopping centers. 
 

They eke out a living in the mines or by ranging cows. Some folks make and sell wax from the native candelilla plant. If the political environment is right there is a buck to be made in the service industry. 
 

But the political environment never seems to be right. After 9/11 the nearest port-of-entry was closed for more than a decade, devastating the local economy. 
 

Why did we choose to close this border crossing? It's just  a rowboat across the Rio Grande. Did anyone really think that shutting this little cultural exchange would make us safer?
 

The shadows stretch out and I've already lost track of how many villages we visited as we rattle back north. Quesadillas are shared with me for a late lunch and I think we should try and learn everything we can from our neighbors before we wall them off completely. 

In a dusty corner of Organ Pipe National Monument, near where this image was taken, a path leads to a memorial where Chris Eggle was killed by a cartel hit squad in 2002. 

Chris Eggle was a law enforcement Park Ranger and his death prompted park managers to close nearly 70 percent of the monument in 2003. Though some small areas were later reopened, Organ Pipe remained largely closed to the public for over a decade.

 Despite designated wildernesses the deserts of Southern Arizona are filled with litter left behind by traffickers. They use black water bottles to be less visible at night. This one has been chewed through by a thirsty animal.