El Paso woman living in Montana detained by Border Patrol for speaking Spanish

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“Although most Border Patrol work is conducted in the immediate border area, agents have broad law enforcement authorities and are not limited to a specific geography within the United States. They have the authority to question individuals, make arrests, and take and consider evidence.”

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Even 100 miles in is fucking absurd.

Also…

Hey Agent O’Neal, chinga tu madre, you goosestepping Schutzstaffel wannabe!

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Roger that.

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Meh. The story doesn’t say where in Montana. Border Protrol is being pretty CYA weasel-worded, so I doubt it was within the 100 mile zone.

“Although most Border Patrol work is conducted in the immediate border area, agents have broad law enforcement authorities and are not limited to a specific geography within the United States. They have the authority to question individuals, make arrests, and take and consider evidence.”

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it’s also within 100 miles of any officially designated port, so there is a 100 mile ring around “the port of dallas,texas”.

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As a middle-class, middle-aged white guy who took 3 years of Spanish, a semester of Russian, and one of German in school, I can’t imagine ever being stopped by border patrol even if I was practicing all three at once “Привет, как дела? Gut danke und dir? Muy bien, excepto un poco de alergias.” Surely she must’ve been doing something wrong, something criminal, right? No? Something other than just freely speaking (as guaranteed by the constitution), right? No? :face_with_symbols_over_mouth:

Someone adjusted that map to take into account international airports and federal land, because you don’t really need to be anywhere near an actual border as such:

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The statement from Border Patrol makes it clear that they think they are “not limited to a specific geography within the United States”.

Papers please!

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As to her “suspicious behaviour” my guess is “not speaking american while being deliberate and persistently slightly darker than snow white”.

Ein Idiot in Uniform ist immer noch ein Idiot.

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:musical_note: This year in my garden I grow peppers and tomatoes,
Peppers and tomatoes, they grow together well,
And my neighbours all around me they grow beans and potatoes
Cabbages and onions in this village where we dwell.

And later in the year we will bring wine to the table
Bring wine to the table, and reap what we have sown.
Like my father did before and his father did before him
And his father did before him, we will share what we have grown.

This little patch of dirt, this little pile of stones.
I can wash the dust from off my face, and clothes
But this earth is in my bones.

Military vehicles are passing through our village
Passing through our village with young soldiers ill at ease.
Unsmiling and unshaven, distrustful and uncertain
Distrustful and uncertain, and all smoking constantly.

And my neighbours say "Don’t worry for you are one of us,
You are one of us and it will not happen here",
But the next night at the cafe, when I bring wine to the table,
When I bring wine to the table, but they are sitting drinking beer.

Last night the hand of friendship fell heavy on my shoulders,
Heavy on my shoulders as I turned away to go.
As I said goodnight some old men, some old men and young soldiers
Were humming tunes and singing words to songs that I did not know.

Oh this little patch of dirt, and this little pile of stones
I can wash the dust from off my face and clothes,
But this earth is in my bones.

This morning my wife told me that she’d been to church on Sunday,
Been to church on Sunday, she had felt the need to pray.
Our children were baptised there but it was just to please the old ones,
Just to please the old ones, and I don’t know what to say.

Tonight, as dark is falling, I am tending to my garden,
Tending to my garden, and the crop that I have grown.
And my car is heavy laden, and soon I’ll start the engine,
Soon I’ll start the engine, wake the children and be gone.

Oh this little patch of dirt, and this little pile of stones
I can wash the dust from off my face and clothes
But this earth is in my bones.

My shotgun it is loaded, and it’s hidden in the cabin,
It’s hidden in the cabin, and the evening’s growing chilled.
My mouth is dry, my hands are mōist, and if someone tries to stop me,
Someone tries to stop me, I am ready now to kill.

Oh this little patch of dirt, and this little pile of stones
I can wash the dust from off my face and clothes
But this earth is in my bones.

I am watering my garden, when I smell the cigarette smoke,
Smell the cigarette smoke, and I turn round in the dust
And I see the glint of rifles, but I cannot see the faces
But I recognise the voices that say, “You must come with us”.

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