Behind the Red Line

The U.S. Department of Homeland Security's map confirmed Pamela Taylor's worst fears.

On the map - a satellite image of rural Southmost - a red line runs north of her property, blocking the only road that leads to Taylor's home. Under the line, in bold white letters, the map reads "Fence."

The border fence will rise 18 feet in front of the house she and her husband built by hand in 1947. There will be no access point for the 79-year-old Taylor, no road connecting her property to Brownsville and the rest of the United States.

"I'll be living in no man's land," she said, "and it doesn't look like I'll be able to leave."

According to Bill Barnes, a real estate specialist with the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers, Taylor won't be the only South Texas resident living behind the fence.

"There aren't a lot, but there are several," Barnes said. "A few in the Brownsville area live behind the fence alignment."

One of them is Tim Loop, whose house lies a few hundred yards south of the Rio Grande's levee. Loop and his brother, Paul, grew up along the river. Now they farm 1,000 acres on the border - all of which will be behind the fence. The Loops are especially concerned over access to crops and machinery.

"No one has been able to tell us if we'll have control over entry," Tim said. "Every official who comes down tells us a different story."

"The one thing they've made clear," Paul said, "is that even if we have access in the beginning, that could change overnight."

Little has changed on Loop Farm since Tim and Paul's grandparents arrived in the 1920s. Ocelots and coyotes wander onto the farm from Mexico, chasing birds through fields of grain and soybeans.

Undocumented immigrants cross the Rio Grande quietly at night, leaving wet clothes along the riverbank. But since the border patrol's heightened presence in the 1990s - which Paul calls "our own private security force" - crossings have decreased.

The decision to construct a border fence came as a surprise to the Loops, but the brothers took it in stride. If they could be guaranteed unimpeded access to their property, they were willing to accept the presence of a barrier. But the guarantee never came.

"They don't seem to know anything for sure," Paul said. "We need answers. Our livelihood depends on these answers."

DHS did not return repeated phone calls from The Herald about the issue.

After months of phone calls and letters to DHS, Pamela Taylor received a response on April 4. A map of the fence with an arrow pointing to her home was enclosed.

"There are two paved roadways included in our fence plans in your area that will provide you, your family and others that live south of the levee access to and from your residence," Gregory Giddens, a DHS director, wrote to Taylor.

The map shows these two roadways, but neither is connected to Taylor's property.

"It doesn't make any sense," she said. "There's still no indication of how I'll get in and out."

What it's worth

Although Pamela Taylor and Tim Loop will ultimately find themselves behind the border fence, the federal government might not compensate both landowners.

Approximately three miles of the fence will be constructed on Loop Farm, forcing DHS to purchase a significant stretch of the Loops' land. If their farmland is cut off, the brothers say that the government's compensation will likely be insufficient.

But no matter how much the Loops are paid, it will be more than the sum Pamela Taylor expects to receive.

Because the fence will be constructed just north of Taylor's property, the government is under no legal obligation to award Taylor any compensation, even though her land will inevitably be devalued.

"She could file an inverse condemnation suit to show how her property is being adversely affected," said Celestino Gallegos, an attorney for Texas Rio Grande Legal Aid who has worked on border fence-related condemnation cases. "The government isn't obligated to give her anything. They're going to try to get this done as cheaply as possible."

Taylor isn't ready to engage the government in a legal battle over adequate compensation. She's been battling breast cancer for several months now, and the additional stress of a lawsuit is hardly appealing, she said.

"As it is, I try not to think about it too much," Taylor said. "It only causes me to lose sleep."

But Taylor still worries - about how she'll get to the doctor, about how emergency vehicles will get to her house.

A few miles east, the Loop brothers have their own concerns. Their land is worth approximately $20,000 an acre now, but with the barrier, they say, will come an inevitable devaluation.

"Who is going to buy land behind a fence?" Tim asked. "The value is going to crash."

In addition to those concerns, the farmers worry about the future of their business. The Loops currently have eight access points along the perimeter of their property. After the fence is built, they'll only have four.

If they're going to continue operating, Paul said, they're going to need to make the most of those access points. For the Loops, that means 24-hour openings.

The brothers are expecting the worst.

"Even my eight-year-old daughter knows that a fence with open gates doesn't make much sense," Paul said.

"Eventually," Tim added, "they're going to shut us out."