Take the case of America’s beard: Mexico. This spring break I was working on houses in the slums of Tijuana, Mexico, and living with migrant workers at a shelter house.

In recent weeks, drug-related violence has escalated sharply in border towns to the point where Mexicans and Americans alike are threatened. The Mexican government reacted by sending more than 4,000 troops to a border town in order to quell the violence.

In reaction, the U.S. Department of State issued an official warning to all U.S. citizens: Americans are being kidnapped and sometimes murdered in drug-related instances in border towns. Perhaps you read it; I know it caught the eye of some students heading south, and certainly that of their parents.

That day, my father called me and said, “You see the warning about Mexico?” I replied, “Nope. Did you see how much Goran Suton put up last night?”

“Grant, Americans are being shot in the street. Tell me you’re not going still.”

Pause.

“Well, it’s nonrefundable.”

The next week I was walking across the border from San Ysidro, Calif., into Tijuana.

They didn’t scan my passport, didn’t inspect me and didn’t force me into a line. I literally walked through a rotating gate, smiled at the soldier sipping a Coke and was in Mexico. It was like Cedar Point.

As it turns out, Mexico was pretty tame. I lived in a housing center with more than one hundred migrant workers, people who have left their starving families to find money to send back home, people who were desperate for a helping hand, for a job. I suppose living in the slums with these workers put me in a situation where I was sleeping above the people my government had warned me about. It’s a generalization, true, but these were the lower echelons of society, the ideal candidates to be recruited for a drug war.

Apart from losing Ritz Crackers and being hustled for a couple of pesos in Domino’s Pizza, the lowest classes of Mexico had nothing but love and kindness for me. Where was all this danger? Surely I was in gang territory. When the kids posed for pictures, they threw their favorite gang signs. There were drug dealers on our street; the lookout perched on our street stared intently every day for the hint of a policeman.

What other possible motives could our government have for issuing a warning that probably didn’t have to be made?

First, the Department of State has a murky history of issuing warnings as a less-than-subtle way of steering the travel industry. Think of it this way: The government tells citizens not to go to Mexico, so they spend their vacation time and money in other places, more than likely in America. That’s more money flowing to American bars, hotels, domestic airlines, tolls, gas stations, etc. I don’t have to tell you how far that could go in these economic times.

The second is probably the most logical reason why they issued the warning. The more college students visiting hot spots like Tijuana, the more potential drug vehicles there exists. Granted, crossing from Mexico to America is no easy feat — let alone when one is carrying drugs — but how many of us have brought back a souvenir cigar from a certain country? Either way, a sharp decrease in potential consumers would clear the streets for the Drug Enforcement Administration and Mexican government to get more done.

There also are plenty of solid reasons for the warning. I heard gunshots sporadically and saw quite a few SWAT-esque Mexican solders speeding along in SUVs. I’m certainly not arguing that one should just ignore all the warnings the government issues.

But take it with a grain of salt, and investigate a little. There may be more to the story than first appears.

Honestly, I was more scared for my life the time I went to Ann Arbor.

Grant Rumley is a State News columnist and international relations junior. Reach him at rumyleygr@msu.edu.