The building is being torn down and the sunset is beautiful. This evening there is a weird dusk. The wind does not blow. The light of the setting sun is refracted by the little particles of dust that stand about the air in the lonely desert night. People have been running for their lives.
A single ignorant moth enters with its joyous dance, seeking light and finds it. Night falls quickly, and a dark calm whelms this place. With the hope of rebirth in the morning as has always been the case....
In my mind Border Control should consist of policies that help keep injurious things out of our country (like drugs and weapons) but ensure the safe passage of people whose only desire is to work and support their family. Right now this is not happening, and here's why: every year United States Immigration has a maximum quota to fill concerning the visas it grants for unskilled laborers. Each year the United States gives out 5,000 work visas for people who are considered "unskilled laborers." I have heard estimates that there are between 11 and 14 million (yep, million) undocumented folks living in the United States. In almost four years we have served close to 60,000 people in Agua Prieta, Sonora who have been deported. That's 15,000 a year. So that means in less than half a year we see, in a small sleepy town on the border, more people trying to go work in the U.S. as there are visas available on a NATIONAL scale for a year.
So there are WAY more than 5,000 people entering the U.S. each year. There are way more than 5,000 people entering each month. This is where human and civil rights come into concern (we're not even at the Bill yet). Rather than really engaging in honest research concerning the economic and social reasons for immigration, walls have been built to try and cut off immigration. What this essentially achieved is that cities on the border (like El Paso and San Diego) saw far fewer people entering through the city, but the same amount of people would just go around the city, crossing through the surrounding desert. Now with people crossing in the desert it becomes far more dangerous. In Cochise County (South Eastern Arizona) 22 people died trying to cross in the U.S in 2009. The number for all of Arizona was over 250 deaths. So now, not only are migrants facing the dangers of the desert itself, they face the dangers of the drug and human traffickers which essentially control the border.
Despite the wall, and big trucks and helicopters and infrared cameras...people are still crossing. Its simple supply and demand. Employers in the U.S. want the cheap labor, and people coming from Mexico, Central America, China, etc, etc, want work. Arizona is in an interesting position of being ground zero for immigration in many ways. Its a state that sees the negative effects of the violence that has happened with drug smuggling (which is also as simple as supply and demand....people in the U.S. like their drugs). Unfortunately it seems that with this new bill Arizona is throwing the baby out with the bath water. This is a bill which has been justified as breaking up smuggling rings in Arizona, but...I think its doing it in a very scary way....
Here are a couple of reasons why this disturbs me. This is taken directly from the bill:
B. FOR ANY LAWFUL CONTACT MADE BY A LAW ENFORCEMENT OFFICIAL OR AGENCY
21 OF THIS STATE OR A COUNTY, CITY, TOWN OR OTHER POLITICAL SUBDIVISION OF THIS
22 STATE WHERE REASONABLE SUSPICION EXISTS THAT THE PERSON IS AN ALIEN WHO IS
23 UNLAWFULLY PRESENT IN THE UNITED STATES, A REASONABLE ATTEMPT SHALL BE MADE,
24 WHEN PRACTICABLE, TO DETERMINE THE IMMIGRATION STATUS OF THE PERSON. THE
25 PERSON'S IMMIGRATION STATUS SHALL BE VERIFIED WITH THE FEDERAL GOVERNMENT
26 PURSUANT TO 8 UNITED STATES CODE SECTION 1373(c).
E. A LAW ENFORCEMENT OFFICER, WITHOUT A WARRANT, MAY ARREST A PERSON
38 IF THE OFFICER HAS PROBABLE CAUSE TO BELIEVE THAT THE PERSON HAS COMMITTED
39 ANY PUBLIC OFFENSE THAT MAKES THE PERSON REMOVABLE FROM THE UNITED STATES.
This bill is giving local cops the right and the obligation to question the immigration status of any person, WITHOUT a warrant, simply based on the way they look. This is particularly troubling in towns like Phoenix and Tucson, where Latinos/Hispanics consist of between 35-40% of the population. So, its safe to say that when I walk around Phoenix tomorrow morning, I won't be arrested or questioned because I don't look like a migrant. Because I'm not Mexican. Because I'm not brown. So, when I ask have we really progressed since the civil rights movement....well, have we?
Also, my faith as a Christian plays an extremely important role as I approach this issue. In the book of Matthew, chapter 22 Jesus says "Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind. This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: Love your neighbor as yourself." Christ did not say love your neighbor on this side of the wall. Or love your neighbor who speaks English. Or love your neighbor who looks like you. Just love your neighbor.
I also read in 1Peter, chapter 4 where it says" above all, maintain constant love for one another, for love covers a multitude of sins. Be hospitable to one another without complaining."
Do we accomplish these things in our immigration policy? Would Jesus approve of what we do?
This stuff is beyond complicated. But, our immigration system is broken and it needs fixing. There are millions of people in the United States who live in fear, and there are thousands of U.S. citizens each year who are separated from their parents because of raids made in migrant communities and factories where they might be working.
We need change. I think we can all agree to that. Because what is happening right now is ripping our border with Mexico to shreds and is separating families...sometimes forever.
I know this was kind of long. Sorry about that. I could easily write more, probably ten times more.
Thanks again for your curiosity and willingness to learn. I don't think it has anything to do with your political leanings....liberal and conservative, democrat and republican alike are all undereducated about what is going on.
Monday, April 19, 2010
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Joe
I look into the night sky and admire it. The desert stars are vivid and pierce the darkness. It feels like I'm driving on a lonely stretch of pavement suspended some where in the cosmos. As I look into the sky I see a moving star...
The desert night is contaminated with dust and worry. And some where happiness exudes the desert night. But here, close to the border, its a happiness induced by ephemeral things. Through the dust. Through the sounds of the night, a call pierces it all. Its the call of a lonely bird. A desperate bird. Like the call of this bird looking for the last living bird of its kind. The bird's name is Bethany.
She screams in the night: "Joe! Joe where are you?"
With Joe no where to be found, the bird wonders aimlessly through the streets. Continuing her aimless and desperate call for the last of her kind. One cold nights Bethany's emaciated body looks oddly lumpy, on account of layers of sweaters and shirts. Like a potato with thin little waif's legs. The walking potato-bird-woman has a third leg which is a thin cane, too short for her. So she hopelessly galumphs, disregarding centers of streets and cars and potholes and drunks and police men. She is focused only on Joe. She sees me and approaches me. She smiles and her teeth are all there. Mostly rotting, but all there. Her broken smile is far from charming: chapped lips surrounding browning teeth slowly disappearing into no where. I think she bats her eyelashes. All of her clothes are either dirty, or black, or both. On top of her head is a pristine Cuban looking fedora that is made from impeccably clean straw with a black ribbon around it. Surrounding her gray feet, regardless of the temperature, she wears brown sandals. The kind old coffee farmers wear in Southern Mexico.
"Hi," she says. "I look better don't I?"
She does (A while back she was beaten, almost to death. With two massive blueish-greenish-purplish circles around her eyes she yelled: "I'm proof that God lives! I'm alive because of God! God's angels of death came down on me but they didn't take me!." She pointed at the scabs on her neck: "he coulda cut my head off but he didn't!" I rode away on my bike. "God is real!").
"Hey, ha..ha..have you seen Joe?" she asks, with a ridiculous and uncomfortable smile. She has lipstick on.
"No Bethany, I haven't."
"D'you...d'you have like, a couple quarters or some pesos or something you can give me I have to pay rent and I missed a week and I'm behind on my rent and I don't know what I'm gonna do and I'm scared ok can you please help me?"
"I don't Bethany, I'm sorry."
Her eyes dart around the room and focus on a box of donuts. She looks up just past the brim of her immaculate fedora. Some how she looks like a child. A child wasting away in the body of a woman who could blow away with the wind. She actually licks her lips. Her eyes water and she says, "Can I, could I have one of those?"
I grab a donut and a napkin and hand it her.
"Thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you."
She turns, donut in one hand, cane in the other and walks out and stop at the door way. She starts singing the Lord's Prayer and twirling around in circle looking up at the sky with her dry, red eyes. The tune is nothing. The rhythm is non existent. She take a bite out of the donut and walks away.
"Joe!"
The desert night is contaminated with dust and worry. And some where happiness exudes the desert night. But here, close to the border, its a happiness induced by ephemeral things. Through the dust. Through the sounds of the night, a call pierces it all. Its the call of a lonely bird. A desperate bird. Like the call of this bird looking for the last living bird of its kind. The bird's name is Bethany.
She screams in the night: "Joe! Joe where are you?"
With Joe no where to be found, the bird wonders aimlessly through the streets. Continuing her aimless and desperate call for the last of her kind. One cold nights Bethany's emaciated body looks oddly lumpy, on account of layers of sweaters and shirts. Like a potato with thin little waif's legs. The walking potato-bird-woman has a third leg which is a thin cane, too short for her. So she hopelessly galumphs, disregarding centers of streets and cars and potholes and drunks and police men. She is focused only on Joe. She sees me and approaches me. She smiles and her teeth are all there. Mostly rotting, but all there. Her broken smile is far from charming: chapped lips surrounding browning teeth slowly disappearing into no where. I think she bats her eyelashes. All of her clothes are either dirty, or black, or both. On top of her head is a pristine Cuban looking fedora that is made from impeccably clean straw with a black ribbon around it. Surrounding her gray feet, regardless of the temperature, she wears brown sandals. The kind old coffee farmers wear in Southern Mexico.
"Hi," she says. "I look better don't I?"
She does (A while back she was beaten, almost to death. With two massive blueish-greenish-purplish circles around her eyes she yelled: "I'm proof that God lives! I'm alive because of God! God's angels of death came down on me but they didn't take me!." She pointed at the scabs on her neck: "he coulda cut my head off but he didn't!" I rode away on my bike. "God is real!").
"Hey, ha..ha..have you seen Joe?" she asks, with a ridiculous and uncomfortable smile. She has lipstick on.
"No Bethany, I haven't."
"D'you...d'you have like, a couple quarters or some pesos or something you can give me I have to pay rent and I missed a week and I'm behind on my rent and I don't know what I'm gonna do and I'm scared ok can you please help me?"
"I don't Bethany, I'm sorry."
Her eyes dart around the room and focus on a box of donuts. She looks up just past the brim of her immaculate fedora. Some how she looks like a child. A child wasting away in the body of a woman who could blow away with the wind. She actually licks her lips. Her eyes water and she says, "Can I, could I have one of those?"
I grab a donut and a napkin and hand it her.
"Thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you."
She turns, donut in one hand, cane in the other and walks out and stop at the door way. She starts singing the Lord's Prayer and twirling around in circle looking up at the sky with her dry, red eyes. The tune is nothing. The rhythm is non existent. She take a bite out of the donut and walks away.
"Joe!"
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