One evening in late June, as the day’s heat settled to a temperate 102F (38C), a small crowd gathered on a desolate plot of land in the far reaches of the California desert.
An unrecognizable flag whipped high above a concrete square, where a weather-beaten wooden desk and phone booth had been strategically placed. A glassy security guard booth set in the dirt instructed visitors to “register with border police”, but inside stood only a stoic mannequin wearing a police uniform. Clouds of sand hung like fog on the horizon.
