I am lucky. Lucky
enough to be the umpteenth grandchild to a family with roots planted here over
one hundred fifty years ago. Lucky
enough to qualify me as native. But
where’s the cutoff? How much time
in-country does one have to spend to be considered native? Most of us were born here and that usually
suffices. Ask a real native American and you might get an education.
Suffice to say, we all hail from somewhere. Might as well be where we were born, right? Nowadays some say that’s not enough. Think: birthers
and the funny-haired rich guy behind that particular bowel movement. Fun fun.
Think: renewing your driver’s license even after living in your state
for the past forty years. More fun.
How many of us really believe that in order to quell the touted
tsunami of undesirables into our fair land that all we have to do is build a
barrier between us and the more southerly regions of our shared incontinence. Really?
France tried that after World War I. The wisdom of the French was to plant a line
of big guns in the ground and point them at Germany. Quite an imposing sight, I imagine. If you enjoy grand symbols of massive FAILURE! When the time came, the little corporal and
company ignored the Maginot Line altogether leaving the lonely Frenchmen to
polish their big guns while they goose-stepped down the Champs-Élysées. The Nazis simply
reached around through Belgium to the north and through the Ardennes in the
south. What were the Frogs
thinking? That their language-in-common
friends to the north could wave off Stukas with what—dark chocolate? That trees wouldn’t yield to fifty-four ton
Tiger tanks?
It took me five minutes on Bing to illuminate our
situation. We have over 82,835 miles of coastline guarded by satellite
surveillance and the Coast Guard. With
only 41,000 members, that means every uniform in the service would have to
patrol two miles of coastline each, 24 hours per day, 365 days per year, with
no smoke breaks. This fact alone makes
the über fence along the 1,869 mile border with Mexico a colossal example
of American duplicity. I mean, I really
do enjoy my fruits and veggies on the cheap.
For many ‘Muricans, the complaint is, “They’re here to steal
our jobs.” Maybe a homegrown worker has
been displaced by an illegal immigrant but I’ve never seen one. But then again, I have never seen a unicorn
either but my eight year old daughter assures me…
The self-righteous always pound the notion of legality but I
wager no law ever filled an empty belly and no electrified razor wire topped
fence will ever keep a good parent from trying to feed their hungry
children. The people that come here are
not the bomb toting job stealing bad guys we imagine, but rather people who’ve
heard of a place where they cannot only survive but thrive by the sweat of
their brow if they will only make the crossing.
They don’t want state welfare, they want a chance, and who are we to deny
them?
Immigrants, that’s who.
Immigrants, that’s who.
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