Pancho Villa, two towns and a big fence — 93 years later

Francisco "Pancho" Villa (Photo from U.S. Library of Congress)

COLUMBUS, N.M. — Welcome to Pancho Villa’s old stomping grounds.

I can easily picture legendary Mexican revolutionary Francisco “Pancho” Villa launching his brazen attack on the village of Columbus, New Mexico, on March 9, 1916, from an extremely dusty, windswept Palomas, Mexico.

If I’m right about that, the wind and dust haven’t changed a bit.

Braving those two particular elements, I visited both border towns this past weekend, motivated in large part by an anxious curiosity over the escalating drug violence in Mexico these days.

Ninety-three years to the day Villa sacked and pillaged tiny Columbus out of anger over President Wilson’s backing of his archrival, Venustiano Carranza, historical enthusiasts mark the occasion by turning history on its head.

What began as a cross-border, murderous raid is now celebrated as a reminder of modern-day friendship between two nations.

Reenactment of Villa's raid in Columbus, N.M., on March 7, 2009 (Photo by David Alire Garcia)

Even though I still have a hard time wrapping my mind around that act of historical contortion, that didn’t stop me from making the trip to Columbus for the 10th annual re-enactment of the raid, part of the Camp Furlong Days locals celebrate each year.

The celebration included music coutesty of a band from El Paso, mariachis from Palomas, lectures from both Mexican and American historians and, of course, plenty of food. But the main event was the processional re-enactment of Villa’s raid, or cabalgata in Spanish.

Click on the video below to watch the parade of men, women and children on horses, streaming into “downtown” Columbus (population 1,800 and growing) from Palomas (population 7,000 and shrinking), dutifully checked out by Luna County sheriff’s deputies prior to crossing, according to a report filed on Sunday by Reuters.

Reuters interviewed a couple of the re-enactment’s riders, who explained why the long-ago raid is now celebrated.

“Today we come in peace, we have no guns,” said Narciso Martinez, 57, a rancher from the Mexican state of Durango, dressed as Villa in a pith helmet, cravat and spurs, and twirling a saber above his head. “We come in a spirit of friendship, love and the love of God,” he added in Spanish, moments after crossing the border from the gritty town of Palomas, Mexico.

A second rider:

“The border is a violent place, but this brings us together,” said Francisco “Chito” Flores, a construction worker from the town who turned out to enjoy the event with his family. “It’s our way of turning violence into friendship.”

A recent story in The Los Angeles Times is drawing national attention to the anxiety levels in Columbus, and even recounts the story of how the mayor of this town was robbed while sitting in a Palomas dentist’s chair last year. The story also notes how Columbus’ lone real estate agent saw her best year in 2008, as many new Columbus property owners moved here from Palomas — several paying in cash.

An accompanying photo slide show vividly documents how a very intertwined kind of life is lived along the border — including one especially telling image of a schoolgirl, presumably a U.S. citizen, but returning to her family in Palamas, her pink Dora the Explorer backpack in tow.

Several people I bumped into on both sides said the bigger, taller, longer fence along the border was helping, even as it stands at a dramatic symbol on separation.

The fence here is 15- to 18-feet tall, spread across six miles and contains 35 miles of waist-high vehicle barriers. The LA Times story noted that “motion sensors and cameras sprout among fields of onions and jalapeños, and a beefed-up Border Patrol force of 350 has helped drive arrests of illegal crossers to a tenth of what they were two years ago.”

Crossing into Palomas later on Saturday, I saw a bigger town, but perfectly calm and peaceful for the few hours I walked around.

If there’s anything that links these two places, it’s the larger-than-life figure who seems to dominate both sides of the political line separating American dust from Mexican dust.

His name and the enduring romance of his feared Division del Norte graces businesses, buildings and public places in both towns.

And while the drug-related killings of the much larger Ciudad Juárez dwarfs that of Palomas — roughly 1,300 killings compared with about 40 — there is one more obvious thing that connects these two towns: a shared sense of anxiety about the future as drug cartels continue to duke it out.

Maybe time will heal those wounds too, just as it has with the sacking and pillaging of Columbus — and the deaths of 18 Americans, both soldiers at nearby Camp Furlong as well as civilians — all those years ago.