It was a Rorschach preview. This appeared in my mail:
by David Post
The saddest part of our current political climate, for me, is the realization that so many of my fellow citizens don’t share in the vision that I always thought was pretty central — along with a written constitution, an independent judiciary, the separation of powers and the First Amendment — to what made this country such a great one.
Sadly, I clicked on the link and learned that Post is talking about open borders. He thinks a cornerstone of America is that anyone can come here.
There are 7 billion people in the world. Many of them poorer than our poor, and unskilled at that. We can’t take them all.
This isn’t racism, or xenophobia or anything else other than a clear appreciation of our situation. In North Carolina, every class in every elementary school has a few kids who don’t speak English. It will take time for our communities to absorb the immigrants we already have, much less add millions more. And yet, like a fool, we add millions more.
I really don’t care what color my neighbors are, or which country their grandparents or parents came from. A Martinez is just as welcome as a Jones or O’Malley. I’m greatly impressed by the hard work of the construction crews in North Carolina working under hundred-degree sun. My house is bigger than my dad’s, in part because of the relatively low price of labor here. Did I mention my brother is a carpenter in upstate New York? He couldn’t survive here.
The America my great grandfathers came to was booming, spreading its wings and in need of hard-working immigrants. Today we have less need for the hard muscles of Irish canal diggers, and more of a need for skilled information technology experts.
Donald Trump said it crudely, as he sometimes does. He called Mexican’s rapists. Murderers. There’s no doubt he didn’t mean all, but he did mean some. Sadly, his clumsiness hurt his presidential bid, and the cause of immigration reform.
Building a wall, enforcing immigration law, even talking about it makes you susceptible to charges of racism. And apparently also to charges of being un-American.
“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-tossed to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”
Dude. It’s not policy. It’s a poem.