Less than a month ago, I walked the sad and dusty one-kilometre stretch of the only open land border crossing between Pakistan and India, at Wagha.
It's not open to ordinary Pakistanis or Indians, only diplomats and foreigners. Very few of them use it these days, complained an immigration official. "Our life is very boring," he said, before switching the conversation to cricket.
But this does not stop both countries from stationing large garrisons of crack troops at this monument to a ridiculous border. The garrisons proudly display their hairy-chested mottos, along the lines of “We fight to the death!”.
At the mid-point of the crossing, a double line of fencing topped with razor wire stretches to the left and right as far as the eye can see. Sweating labourers are lined up on either side of the border waiting to pass heavy bags of grain to their opposite numbers.
They are dressed in bright blue or red costumes, like pretend coolies in a Gilbert and Sullivan opera. Is this for show, like the ceremonial hostility displayed by the troops that stomp and strut in the famous evening border closing ritual? Or is it so that they can be shot at more easily should they stray across the sacred line?
On both sides of this border, the locals speak the same language — Punjabi — and share the same culture. Beyond the Punjab, ordinary Indians and Pakistanis have a lot in common. They are sick of oppressive governments dominated by greedy capitalists and big landlords, and they share a passion for cricket, and popular song and dance movies from "Bollywood", which the growing influence of religious fundamentalism on both sides of the border has yet to dent.
But since 1962, these neighbours have not been able to visit each other. Farooq Tariq, my host in Pakistan, looks forward to the day when, "I can go to India for a cup of tea or I can invite my Indian comrades for a Lahori Karahi Mutton".
Tariq is the general secretary of the Labour Party Pakistan, one of the few parties that dares to demand what ordinary folk on both sides of the border want — that the borders be opened. For this the party is accused of being manipulated by the Indian government's intelligence agency. The same nonsense happens in India, where troublesome lefties are labelled agents of the Pakistan intelligence service.
"Both sides claim that terrorists will enter their borders if it is opened. This is nonsense," Tariq explained. "Ordinary people have relatives on both side but are unable to visit them.
"My house is only 20 kilometres from the border, but to go to India I must have an invitation from India, a copy of which must be sent to the Indian embassy. Then I must go to Islamabad, 384 kilometres from Lahore.
"It normally takes two or three days to see the immigration officer. They normally tell you that your case has been sent to India and they will inform you after receiving the approval. This can take a few months.
"If you are lucky, they then might issue you a visa. This visa is for a particular city in India.
"You must tell the Indian visa officials how you are travelling. You can not change it afterwards. There are three ways to go to India. You can go by train, two days a week. This train takes at least 24 hours to reach Delhi from Lahore. On the train, you are like a prisoner. You cannot leave the train before Delhi.
"There is one bus from Lahore to Delhi. It costs four times more than the train. Air travel costs six times more than bus.
"In the Indian city on your visa, you must register with the police when you arrive and leave."
As I staggered in the afternoon heat towards India, through the last of six checkpoints, a mirage of dancing bottles of cold beer appeared before me. It was a mighty thirst fuelled by the heat and a week in prohibition-blighted Pakistan.
For millions in India, Pakistan and Afghanistan, their thirst is much more desperate as the region is experiencing its worst drought in 100 years. The entire population of the Pakistan province of Baluchistan — 1 million people — is fleeing the drought. The same goes for the population of the Registan Desert on the border of Afghanistan and Pakistan.
This colossal human movement only adds to the millions of refugees in the subcontinent, the consequence of the wars in Sri Lanka, Afghanistan and Iraq, repression in Burma, and poverty in Bangladesh and Nepal.
Which brings me to a second cruel border.
Passing through immigration at Sydney airport is a breeze if you have an Australian passport, or one from another wealthy country. Smiles, a cursory sweep of the passport and you are through.
It's a different matter if you have a passport from one of the poorer countries. Australians breezing through immigration with their little blue wonder document hardly notice the other queue. And they don't have the slightest reminder that there are desert concentration camps ($52 million was allocated in the federal budget for two new refugee detention camps) for those dreaded "boat people" who dare to "jump the queue".
It's not just the Australian border that's being fortified, of course. The giant border around all the rich countries of the world is being reinforced with the most sophisticated technology available and with laws utterly dismissive of human rights. Why? To keep out the millions of desperate people from the greater part of the world that has been kept poor so that a tiny minority in our part of the world can live like kings.
Crossing this border makes you angry. This is what the world has come to. It should make you want to change it, with a passion.
[Peter Boyle is a national executive member of the Democratic Socialist Party of Australia.]Â