Throughout the narrator and his mother’s time at the border, the border officers’ guns represent the constant danger—both literal and ideological—that threatens them as Indigenous people. Although they always remain sheathed, the guns’ presence makes clear to the narrator the powerlessness that he and his mother have under the guards’ watch. Everybody the narrator and his mother meet at the border is polite and professional, even if they’re varying degrees of friendly, and nobody seems to even come close to drawing their gun. However, the narrator’s mother is exceptionally polite and “well-behaved,” too, as if she is particularly conscious of her and her son’s perceived respectability. The guns’ presence suggests that such precautions might be entirely necessary—after all, the narrator and his mother wouldn’t like to see how the border guards treat people they don’t respect when they have the power to turn things violent. The narrator, young and vulnerable as he is, is extremely conscious of the guns at the hip of each border guard they meet. Under his gaze, the guards touch and fidget with their guns often, actions that remind the narrator who holds the power in this situation.
Guns Quotes in Borders
Borders Quotes
The border was actually two towns, though neither one was big enough to amount to anything. Coutts was on the Canadian side and consisted of the convenience store and gas station…the museum that was closed and boarded up…and a motel. Sweetgrass was on the American side, but all you could see was an overpass that arched across the highway and disappeared into the prairies.
Just hearing the names of these towns, you would expect that Sweetgrass, which is a nice name and sounds like it is related to other places such as Medicine Hat and Moose Jaw and Kicking Horse Pass, would be on the Canadian side, and that Coutts, which sounds abrupt and rude, would be on the American side.
But this was not the case.
In about five minutes, another guard came out with the first man. They were talking as they came, both men swaying back and forth like two cowboys headed for a bar or a gun fight.
We sat on a wood bench for about an hour before anyone came over to talk to us. This time it was a woman. She had a gun, too.
“Hi. I’m Inspector Pratt. I understand there is a little misunderstanding.”
“I’m going to visit my daughter in Salt Lake City. We don’t have any guns or beer.”
“It’s a legal technicality, that’s all.”
“My daughter’s Blackfoot, too.”
[Inspector Pratt’s] gun was silver. There were several chips in the wood handle…and the name “Stella” was scratched into the metal butt.



