Even though I have a flowing river of words to give voice, I thought I would instead use a picture to describe my consternation toward politics today.
Today was an historic day for our government and certainly for politics.
I can’t shake the feeling that it was a watershed declaration of apathy.
Warning: Political and/or Social Commentary
Isn’t it strange that people howl for empathy for the Vice President, a wealthy man with access to the world and everything in it? Even as he continues to misuse conviction to preach to all that some are not his equals, he has one of the world’s biggest pulpits from which he can pontificate to people. We owe him no tears. His vocation is one he campaigned for. He is not immune to rebuke. In fact, rebuke is as much a part of public life as adulation is. We are paying him to fulfill his duties and he works for all of us, not just those which conform to his brand of fear and distrust masquerading as politics. Perhaps if Pence spent more time representing the totality of this inclusive country and less time pandering to those who agree with his ideology, he might have more ears tuned toward compassion when he’s talking.
Whether it’s climate change, immigration, LGBTQ issues, evolution, or any of the other issues which he has planted his feet firmly in the past over, Pence is not where this country is headed, especially for the younger generation. It is the natural progression of things for those threatened by new or better ideas to angrily point accusatory fingers at those who want us all to be standing on a level playing field.
Students at Notre Dame opted to use their right to peacefully protest against this man’s policies and therefore this is not an indictment on the mindset of young people: it’s a refutation of the man’s ideas. Whether they protest at school or in public, they are adults, given the ability to reason and to demonstrate against things which violate their beliefs. They didn’t attack Pence as he has so often attacked the weaker and unvoiced masses. They didn’t take away any of his rights, limit his healthcare, reduce his wages, interfere in his appearance at the podium, or in any way harm him; they merely objected to his ideology and expressed their displeasure with their feet. This is exactly how things are supposed to work. Surely no one is to suggest that an adult must feel compelled to be complicit and present in the display and conspiracy of ideas woven by such a man as Pence.
To say that students have blemished the school, themselves or this country by exercising their right to object is a greater misstep than 1,000 such peaceful demonstrations. Regardless of how their tuition was paid, these adults protested in a manner befitting our country, at a university which itself is in the education business. Those students earned the right to their degree and they reiterated their right to protest. It’s interesting for politicians to deride students and universities for protest. Perhaps feeling rejected will provide some glimmer of recognition in their hearts as to how deeply inhumane many of their policies and beliefs come across.
The idea that people shouldn’t protest simply because it makes another segment uncomfortable is precisely why the protest is necessary. Just because you are privileged or wealthy enough to turn your head away and to expend no effort is in no way an indicator of what motivates much of the rest of the country. If they choose to peacefully protest, you can shake your head in disagreement with the content of the protest but never against the idea of protesting itself.
It is only through resistance have any of our major social changes flourished. Change requires stress to whatever prevailing ideas and traditions live in the moment. If you are sitting on the side entrenched in the past, you are going to experience turmoil as the world changes without you.
Notre Dame is a cross-section of the brightest young adults in our country. We indeed should start worrying only when they STOP resisting things which no longer represent our country.
Lastly, someone should explain to Pence and people like him that the 1st amendment right of free expression pertains to the relationship between government and individual citizens. Thus, it is Pence’s job to ensure that he understands that his role as VP requires him to welcome debate and dissent even when it’s directed to or at him specifically. Angrily rebuking those who choose to exercise their right not only demonstrates a dangerous demagoguery but also an ignorance of one of the most fundamental means of letting our government know they are going astray.
PS: Protest at a school or university carries the same validity as does protest exercised anywhere else. You sound ignorant when you draw a distinction.
If you post glowing sunrises speaking of the beauty of god’s creation but privately judge gays, the impoverished, addicts, Hispanics or Muslims, you are missing the point of a graceful god. If it irks you to read this, imagine the hearts of those you are judging as they live their lives surrounded by distrustful eyes and dark wishes.
In so doing, you are also being dishonest. You are only sharing those things which serve as window dressing, the reflection of things you know which will draw no controversy.
All of us can look at the easy things and rejoice.
Few of us can see our own prejudice against the ‘other,’ much less admit it to the world. Like the admiration for the sunrise, however, the bile of dislike you might feel toward marginalized groups is just as much a part of who you are as that appreciation for light.
If I know you deeply, I can look at your picture of the colorful sunrise and smile – but not fully, as I understand that behind that window you present, there is a sneer of superiority, one which discolors my regard for your worldview.
Who you are is both the sunrise and the concealed dark shadows you guard so closely inside your heart.
Share who you are or change those things which shame you once revealed.
From a local pastor and friend of mine: “…I insist on a secular government that prevents any religion from having power in public discourse and allows people who are not interested in religion to be left alone. I believe that my pursuit of ‘the Holy’ is to be between my own ears and will be reflected in my daily relationships with those around me. Be Loving, full of Laughter, and overflowing with Generosity and Grace…”
Like the ravine, deeper than at first glance…
…of the greatest gifts of age is experiencing the width of life, no matter how it is packaged…
This is an imperfect commentary from the last time the death penalty was a hot topic. I didn’t share it because I seem to have a minority voice.
The fact that DNA evidence has exonerated so many innocent prisoners should give incredible pause to those so assured that justice is both possible and being served when we collectively execute someone. Almost 3/4 of those wrongfully convicted had eyewitness testimony used in their convictions. Imagine being accused of a crime you didn’t commit, your fellow citizens testifying that they saw you in the course of the crime and that the State decides to put you to death. “Yes, it is a small price to pay for the greater good,” you might say, but only because it is not you or someone you know being wrongly accused. It’s true that these cases are rare compared to the volume of our criminal justice system. If you can imagine yourself being accused and facing the death penalty, though, it might introduce the reality of swallowing that sentence.
This argument isn’t even about the rights of the victims or whether most of those convicted of murder have indeed ‘earned’ their sentence; it’s about the undeniable hatefulness of using a system known to have sentenced people to die for crimes they didn’t commit. It is a specious argument to tell those who are against the death penalty that they should be thinking only of the victim, as any system which kills people without being completely sure of its methodology is suspect. I find it difficult to reconcile the clamor for death absent certainty; until we as fallible and negligent humans figure this out, we must proceed with caution.
As a human, I do understand fully the urge to repay monstrous acts with repayment in kind. It’s just difficult for me to translate that to granting the State the same right. The indifference with which the State addresses its business makes it incapable of those qualities which make us all better human beings. I admit my contradictions in this regard.
I can more easily imagine looking the other way while an outraged father kills the monster who has killed his child than I can watch as the State pretends that it hasn’t repeatedly acted wrongly in the past. It’s too high of a price to pay. If, on the other hand, you are certain that all those charged are truly guilty, then proceed with a clear conscience. I won’t judge, but I do look askance at our collective disregard for how disjointed and untenable much of our justice system really can be. This is doubly true especially after personally hearing the shenanigans of a jury in an actual murder trial. I have no expectation or delusion of fairness. There is no jury of our peers, no prosecutorial objectiveness, nor unilateral access to fairness for anyone caught up in the judicial system.
Yes, I do think of the victims and I often wonder how it is that there isn’t more violence in the world. I think to my own childhood and am perplexed that someone in my immediately family wasn’t killed. (Except for my father; his offense was driving while wildly intoxicated and killing my cousin.) I don’t look to religion to guide my beliefs in this regard, because forgiveness toward anyone who has harmed a loved one is a case-by-case scenario, with only those affected capable of offering it. It’s intensely private and personal. I would never sit in judgment for how they choose to react or for their support of a specific punishment.
An eye-for-an-eye conveys a certain satisfaction, of that there is little doubt. But we must be sure that the eye we are poking is the one which first gave offense. Even so, we must be compelled toward reluctance lest we give away a small sliver of our progress as humans.
I’m conflicted about the death penalty in ways I can’t accurately express, for reasons anyone who has ever suffered loss will understand. It is precisely because of that loss I would hope that those on the other side of the coin are guided by a higher cause.
Like someone who speaks a foreign language, unbeknownst to those around him, I listen, catching all the key phrases and markers for arrogance toward the ‘other.’ Because I closely resemble the group most representative of the powers of the past, I blend in as dubious words are written and whispered. When I speak, though, there remains no doubt that I’m not one of them. I don’t struggle against the tide of the future, because I know that the story is already written and that progress is inevitable. It’s not my religion, skin color, or language that will rescue me – it is the fact that I see that our outrageous past will not be the determining variable in our future. If it turns out that I am wrong and the tide swells against us, I will at least know that the history books will not contain a page using me an example of the prevailing ways of this troubled day. I will be the footnote scrawled on an illegible page and little could give me greater pleasure.
Please forgive the undercurrent of snark, as I discuss the “Talking Dead” who live among us…
Last week, 4 different friends posted versions of the old meme, “Aren’t you glad we did THIS instead of THAT,” referring to pictures of being outside playing instead of on their devices when they were younger. I know you’ve seen these memes; most of them have children smiling as if the dentist just administered a quadruple dose of laughing gas and then catapulted them out the window – banished to stay there until mom hollered for them from the partially-opened front screen door. According to the nostalgic memes, no one ever stayed indoors. Evidently, we were too busy enjoying the splat of mosquito bites, Michael Jackson wannabes offering us candy from the open side door of a poorly-painted white van, and the sheer unmitigated joy of simply being outside – as if in truth our parents hadn’t forbidden us to come back inside until we were called. The rest of us were outside precisely to avoid the dangers lurking inside our houses.
The weird disconnect for me is that most of the “Talking Dead” have their phones out 24/7 and display symptoms of paralysis when they are without their devices. At least once a day I observe someone ‘freaking’ a little when they’ve misplaced their phone, the battery goes dead, or their device won’t function properly. They wander about like zombies or blind cavefish, eyes glazed, talking about seemingly nothing else. Gollum would be envious of the idolatry of their electronic devices.
All of them get defensive and pissy when I ask them why they need to have their phones by the bed, for example, even though they complain about it accidentally waking them. (Duh.) When I point out that it is possible to set parameters for emergency calls only, they recoil in horror, as if any limitation to being accessible is somehow objectionable. Our daytime hours are populated with the buzzes and pings of the devices of those who must be on constant alert, as if Star Fleet is going to call us to battle at any moment.
We evolve to use the technology available to us, tempered by disposable income and opportunity. To believe that anyone who now lives with their phone in their hand or pocket (or by their bedside at night) would not have done the same had the technology been available when they were younger is welcome to take a polygraph and get back to me.
It’s okay to have appreciated your time outside when you were younger. But if you would have had our current technology then, you might still be up in the tree but your hands would still be furiously scrolling and typing into the great internet, undoubtedly spending an hour telling me how wrong I am about your compulsion.
Comparing now to then in any respect is just another version of the “it was better back when” argument that serves only to highlight one’s age. And if you are one of the many who simply can’t walk to the bathroom without a phone, please don’t post memes about the golden days of youth, when you were outside, eating crickets or whatever thing you now glorify.
I love technology, especially when it is used creatively or as a tool. The phone isn’t the issue and it never has been.
PS: For many, the cellphone is the new purse; a repository of secrets.
When I was younger, I tried to get deported -and failed.
I cobbled together shorter versions of stories I never seem to finish. Please accept my apologies for the weird combination of words to describe people and processes. I know that “legal vs. illegal,” or “undocumented” or “alien” have specific meanings and ramifications. My heart is openly liberal about this issue, so please forego assumptions if I use any of the words or their synonyms lazily. Even though I will have passed from this place before it happens, one day the Latinos will surpass the other demographics and became the majority in the United States. They will win by sheer numbers. They’ll write the history books and look back on our insistence on blaming the lowest denominator for the issues in society. As is always the case, those that froth for deportation and border walls are going to look quite different in the lens of history.
I spent many years working in the poultry plants in Northwest Arkansas. When I started, the Latino workforce was already rapidly growing, even 30 years ago. The rapid growth of our local poultry industries owes much of its success and growth to the exploding Latino population. Most people nod their heads in polite agreement with this statement; just how true it is depends on whether you worked the productions lines of a poultry plant in Arkansas. NWA’s construction boom certainly owes much of its success to the immigrant population.
For years, though, we played the ‘wink’ game of pretending that a staggering percentage of our workforce wasn’t undocumented to work in the U.S. This, of course, was fine by me. I could plainly see that these Latinos were much more willing to work and certainly more willing to submit themselves to excruciatingly difficult work to improve their lives. I learned their language and acquired a love for some of their music and most of their food. (Except for that horrible Banda/Norteño style that I couldn’t acquire a taste for!) I never understood the tendency to fear other languages and cultures, whereas being surrounded by such diversity seem to amplify the opportunities of life.
Given the nature of the majority of the work, the most important attribute for anyone was the ability and willingness to submit to relentless work, regardless of country of origin or skin color. It’s an obvious statement to mention that prejudice ran rampant in the poultry plants; many non-Latinos hated their Latino counterparts, and not just because of the language barrier. Most of the towns in NWA were quiet and isolated until the late 70s, when industry and modern highways opened up as arteries to explosive growth. As with most isolated agricultural towns, our towns tended to exhibit the expected prejudices found in such places. Some have urban legends and real anecdotes to demonstrate their previous insistence on small-mindedness; I won’t list them here. Prejudice tends to blossom anywhere there is a need to create excuses for problems or where education fails to keep pace with the preached dominance of the majority group. There were plenty of Latinos who hated Americans, too – and many who hated me, especially when they realized that language wasn’t a barrier for me. As I’ve aged, I’ve come to see that many of them earned that resentment, after needing to come here unwillingly out of economic necessity and forge a new life, many of them working at a level I would never have survived. Even today, decades later, many U.S. citizens still lump all Latinos into one group to disparage them and their contributions.
Aside from the low-key compliance paperwork visits that Immigration would make to the facility, we experienced rare raids, one in which federal agents magically appeared, followed by long buses to transport suspect undocumented workers to a holding facility prior to being deported. For anyone who has never witnessed such a spectacle of fear, I can’t describe it without resorting to hyperbole. As word that Immigration was entering hit the production lines, these lines that NEVER stopped suddenly swung to full stop as knives and work tools were dropped or thrown everywhere, as human beings fled in terror – some of whom were here legally and some who were citizens. Work smocks were left billowing across bird shackles, trampled on the greasy, wet production floors with bird parts, and across the large back fences at the rear of the facility property. People hid in blast freezers at temperatures below zero, inside holding bins, and across railroad cars adjacent to the facility. One man ran from the plant almost all the way to Rogers, for fear his children would be deported, too, although they were citizens.
During one raid, I was stupid, marching across the holding truck docks, watching as workers were zip-tied with their hands behind their backs or pulled from poorly-decided hiding spots. I was asked in Spanish if I spoke English and would only reply, “Abogado.” (Lawyer.) As with any job, some of the agents were exemplary professionals – while others were better suited to bite the heads off chickens. I was detained for a short duration until the agent yanked up my smock and extracted my wallet by way of half-ripping off the pocket of my pants. My crazy name threw him into confusion, which amused me.
“What country are you from?” the agent asked. I sat back down on the dirty, oily floor with the other detainees and ignored him. I hoped he was going to tie me and mark me for the bus to Forth Smith for processing. Instead, he threw my wallet at me and stomped away.
I walked over to a small cluster of agents and told them it was a bad idea to keep people zip-tied inside refrigerated trucks backed up to the dock. They told me to mind my own business and that it wouldn’t be for more than 30 minutes. Since I was playing the role of clever person, I replied, “Is that what I should tell the TV station when they show up to do interviews?” They escorted me out the back shipping door by the office. I walked around and came immediately back inside from another dock access door.
As I passed those being detained, I asked anyone I could talk to if they needed me to write a phone number down with a name and call it for them. If the agents told me I couldn’t do that, I ignored them. I knew that the agents were not supposed to interfere in any way with people talking to those being detained, provided distance was maintained. If an agent didn’t speak Spanish, I would offer to translate for them.
I walked up to another agent and held out my hands in front of me. “I’m ready to go,” I told him in Spanish. I was ready to get on the bus and be sent to Fort Smith. I knew it would be a great story: “American Citizen Deported” the headline would have read. As the agent started to turn me and put on the zip-tie, another agent who heard me mouth off in English told him I was yanking his chain. I got a general warning about interfering with the duties of a federal agent. I went to check on the upstairs supply storage mezzanine, and as I walked around, I casually noted who was hiding ineffectively. As I could, I whispered that I could see them.
During the next raid, I left my wallet in my locker to better play the role of someone concealing his identity. I still couldn’t manage to be held for questioning.
Mostly, I was in a haze of surprise. It was an angry, disillusioned moment. While some of those detained for processing and/or deportation were without legal permission to be in the country, the reality is that none of them would have been there without the economic necessity driving both them and employers all across the United States to find ways to hire them. In my mind, the employers were the bigger problem and I knew no matter how big any unlikely fine they might pay, nothing could eclipse the sum of the human suffering I was involved in. When you factor in that the particular employer I was working for then was the biggest private company in the entire world, the problem became a little more ridiculous.
As the millennium came to an end, the government offered a voluntary program called E-Verify, but few employers wanted to actively participate. Meaningful fines or actions against employers were as rare as prancing unicorns.
I always resented the attack on individuals, ‘legal residents’ or not. I’m quite sure had the Immigrationsagents arrested everyone in the management hierarchy, changes would have been much more immediate and lasting. It’s easier to detain, harass, and deport those doing the menial jobs for the benefit of national and international corporations. The lesson that needed to be taught, if any were needed, should have been one of accountability on the part of those knowingly taking advantage of a massive workforce.
During another raid, I was stunned when a man I knew very well took off running as the agents swarmed in. His paperwork was impeccable and had he not run, he would have been passed over. But he ran and agents caught him inside the huge industrial cook ovens on the west side of the plant. By the time I caught up to Francisco, he was zip-tied and in tears. I too became upset, knowing that the careful accumulated life he had made in Springdale was lost forever. He had walked across the border with nothing, having spent everything to get here. He walked everywhere until he could get a bicycle. He worked with the ferocity and dedication of two men. And he was a warm, compassionate person who often gave his money to people for rent, food, and clothing. He worked all overtime offered and literally didn’t know how to say “no” to anyone asking for help. Despite being told to never return to the United States, he decided to return less than a year later. He came back to work through a temporary agency, with a new name and new set of documents. I couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of the system we had. When he returned, he didn’t ‘take’ anyone’s job – we had more positions than we could keep filled. This same story was told by the millions across the United States.
One of the great stories of these Immigration raids on the poultry plant is that one of the workers brought his bags to work on the day of the raid. He was ready to go back to Mexico and decided that the trip might as well be sponsored by the United States government. I didn’t witness it but it’s one of those stories that is still told. He proudly boarded the detainee bus to Ft. Smith, because even he knew he could come back anytime he wanted and get another job at the same plant whenever he wanted.
The days following those raids were filled with stories of children without parents, fear at being caught or fear of losing one’s family members. With time, however, people returned, eager to earn money for a living, even with the shadow of an unlikely deportation looming over them. The need to work usually trumped the fear of getting caught or deported. So, the cycle would continue, from Washington D.C. to the plants and industries all over the country.
In my job, I later interviewed hundreds of applicants, and looked at what seemed like an infinite number of IDs. We were supposed to just note if the IDs appeared to be legitimate, an extremely low standard if you think about it. I quickly learned that no one would second guess me if I said it looked legitimate. Applicants could have handed me a picture of Donald Duck and I would have almost laughed to myself and accepted it. I got more than one lecture about not looking too closely at documents for compliance – the minimum was the standard and I lowered mine relentlessly. I found it hard to believe that in a country with so much technology that we couldn’t devise a simple way to avoid employing undocumented workers if we really wanted to. From there, it was even easier to realize that no one wanted such a system, as it would cripple entire industries.
When I legally changed my name, I was offered thousands of dollars for my old birth certificate. It was hard to turn down that offer. I turned it down out of fear of being held accountable, which is idiotic looking back on it. All I had to do was leave it on a table and walk away. I almost gave it to the person at no charge, just to be amused to know that even as I killed off my former self, a Latino would rise from the ashes using my old name. The forged document industry still exists, available to anyone with sufficient interest in discovering it. As long as employers aren’t held accountable, no amount of enforcement is going to change anything.
So, here we are, with an administration hell-bent on deporting everyone who is here illegally. We are going to be forced to spend billions of dollars erecting a wall which will be totally ineffective in its goal, and those advocating its construction know this already. The symbolism of doing something, anything, regardless of effectiveness, is paramount to them. A wall will not address the underlying issues of immigration, nor will it improve our society. But it seems fitting that the same people who hate social programs to help the lesser would divert billions of dollars from helping people in need toward erecting a wall without necessity, against a problem that is much more easily fixed.
PS At least 1/3 of all those without credentials came to our country on airplanes, which tend to ignore walls. And 1 in 30 of every person in the United States right now is here without proper credentials.
For anyone unfamiliar with the United States’ history of dealing with Latino immigration, it’s as shadowy and unsavory as you imagine. In the 1930s, we blamed Latinos for the depression, so we deported a few million in the 30s and 40s. During WWII, we suddenly needed a massive workforce, so we looked the other way – until the early 50s when we actually launched an initiative the government titled “Operation Wetback.” Reagan, among others, wanted to grant amnesty to all who were already here, all of which has once again been reduced to blaming immigrants for all manner of societal nonsense.
The reality is that we are going to have to come to terms with the real consequences of our borders without succumbing to emotional or political pressure. We need most of those who came here for employment to continue to live here, no matter how we define their immigration status. We could devise a system of employment verification that could almost eliminate the presence of those not legally able to work here. We could do the same for housing, public assistance, education, and all other areas affected by immigration. But – many of us don’t want such a system, just as the employers relying on immigration can’t survive without the presence of a massive workforce willing to fill positions that would otherwise go understaffed.
The wall is one of the biggest stupidities ever devised, just like the raids I experienced at my employer years ago. It was exactly like the old adage of someone putting their hand in a bucket of water and then removing it. Without a unifying resolve to act, which we don’t have, and a plan that address the economics of immigration as well as the logistics, all efforts will fail. But we’ll spend dollars on things instead of people, symbols instead of human needs and suffering.
In years to come, when the wall is no more, we will look back at the sheer ignorance of Trump and all those who believe a wall is the solution for any problem in our country. Even as we reach for our wallets to pay for their stupidity, we’ll shake our heads in wonder, waiting until the next wave of stupidity will infect our country.
As someone who spent years immersed in the patchwork of our system, I can see a path that could address most of the real issues with immigration. Most of it will never occur, though.
So we’ll continue to point the finger instead of fixing ‘us’ first.
P.S. Parenthetically Speaking 