I recently asked my Facebook friends to give me a challenge. They could pick any topic they wanted and I would write a short story about their topic. The only rule was they had to keep the topic clean.
My cousin (She’ll say “favorite cousin” and although that might’ve been true, I am now naming her the “pot stirrer”) was the first to respond with her topic…. immigration. Exactly! Pot stirrer. There is no way I’m going to be able to write about this topic without ruffling some feathers. Get your feathers ready, because I love me a good challenge!
From a purely legal perspective- the process of immigrating to the United States is very time consuming and very expensive. Documents are often lost and rarely, if ever, processed timely. The system is archaic and frankly, for lack of a better word, broken. Do I have a solution for it? Noooooo. Although (take me out back and shoot me if you must), I do favor Bush’s amnesty program. Register, pay your taxes, and for goodness sakes, let’s all move on.
From a political perspective- Did you know that you can’t win an election unless people actually go to the polls and cast their vote in your favor? Did you know people are lazy? Did you know people still think their votes don’t matter? Did you know that the best way to drive your supporters to the polls is to take a topic they’ll die fighting for and beat the fear into them? Hence…. our last election. The fear mongers were tirelessly beating the war drums. Fear is often used as a method to control. The masses fell for it and here we are. The fear is real and is still being lived out in the lives of people today. Sad.
Do I think President Trump is going to buy buses, march through neighborhoods, round up “the illegals” and ship them back to their country? No. But, in my defense I am thinking like a practical human and not a politician. Taxes paid in = good. Hiring immigration officials, buses, travel…. money paid out = bad. How much is the national debt now?
From a humanitarian perspective – I have to ask myself, could I walk into a home and forcibly remove a man or woman from that home with their family member, maybe even children, screaming and crying, and for their sole crime being they wanted a better life for themselves or their children? No, I don’t think I have it in me to do that. If we’re talking about cutting off the body parts of child molesters, then of course, please call me. I’m your gal. No need to provide weapons, I’ll be more than happy to bring my own dull knife to that party (Insert sinister, that girl is crazy and I’m a little scared right now, smile).
With that said, I do support strong borders. The reason for that is my own fear. The thought of my child being blown up while attending a concert tugs at my deepest primal emotion. The need to protect is ever present and ever real. There must be some process in place. What type is best? Well… that is yet to be determined and by those far more intelligent than me.
How could I? How could I ever condemn anyone from wanting a better life for their children? For themselves? Who do I think I am? Have you met an illegal alien…an undocumented individual? Did you take the time to listen to their story, or did you make assumptions and feed on the fear frenzy? These individuals didn’t come here because they wanted to steal your banking job, your Wall Street job, or your welfare. They came here because their lives literally depended on them making the journey. They came here because if they didn’t they would die or their children would die. Maybe they would starve, maybe they would be killed, but surely they would die of anything but old age.
I’ve heard the stories of the man who walked eight days in desert and violent conditions from Mexico. I’ve heard the stories of the 12 year old sent to the US bearing scares of stabbings by gang members. No parents, no education. Alone in a land he is not welcome and doesn’t understand, but he is alive and for his mom that was the only thing that mattered. She clung to the glimmer of hope, albeit just a sliver. She may never have the opportunity to see her child again, her act, cruel as it may seem, was her greatest act of love.
When is the last time you had to live in a home with a dirt floor? Have you seen a shanty? Do you know what that word means? If not, count your blessings they are far more numbered in your favor then you may realize. What about those community graves where the women are raped and murdered while traveling from their shanty 14 hours to their job (American companies even) just to make shit wages that isn’t enough for anyone to survive. What about those?
As a mom, I would scale any wall, dig any hole or tunnel, take my chances against coyotes, or swim across any shark infested waters necessary for the safety and well-being of my family. And, if we are all being honest here, I think you would probably do exactly the same.
Behind these arguments are the faces and lives of real people. They surely seek the hope in America that those who live here, myself included, often take for granted. Can I condemn thee? No, surely not. I am but a foreigner in my own land. Just happy to take part in the human race.
Dedicated to my favorite, Kristie Ann.