If our national bird represents the soar of freedom modified by
the strict migratory patterns of the rule of law, then it’s clear
that we have a seriously ill eagle. Some graffiti artist seems to
have painted a toupee of sanctimony on that formerly clear head. In
fact the entire concept of something being illegal has become
alien.
This is not to say that folks are being consistent in this
iconoclasm. In fact, if a Democrat and a Republican played Word
Association, here’s how it would go right now. The moderator says
“Iraq”: the Repo yells “Freedom” and the Demo shouts “Illegal.”
Next word is “immigration”: the Repo yells “Illegal” and the Demo
shouts “Freedom.” I may have been dyslexic enough to buy alcohol at
12, but now I’m really getting confused.
Chuckles aside, the immigration debate seems to have hardened
into two fairly describable positions. The first is espoused by the
President and others of both parties. It maintains that all those
illegal immigrants are here to help us by doing the work “that
American simply will not do.” Their lack of proper paperwork is a
technicality that it would be churlish of us to mention while
munching on the yummy grapes that they so graciously picked.
The second view, held by most of the population and given
eloquent expression by various talk show hosts and callers, argues
that the first courtesy owed a host is the knock on the door.
Unless the immigration laws are strikingly draconian, and absent a
flight from genocide or tyrannical oppression, they should be
obeyed, if only as a rite of passage. As to the claim that
Americans will not do the same work, that’s hardly a sufficient
basis for introducing anarchy. Plus it’s probably not really true;
open the jobs to the law-abiding public and let’s see if they
really can’t be filled.
The wild-card kibitzing on both sides comes from the political
mavens. These are the guys who have no principles or interests
other than winning the next election. They are the party of the
booth, not the party of Lincoln. They cannot vault beyond the poll;
no sight but the plebiscite. So they worry about how it plays in
Peoria. Border voters want to stop having boarders, so they want
enforcement, but Hispanic voters hiss against the panic, and they
want flexibility. Around and around the blocs they go.
Standing by, watching the verbal ping-pong match, I can’t help
thinking of George Burns and his vaudeville story about monologist
Jack Whitehead. Whitehead was drinking backstage with a dancer
named Gascoyne, who passed out. When Burns came in, the doctor was
already on the case. “How’s he doing?” George asked Jack.
“Terrible,” he answered. “He can’t even see the pink elephants in
the room.”
It seems to me that there is a big pink elephant in this room,
one that political correctness has declared officially invisible.
Let us stipulate that Americans will not do the work, and these
immigrants will. Don’t we have to ask ourselves a simple question?
Can a nation afford to import a class of immigrants whose
noteworthy qualification for employment is the fact that they are
uneducated and unskilled?
Now, I am not suggesting that we should adopt what Ben Hecht
famously, and rightly, derided as a “Tiffany’s window approach to
immigration,” where we only invite the best and brightest to join
our elitist club. But is it wise to do the exact opposite? To
specifically seek out large numbers of unskilled laborers to
protect our pampered working class from breaking a fingernail?
In past generations, we had populations of highly educated
individuals who were forced to pay their dues in America by doing
manual labor for some years until they could translate their
scholarship into a more suitable role in society. We also had
peoples with intellectual traditions, who for reasons of political
oppression were relatively undereducated. It remained a good bet
that they would catch up quickly over here, or if they were already
too old, they would push their children into our universities.
But to go to countries like Mexico which are basically free
societies, and essentially extend an invitation that is limited to
their lowest class, seems like a very short-sighted approach.
Surely no nation would be doing itself a favor by importing the
lowest class of its neighbor.
I suppose that this is a terrible thing to say and I will be
duly castigated for announcing the imperial deshabille. Something
like the lady who jumped onto the stage and grabbed Dean Martin’s
drink. “Why, this is iced tea!” she exclaimed. Dino fired back:
“Lady, you’re drunker than I am!” Maybe I am drunk, but maybe the
emperor has no clothes, and maybe, just maybe, that eagle really is
bald.
