BORDER TRUTH - Chapter 6

Show Us Respect! We Demand It!

I just completed an interview with Seth Holehouse on his podcast “Man in America”. I always love being on his podcast because he gives me space to fully articulate my beliefs and perspectives.

One of his questions today sparked me to write this article and post Chapter 6 from my book. Invaded. Seth asked me what were the thoughts and feelings of Border Patrol Agents being assigned clearly unconstitutional orders.

I took my time to answer this question because it is layered and complex. Agents are disillusioned, resentful, and angry because they see their life’s decision to be a federal law enforcement agent as a lie. They feel that they have become part of the problem. In fact, many Agents feel as if they have become smugglers. Suicides are off the charts, retirements are excelling, and many Agents are just quitting. To put this into context: The height of the Border Patrol enrollment was slightly over 20,000. We are now below 15,000 and decreasing every day.

I wrote this chapter in my book because Border Patrol Agents are demonized and we have our character challenged by fellow Americans, leaders within our own department and betrayal from the federal government.

We do not want anything special. We simply want to do our job!

CHAPTER 6

Show US Respect! We Demand It!

I have worked alongside some of the most impressive people in some of the worst environments. These people, my Border Patrol partners, never complained, but instead just did their job in the face of daunting challenges that would force a weaker person to run for the hills. I worked with patriotic veterans that served for years in the Army, Marine Corps, Air Force, and Navy. The atmosphere in the Border Patrol has always been, “Just get it done!” We have for decades completed our mission without the funding or the backing from our political leaders. I have worked with and watched Border Patrol Agents fight back resentment and anger from the vile names we are called by activists and by our government. Despite this betrayal from our government, Border Patrol Agents fight side by side with their partners as we have felt alone in this world of immigration. We fight for America, but in the day-to-day physical battles with our enemies, we fight solely for each other.

Within the Imperial Beach’s AOR is a sewage treatment plant that the US paid for, but its sole operation is to handle Mexican sewage and waste. During the construction of this 186-million-dollar project paid by us for Mexico, the construction company would do enormous amounts of earth moving throughout the day and then place small caution flags around trenches they had just cut open. For Agents working on ATVs, this was an accident waiting to happen. The night had fallen and just like in the movies, everything bad starts to move around in the darkness. The last thing I remember from that night, as I woke up in the hospital with a broken shoulder, was the sun disappearing and the sounds of dispatch calling out sensor activations. The accident report stated that I had responded to a sensor hit and a scope operator calling out bodies moving north from The Fingers—three hills that ran south to north from the border with deep canyons on the east side, causing them to look like fingers. Once the illegal aliens dropped into The Fingers, they had a direct shot at crossing Monument Road, which paralleled the border fence. Once they made it north of Monument Road and into the thick trees and dense brush, the odds increased in their favor.

I was driving my ATV hard and fast south, then west, along a dirt road just north of Monument Road, trying to get in front of this group. However, earlier in the day the construction crew had cut a deep, fifteen-to-twenty-foot-wide trench across this dirt road, which had caused the dirt road to form a ramp on either side of the trench. When I came around the corner on this dirt road and began to straighten out, I hit that ramp that wasn’t supposed to be there at about fifty miles an hour. I must have hit the brakes at the last second, causing me to slow down a little and not able to clear the trench. I took flight and my ATV slammed into the other side of the trench, crushing it like an accordion. I slammed into my ATV, and the wall of dirt knocked me out and destroyed my shoulder. I recovered as quickly as I could, and after two months, I got back on another ATV and rejoined my brothers.

I still can’t sleep on that side of my body after fifteen years, causing me to toss and turn throughout the night.

When I think about my time on the border working with my friends, I have great pride in what we accomplished. We left it all on the field of play. I left a part of my body and heart on that border. Many times, certain areas or exact spots have been named after an Agent. I was honored when that dip in the earth was named “J. J.’s Dip”. Agents still reference “J. J.’s Dip” when they call out their location, or where alien traffic has gone through. I take great pride that I own that small piece of the border.

I was a Supervisor of my own ATV Unit, and I loved it. The ten agents who worked for me in this unit worked like a pack of wolves. The Tijuana–San Diego border was the most violent section of the border in recent history. We had bricks and concrete with rebar protruding out of it thrown at us, many times striking us as we drove our ATVs. One of my guys and I were driving slowly along the border fence cutting the dirt road for footprints. All of a sudden, I saw a smuggler rise up on top of the fifteen feet high fence, lifting a solid piece of broken concrete over his head. I couldn’t call out quickly enough, as the smuggler threw that block of broken concrete right at my buddy, hitting him square in his chest, causing him to violently fly off his ATV and strike the ground.

When I retired from the Border Patrol in July of 2021, I forced myself to disengage from anything about the border. I moved my family to South Dakota, where our lives could slow down and simplify, where we could raise our son in a community that shared our values, since sharing common values was no longer working in California. When my wife and I watched the news and a border story came on, I would either turn it off or walk into another room. When I spoke with my former colleagues and friends, I would ask them not to talk to me about the border or the job. I would swipe by all stories on the internet about the Border Patrol and immigration. I was successful for about eight months, then—as Biden’s intentional destruction of the border increased—news organizations I had been in contact with prior to my retirement tracked me down. I was pulled back into the fray, but I was rested and ready to go. I quickly found myself on Fox and Friends, NewsMax, radio shows, and podcasts. I read and listened to the talking heads on cable news and watched the endless videos of hundreds of illegal aliens wading across the Rio Grande, but that wasn’t the whole truth. I knew that I had the whole truth: I possessed information from experience and numerous sources about what was happening, how it was happening, and why. I had to get back into the fight, because although I may not wear that green uniform any longer, I am still a Border Patrol Agent.