I’m as angry as I have ever
been. I just balled my eyes walking home
for ten blocks. I’m must have seemed
like a lunatic to the early-Puerto Rican day revelers. I probably just seemed like a morose drunk,
which I would be if I were drunk.
I wish I were drunk.
I wish I were drunk.
I just talked to my Mexican
friend who just this year got his green card. That seems like something to
celebrate. But then he told me about the experience.
It wasn’t just the fear of
leaving his wife, his five year-old son and two year-old son here in the States
while he went back to Mexico so that he could come back with a green card. That process in itself seems a bit cruel and
barbaric. Hearing him tell how his son held to his leg begging him not to go and
begging him to take him with him belies the fear that has been created in the
process. Even a five year-old can tell that something is not right.
But the thing that made me boil
was what he told me about the reentry process as his wife and sons waited for
him at the airport. The agents made him wait for 30 minutes while he heard them
cruelly talk (as if he couldn’t understand; his English is exceptional) about
perhaps not letting him enter. Of course, they didn’t have a legal foot to
stand on. His papers were in order. But in the current climate, they could
afford to entertain cruelty.
And his experience is mild
compared to what is happening on our border to the south.
I’m ashamed of America. Merely
kneeling during the national anthem is not enough. I stopped the pledge of
allegiance years ago. Yet, a sentimental tear would often find its way out of
my eyes during the Star Spangled Banner. No more. Not now. It may sound cliché
but if this is what we’ve come to, they let’s tear down the Statue of Liberty
and especially the Emma Lazarus poem at her feet. It is, to be blunt, BULLSHIT.
There is no conscience in the
White House or Justice Department. It is
trickle-down cruelty.
I have offered some assistance
where I can. I think it is time for more. I don’t’ know what yet. I will find
out.
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