As we neared the three-hour mark, we wound down the meeting. “It is hard for us,” he said, “being your closest neighbor.” I corrected him. The Mexicans were our closest neighbor, and they liked to say of themselves, “So close to America, so far from God.” He laughed, but in turn corrected me. “Look,” he said, pointing down at Guantanamo Bay Naval Base on the map in front of us. “We are your closest neighbor.”
