You’ve been living under a rock to not realize there’s a new sheriff down south of the border. He’s been turning things quite upside down and randomly incarcerating both citizens and non-citizens as they try to enter, or in some cases leave, the United States. The aim is to deport all the undocumented residents of the US. Rather, deport any “suspected” undocumented residents, proof or not.
Recently the border has become an exercise in a novel and uncertain game of Border Roulette. Will you make it or not? Kind of like Monopoly. Pull the wrong card and go to jail. Do not pass Go. Go directly to jail. Then (potentially) on to a high security prison in El Salvador.
Oops
I’m lucky. My mother was from Saskatchewan My father from Illinois. I have two passports– a United States passport and a Canadian one. Going south, I am American. Coming north, I am Canadian. I am always coming home. It’s great.
But then again, there’s a new Sheriff in the south.
For seventeen years I’ve been involved in the Whitefish Review, a literary magazine based in Whitefish Montana. We started out regional and grew to become a national literary magazine of some repute. For instance, after a couple of year’s very silent retirement, the first interview David Letterman sat for was with the Whitefish Review. In May, we launched the 30th issue. It was a big deal. The National Magazine Awards were handed out a few days before the launch and our last issue picked up the Reader’s Choice Award for the Best Cover. The issue was centered on music. We had a hoot putting it together. A Spotify list even accompanied the issue. Pieces ranged from Janis Joplin to a conversation with a Pulitzer Prize winning composer who creates graphic scores versus the traditional black notes with staffs and flags spread out on five lines. The juried award for the Best Cover went to The Atlantic, so we’re sitting in good company.
For the event several editors who moved out of the area, but remained involved, came back to Whitefish for the weekend. From Missoula. From San Diego. From across the west. It was a launch not to be missed.
There’s a new Sheriff down south and I was a bit worried. Last month there were letters sent and rumors of eliminating dual citizenship. Pick one.
Of course, you’ll pick us (US).
It was a Friday evening and the traffic seemed sparse. Less than usual. The evening clear. The hay fields moist under the rolling irrigation. The air smelled of spring and new growth. A couple of early cherry trees bloomed on the left just before the speed limit dropped to 80km coming into Roosville.
No other cars waited at the border. As soon as I stopped, the light turned from red to green. I took off my ballcap, took off my sunglasses, pulled up to the window and handed over my passport.
“Where do you live?”
“Fernie.”
“Where’re you going?”
“Whitefish.”
“The reason for your visit?”
“I’m on the editorial board of the Whitefish Review and we’re launching an issue tonight.”
“Any weapons? Guns? Ammunition?”
“No.”
“Have a good stay.” He handed back my passport.
“Thanks.”
And I was in. Amazing.
An hour later I was checking into the Firebrand in downtown Whitefish. A relatively new hotel, the character is both crystalline new and western rustic. A thoughtful mix of comfort and rustic. A great dining room and even better bar for late nights. For a medium-sized urban-ish hotel, the staff is remarkably friendly and open to their guests. It’s a welcoming change from the chill hospitality of most modern hotels and the sterile impersonal service. Checking in, it’s hard not to be pulled into a conversation with the desk clerk. They welcome you to the Firebrand.
The same hotel group owns the Lodge at Whitefish Lake. They both carry individual hospitality to a personal level unusual today. Crisp, and yet friendly, and welcoming.
The launch rocked. Cassidy Randall read from her new book Thirty Below: the harrowing and heroic story of the first all-women’s ascent of Denali. Two nights before, sponsored by Polar Peek Books, she read and was interviewed at the Arts Station. Hearing her first in Fernie, and then in Whitefish, brought the depth and intensity of her book into a clarity where one or the other of the events failed alone. It was a harrowing expedition.
The following day, we biked up Gong to the Sun Highway. Sill being plowed out from under the winter snows, the road remains open to hikers and bikers. No cars. The day was again clear and mildly warm. Brian picked up sandwiches from Montana Coffee Traders and we had a picnic at the top. Perfect.
Another evening and night at the Firebrand and I headed back north.
The crossing back into Canada mirrored the passage south.
“Where do you live?”
“Fernie.”
“How long were you in the United States?”
“I crossed about now Friday afternoon.”
“Bringing anything back?”
“Some Whitefish Reviews to give to writers.”
“Handing my passport back, “Welcome back.”
Done. All good. Amazing.
By all reports, the major crossings are having issues. Last week, a friend in Phoenix watched ICE agents repeatedly profile and take aside Hispanic travelers for more detailed inspections. When she asked why they profiled Hispanic individuals, she was detained, interrogated, and everything but stripped searched.
The Roosville crossing is reported to be down over 30%. That’s huge. They are our neighbors. They’re our friends. They are still our people, despite what is happening in the rest of the country. One election can not change that.
Drop down. The sheriff seems to be a long way off. The Firebrand is open and Whitefish is rocking. Life remains relatively normal on the other side of the line.
Give it a try again.
Keith Liggett has a writing career with one foot in the literary and the other seeking a different angle within traditional journalism. Read more from Keith.
