Huh? What would you do if you were livin' on the outskirts of San Luis Potosi where there's no money and no jobs and everybody's dirt poor and two hundred miles north they're having a party with all the goddam money in the world. What would you do? Just hang out?"
Guy looks back at me wide-eyed, like he's never thought of it before and this is some kind of revelation. Then he recoups a bit and mumbles something about laws being laws so I say "Fine. Better off you just stay down there then, cuz we don't need you here anyway. Those people? The ones crossing the desert and risking their lives trying to make something out of themselves? They're the ones we actually want."
This was 20 years ago, back when I was a bartender, (which was why I felt so free to speak my mind...) but the same four word argument holds true today: “What would you do?" If there's one thing I can't stand it's listening to someone complaining about people struggling for the privileges they themselves were born with.
While it's tough to pick out the height of right wing hypocrisy, hatred for immigrants has gotta be somewhere near the top: especially when it comes to the ones from Mexico and Central America. Practically everything the Republicans claim to stand for - hard work, independence, risk-taking, love, respect and support for family, belief in Jesus-Christ-the-Savior and The American Dream… it's all right there lined up and waiting to cross the Rio Grande. If their base weren't such racists the GOP would have a complete lock on the fastest growing demographic in the nation right now.
Not that I’m all squeaky clean on this - I’ve been afraid of illegal immigrants myself. Deathly afraid. Once I was parked out at the end of a dirt road on the outskirts of Douglas Arizona: out in the desert - middle of nowhere - and suddenly I hear a guy say “Hey!”
He climbs out from a culvert I hadn’t seen, and behind him there’s gotta be at least a dozen others. He’s holding a plastic jug and asks for water. I’ve got five gallons in a Jerrycan strapped to my truck, so I motion for him to hold on, unstrap the can and bring it to him. My heart's pounding the whole time because there’s at least a dozen desperate people right there and, like I said, we’re in the middle of nowhere. If they’d decided to rush me and take my truck (which had a shell over the bed and would've easily hidden all of them,) I almost wouldn’t blame them.
He starts pouring water into his jug and I say “Just keep it.” and turn and walk back to the truck. I’m scared… really scared... but don’t want to run. As I’m driving away I’m thinking about the sack of food on the floor beside me. While part of me wants to turn around and give it to them, another part says I’m lucky just to be alive and that I’ve done enough. The argument goes on until I rationalize that going back might bring on the border patrol and the last thing I want to do is get them busted, which is kind of odd, now that I think about it.
After all, I’m a “good American” and the guys roaming around in SUVs looking for illegal border crossers are presumably doing it for my benefit, but more than anything I wanted those people to make it. Maybe it was just rooting for the underdog or gratitude for not messing with me. Or maybe, just maybe, I’m more of a conservative than I think. Because honestly I didn’t just want them to make it, I wanted them to make it big. I wanted them to reach Tucson, or LA, or Denver, find work, make money and have a better life… the American Dream. Because as much as I detest hearing it chanted, when it comes to economic opportunity, USA really is #1. Something I suggest republicans might want to shut up about if they don’t want people coming over here.
My bar was in a little hotel on the outskirts of the Tenderloin. It was a great gig. Most of the customers were middle-class families from Europe and Australia seeing San Francisco for the first time and loving it. I'd help them practice their English and they'd help me with their languages and there were times when I'd drive home practically weeping with gratitude just for having met the people I'd met that night. Not too many jobs like that I imagine.
The few racists and gun nuts I'd get were usually conventioneers from out of town. It's just a hunch, but I have a feeling that bigots don't last too long in San Francisco. (Or "Frisco" if you want. Contrary to popular belief, a true San Franciscan doesn't really care what you want to call it. The spirit of "Do your own thing, man..." is still alive and well by the bay.)
Towards the end of my stay I was training one of the waiters to tend bar. His name was Mao, about 25 from Cambodia, and crossing the Sonoran desert was nothing compared to what he'd had to go through to get here. He was nice enough, though a bit quiet for the job, but he was always bugging me to get more shifts, which kind of got on my nerves.
Eventually I quit to go traveling and when I came back about three years later, Mao was running the whole hotel. He may have even owned it - I wouldn't be surprised.
When people talk about immigrants taking "our" jobs, that's just half the story. Oftentimes they're moving right through our jobs and getting better ones. Because when you've already crossed a desert on foot, or been abducted by Thai pirates on the South China Sea, working your way up the employment ladder in the United States of America can be pretty damn easy. So if you ever find yourself discussing immigration with a right-winger, try asking “Oh yeah? What would you do?” It might make them think, at least for a bit. If they say they'd try to come here legally, or just stay put, chances are they're telling the truth, so be sure to remind them how lucky they are for being born here.