“LOST
MUSKET DIARY” Sunday July 13, 2014
Sunny Day
Again 78F/ 26C in Rancho Las Musket going to 90!
Buon giorno,
amici,
There’s
been a lot on my mind lately, but I’ve hesitated to say anything out loud,
because it will piss some people off, and they’ll start calling me “Leftie,” or
“Obama Lover,” or even Nazi or Commie or maybe “Damnyankee!” Hell’s Bells, even
my childhood friends call me a (GASP) “Liberal.” But, I’m OK with that! I’ve
got my call blocking set up, and can switch this computer off with the last key
stroke and pull a bag over my head. So
here goes.
I can’t turn on my TV or radio
or open Facebook anymore without hearing the anger and prejudice of people who
shout about being “god-fearing American CHRISTIANS.” There’s Rick Perry with
his Texas-size mouth and acorn-size intellect to join the tumult. Suffice to
say the coverage of that demonstration this past week in Murrieta, California really
got my cork out. That, and similar scenes that played out all along our
southern Mexican border as thousands of young refugees fled north to escape the
violence back home and seek a safe haven here. Most of them are young children
who have traveled by themselves for long distances to get away from the violence
and death they hope to leave behind. I was appalled at their reception here. After
I heard what the mayor of Murrieta, California had to say, I was, frankly, ashamed
at what my country is becoming. I hear this right wing clack and clatter, and I
can’t help but remember what I heard in my Sunday school class when I was about
the same age as these children. In the King James Version of the New Testament,
St. Matthew tells us, “And, Jesus said, ‘Suffer the little children to come
unto me.’” Rev. Brown used to quote Jesus’ saying every time a little baby
would interrupt the Sunday sermon with its screaming. Rev. Brown use to say
that not only to reassure the mother that it was OK, all were welcome there,
even hungry, screaming infants; and to remind the entire congregation that
children held a very special place in Jesus’ heart. At least that was how I
recall St. Matthew, but they’ve revised the New Testament since then, and the
screaming in Murrieta comes from the revised edition, I guess. But, back to my
original point.
The folks
coming from the south have stories have similar to those of my own grandparents:
They are fleeing the Imperial ambitions of and oppression by their leaders, the
never-ending wars, starvation, poverty, and persecution. But, here’s a major
difference between my grandparents’ story and these refugees. The robber barons
of the 19th century at least, exploited their workers, but they
followed a set of rules that everybody understood. My Grandpa had a contract, a
steerage ticket for the boat ride to America, a job, and a place to live and
raise his family. Others have had it differently. When my friends’ families and
even some of my in-laws’ families came north, guided by the glow of “The City
on the Hill,” they swam or traveled on rickety, leaking boats; some hiked
across the desert after climbing fences; others hid on trains or in car trunks.
A lot of them died on the way, killed by bandits, shot by border police,
assaulted by misguided “patriots” or dying of thirst and heat, exhaustion or
drowning.
I don’t
know what my grandfather’s job was in the “old country,” but here he got to be
a pretty good coal miner. As I grew up, I noticed the two fingers missing from
his hand. “Mine accident,” was all he’d say in his broken English. After “the
accident” he moved his family to Pittsburgh so he could get away from the mines
and keep his sons out of them. He found a good job and he and my grandmother
raised their nine kids and settled in for the rest of their lives as American
citizens.
Today’s children have to pass a
different type of entrance exam. Their journey began with the “coyotes,” the
human traffickers who lied to them about being welcome in Los estados unidos and charged them dearly for their tickets north.
The smugglers showed them how to ford the rivers and where the paths across the
border were and they went wherever the coyotes would tell them, and for another
price, where the jobs were. The “coyotes” would also be paid by the companies
who were looking for cheap labor that wouldn’t complain about the rotten
conditions and then could be discarded when they outlived their usefulness.
They do the types of work that no self-respecting “American” would be caught
dead doing. If they got jobs as farmworkers, the companies they worked for
pushed them into very long days, low wages and hard stoop labor in the fields.
If they were lucky, they were able to squeeze into an absentee landlords’ slum.
Many of the farmworkers had to camp out in the fields where they worked, forced
to defecate and urinate among the vegetables they tended. Think John Steinbeck’s
writing during the Depression.
Well, I
could go on. But I’m done here. Bottom line? I was infuriated and shamed by
what I’ve seen and heard in recent days. The airwaves and newspapers are filled
with the kind of claptrap the Mayor of Murietta spouts. Absolutely
unconscionable are the statements by our public officials, like Governor Perry,
and the entire Republican leadership in Washington. They’ve turned the “Party
of Lincoln” into something I haven’t seen since Il Duce strutted around on his
balcony.
In all of
the shouting and displays of prejudice and hatred in recent days, the only
really “Christian” note struck was news that Catholic Charities is helping with
badly needed assistance to the children being detained.
Instead
of continuing to grit my teeth and unplug the TV until my anger and shame
subsided, I went to the Catholic Charities web site and made a donation to
their relief effort. For me, it was the Christian thing to do. (And I was raised
as a Methodist); plus, I was a Boy Scout; (a Scout is helpful). Here is the web
address if you feel so inclined: http://catholiccharitiesusa.org The warm
feeling you’ll get will last for days or until you watch the next news cycle!
Ciao,
MikeBo
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