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Homeland Security will let computers predict who might be a terrorist on your plane — just don’t ask how it works.

Illustration: Soohee Cho/The Intercept, Getty Images

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Scott Wheeler was born and raised in what’s known as the Northeast Kingdom, the rugged and beautiful countryside where Vermont abuts Canada. Even so, he didn’t realize he was supposed to check in with Canadian immigration authorities when driving across the border recently.

Two polite, officious Mounties tell him to make a U-turn and follow them back to the port of entry where he’s questioned about his intentions inside Quebec. He explains his mistake, and eventually, the Mounties return his identification and he’s free to go.

“That’s pretty much life on the border; it’s changing,” Wheeler says, resignedly.

While the southern border gets all the attention with President Trump’s massive wall and the backlog of desperate asylum-seekers stuck in Mexico, things are tense on the northern border with Canada, as well. The number of illegal crossers is on the rise. And residents complain that heightened security has changed the character of the once-neighborly frontier.

“It’s even confusing for a local to understand,” says Wheeler, a former state representative and history buff who publishes the Northland Journal. “Back when I was growing up, you could come across the border with a wave to the border agents.”

“It’s a barrier, and we feel it”

In the past two fiscal years, U.S. Customs and Border Protection has logged a 400% jump in apprehensions of people crossing illegally from Canada. That’s the biggest increase anywhere along the 5,525-mile northern border.

Border authorities made it harder to cross freely after the Sept. 11 terrorist attacks, but things have gotten even stricter since President Trump took office.

Consider Canusa Avenue — the name is a hybrid of Canada and USA. The international boundary runs for a third of a mile along this street. This is where Wheeler inadvertently turned into Canada.

There are 14 houses, with Americans living on the south side of the street and Canadians on the north. Two residents recently met on their respective sides of the white boundary line.

“We cannot leave our street on our own free will,” says Janice Beadle, who describes herself as a retired snack bar owner, dairy worker and maple syrup maker.

U.S.-Canada Border Community’s Culture Changes As Security Tightens

Photos: Ian Thomas Jansen-Lonnquist for NPR