I think my feelings on illegal immigration have at last reached critical mass. Arizona’s new social travesty masquerading as a Law is akin to punching Lady Liberty in the bread box. I am ashamed to share a nationality with these people.
No illegal immigrants are taking jobs from “us”. There is no “us” and “them”. There are millions of PEOPLE living here, fancy papers and skin color aside, that work, go to school, buy food, see movies, mow the grass, raise children, and even pay taxes. These PEOPLE are US.
If the good citizens of Arizona were really interested in curtailing immigration they would rally federal support for accountability of American enterprises operating in Mexico. They would urge Congress to enforce a minimum wage on those companies and insist they honour environmental laws. But that’s not what its about.
Hiding behind the noble banter of “Rule of Law” and “Illegal” lurks the insidious secret of the right: They hate these brown bastards. Pure and simple.
This law doesn’t just compel Arizona Police to ferret out working class people and treat them as criminals. If that’s all they were after they already had that power available. Rather, it gives not only the power but the obligation to demand proof of citizenship “where reasonable suspicion exists that the person is an alien who is unlawfully present in the United States”. Guess what guys, they sure ain’t going to reasonably suspect Little Johnny Irish of being here illegally. That honour goes to the brown people of Arizona; apparently automatically guilty, and required to prove themselves innocent.
I’m sure that this law will not last long, as it violates the Constitution(Article 1, Section 8, supported by numerous Supreme Court cases as giving Congress the power to govern entry into the country). The real issue here is how misled the whole thing is and how disheartening it is to watch what are otherwise good people succumb to hate.
I’ll leave you with the poem on the Statue of Liberty:
Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
“Keep ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she
With silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”