MY PRESENT IMMIGRATION STATUS
(wrote this weeks ago when Trump's executive order barring Muslims was announced.)
Secure, FER NOW. But who knows, you know? Been tidying up in anticipation of a visit from Kaiser. Could be any day. Who knew? Is everybody’s status subject to registry? A person wonders, “Am I in the club”? We seem to be downsizing. Is that the right word? I sense a last gasp of something- an acrid breath. Anyway, I’m stashing Rumi under the bed before Kaiser arrives. You never know…
I love it here in the City on the Hill. Safe place, good burgers. Lotsa ethnic food that sort of magically appeared. White people like that stuff. That variety thing. But only so much. After awhile I guess it gets- well scary. Cramped. Still, I like this City of Light idea. Course if there’s light there’s shade too. Just ask Native and African Americans. There’s that itch seems impossible to scratch. Always always there. Phantom limb thing. We got rid of slavery though. Somebody believed we were better than that. Lotta people shed blood believing in the City on the Hill thing; that “this machine kills fascists” thing, that “thanks, I think I’ll worship here…” thing, that “if its good enough for Kaiser it’s good enough for everyone” thing.
I looked in the mirror this morning. Kaiser, you should try this. I saw this unfolding story. I saw this mutt face mug whose great great great grandfather escaped Alsace starving for opportunity, whose great great great grandmother sailed from Kerry, spitting venom at the twin plagues of famine and English brutality. Sailing brokenhearted.
What immigrant arrives with a whole heart?
I thought, “gee, how bad could it have been that my people uprooted themselves from home and hearth and kin, spend everything on a one way ticket to a country they’d never visited, exposing themselves to prejudice penury scrofula scurvy itchy scabbies greed and corruption, on a voyage into the unknown… You gotta ask yourself, “Why would they leave?”. Imagine.
Kaiser should remember- crazy as it sounds- that some immigration agent stood by a gang plank and took the hand of a frail emaciated woman as she stumbled toward America and said, “Welcome to America, Mrs. Soze”; the Kaiser but a pulse in her bloodstream. No one remembers the agent’s name. Such is the duty of stewarding freedom: It’s not about you.
That’s the old weird America: the mystery and the promise, the strength of compassion and decency. Decency.
Like I say: secure FER NOW.