The border is a river, a mountain range, a line on the map, a sentry post, a wall, barbed wire. The border is a way of thinking, a national debate, it’s something your mother embroidered, it’s a frame surrounding a picture, a passport, a margin, the edge of something, a riot of flowers.

 What are borders? Are they rivers, mountains, lines on a map or our own fears?

People said it was OK, sealing off the borders, forgetting that their own ancestors had once smashed through those same borders and annihilated a whole people.

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