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How the US Militarized the Haiti-Dominican Republic Border

As part of the Global War on Terror, the US has exported its border patrol model to the Caribbean.

| Tue Nov. 19, 2013 4:40 PM EST

The fence at the US-Mexican border.

This story first appeared on the TomDispatch website.

It isn't exactly the towering 20-foot wall that runs like a scar through significant parts of the US-Mexican borderlands. Imagine instead the sort of metal police barricades you see at protests. These are unevenly lined up like so many crooked teeth on the Dominican Republic's side of the river that acts as its border with Haiti. Like dazed versions of US Border Patrol agents, the armed Dominican border guards sit at their assigned posts, staring at the opposite shore. There, on Haitian territory, children splash in the water and women wash clothes on rocks.

One of those CESFRONT (Specialized Border Security Corps) guards, carrying an assault rifle, is walking six young Haitian men back to the main base in Dajabon, which is painted desert camouflage as if it were in a Middle Eastern war zone.

If the scene looks like a five-and-dime version of what happens on the US southern border, that's because it is. The enforcement model the Dominican Republic uses to police its boundary with Haiti is an import from the United States.

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CESFRONT itself is, in fact, an outgrowth of a US effort to promote "strong borders" abroad as part of its Global War on Terror. So US Consul-General Michael Schimmel told a group from the Columbia Law School Human Rights Clinic in the Dominican Republic back in 2008, according to an internal report written by the law students along with the Dominican immigrant solidarity organization Solidaridad Fronteriza. The US military, he added, was training the Dominican border patrol in "professionalism."

Schimmel was explaining an overlooked manifestation of US imperial policy in the post-9/11 era. Militarized borders are becoming ever more common throughout the world, especially in areas of US influence.

CESFRONT's Dajabon commander is Colonel Juan de Jesus Cruz, a stout, Napoleonic figure with a booming voice. Watching the colonel interact with those detained Haitian teenagers was my first brush with how Washington's "strong borders" abroad policy plays out on the ground. The CESFRONT base in Dajabon is located near the Massacre River that divides the two countries. Its name is a grim reminder of a time in 1937 when Dominican forces slaughtered an estimated 20,000 Haitians in what has been called the "twentieth century's least-remembered act of genocide." That act ensured the imposition of a 227-mile boundary between the two countries that share the same island.

As rain falls and the sky growls, Cruz points to the drenched young Haitians and says a single word, "ilegales," his index finger hovering in the air. The word "illegals" doesn't settle well with one of the teenagers, who glares at the colonel and replies defiantly, "We have come because of hunger."

His claim is corroborated by every report about conditions in Haiti, but the colonel responds, "You have resources there," with the spirit of a man who relishes a debate.

The teenager, who will undoubtedly soon be expelled from the Dominican Republic like so many other Haitians (including, these days, people of Haitian descent born in the country), gives the colonel a withering look. He's clearly boiling inside. "There's hunger in Haiti. There's poverty in Haiti. There is no way the colonel could not see that," he tells Cruz. "You are right on the border."

This tense, uneasy, and commonplace interaction is one of countless numbers of similar moments spanning continents from Latin America and Africa to the Middle East and Asia. On one side, a man in a uniform with a gun and the authority to detain, deport, or sometimes even kill; on the other, people with the most fundamental of unmet needs and without the proper documentation to cross an international boundary. Such people, uprooted, in flight, in pain, in desperate straits, are today ever more commonly dismissed, if they're lucky, as the equivalent of criminals, or if they aren't so lucky, labeled "terrorists" and treated accordingly.

In a seminal article "Where's the US Border?," Michael Flynn, founder of the Global Detention Project, described the expansion of US "border enforcement" to the planet in the context of the Global War on Terror as essentially a new way of defining national sovereignty. "US border control efforts," he argued, "have undergone a dramatic metamorphosis in recent years as the United States has attempted to implement practices aimed at stopping migrants long before they reach US shores."

In this way, borders are, in a sense, being both built up and torn down. Just as with the drones that, from Pakistan to Somalia, the White House sends across national boundaries to execute those it has identified as our enemies, so with border patrolling: definitions of US national "sovereignty," including where our own borders end and where our version of "national" defense stretches are becoming ever more malleable. As Flynn wrote, although "the US border has been hardened in a number of ways—most dramatically by building actual walls—it is misleading to think that the country's efforts stop there. Rather the US border in an age dominated by a global war on terrorism and the effects of economic globalization has become a flexible point of contention."

In other words, "hard" as actual US borders are becoming, what might be called our global, or perhaps even virtual, borders are growing ever more pliable and ever more expansive—extending not only to places like the Dominican Republic, but to the edges of our vast military-surveillance grid, into cyberspace, and via spinning satellites and other spying systems, into space itself.

Back in 2004, a single sentence in the 9/11 commission report caught this changing mood succinctly: "9/11 has taught us that terrorism against American interests 'over there' should be regarded just as we regard terrorism against Americans 'over here.' In this same sense the American homeland is the planet."

New World Border

Washington's response to the 2010 Haitian earthquake provides one example of how quickly a mobile US border and associated fears of massive immigration or unrest can be brought into play.

In the first days after that disaster, a US Air Force cargo plane circled parts of the island for five hours repeatedly broadcasting in Creole the prerecorded voice of Raymond Joseph, Haiti's ambassador to the United States.

"Listen, don't rush [to the United States] on boats to leave the country," he said. "If you do that, we'll all have even worse problems. Because I'll be honest with you: if you think you will reach the US and all the doors will be wide open to you, that's not at all the case. And they will intercept you right on the water and send you back home where you came from."

That disembodied voice from the heavens was addressing Haitians still stunned in the wake of an earthquake that had killed up to 316,000 people and left an additional one million homeless. State Department Deputy Spokesman Gordon Duguid explained the daily flights to CNN this way: "We are sending public service messages…to save lives." Meanwhile, the Department of Homeland Security (DHS) quickly dispatched 16 Coast Guard cutters to patrol Haitian waters, blocking people from leaving their devastated island. DHS authorities also cleared space in a 600-bed immigration detention center in Miami, and at the for-profit Guantanamo Bay Migrations Operation Center (run by the GEO Group) at the infamous US base in Cuba.

In other words, the US border is no longer static and "homeland security" no longer stays in the homeland: it's mobile, it's rapid, and it's international.

Maybe this is why, last March, when I asked the young salesmen from L-3 Communications, a surveillance technology company, at the Border Security Expo in Phoenix if they were worried about the sequester—Congress's across-the-board budget cuts that have taken dollars away from the Pentagon and the Department of Homeland Security—one of them simply shrugged. "There's the international market," he said as if this were almost too obvious to mention.

He was standing in front of a black globular glass eye of a camera they were peddling to security types. It was draped with desert camouflage, as if we were out in the Arizona borderlands, while all around us you could feel the energy, the synergy, of an emerging border-industrial complex. Everywhere you looked government officials, Border Patrol types, and the representatives of private industry were meeting and dealing in front of hundreds of booths under the high ceilings of the convention center.

On the internationalization of border security, he wasn't exaggerating. At least 14 other countries ranging from Israel to Russia were present, their representatives browsing products ranging from miniature drones to Glock handguns. And behind the bustle of that event lay estimates that the global market for homeland security and emergency management will reach $544 billion annually by 2018. "The threat of cross-border terrorism, cyber-crime, piracy, drug trade, human trafficking, internal dissent, separatist movements has been a driving factor for the homeland security market," the market research company MarketsandMarkets reported, based on a study of high-profit security markets in North America, Europe, and Asia.

This booming business thrives off the creation of new border patrols globally. The Dominican Republic's CESFRONT, for instance, did not exist before 2006. That year, according to Dominican Today, a group of "US experts" reported that there were "a series of weaknesses that will lead to all kinds of illicit activities" on the Haitian-Dominican border. The US team recommended that "there should be helicopters deployed in the region and [that] there be a creation of a Border Guard." A month after their report appeared, that country, by Dominican presidential decree, had its own border patrol.

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