Immigration Reform Long Overdue!

If I were a Mexican living in poverty, I would gladly swim the Rio Grande for the opportunity to make a living to support my family. No one would begrudge them this; the question is, is it good for the United States to have illegal immigrants in our country?

Let me answer by relating my own experiences with illegal immigrants!

I lived and worked in Wilmington, North Carolina for 15 years. Not exactly what you would call a hot spot for illegal activity and yet I worked for a roofing company that hired and housed illegal immigrants. They would make multiple copies of a social security card to put on file, but they all worked under the table. The company owner would rent them a mobile home where 14 of them lived. It  was just before Christmas when I asked one of them “aren’t you worried about the INS deporting you?” He started laughing out loud. “What is so funny?” I asked? He replied, when I want to go home for Christmas I pack my bags and report myself to the INS, they fly me back to Wahaca and after the holiday I take a bus to the border and fly back from Arizona. I will be here for work after the New Year.

One day when the owner came under pressure to take out taxes, the head Mexican, a chubby little fellow known as Big Daddy, (who was the only one who spoke English), interpreted to them that taxes would be taken from their paycheck. After a hasty impromptu discussion the whole lot of them up and left without so much as an adios amigo. We were about to leave that morning to do a 100 square hot tar roofing job 150 miles away. When we left with our caravan of a several pickups, an empty 11 passenger van the boom and dump trucks with kettle in toe. I asked the owner what we were going to do for laborers. Don’t worry he replied, leave that to me!

When we arrived at the job site he had me drive him in the van to a corner in town where a bunch of Hispanic men were standing, he instructed me to open the sliding door on the van and he yelled “Amigo Work!” eleven men piled in the door jockeying for position while several more stood shouting Spanish obstinacies for being left unemployed on the corner.

This happened twenty years ago and since than the situation has steadily gotten worse.

In the past when the US industry had a job that was uneconomic to perform manually, we would automate it. This would put the people doing those jobs out of work, but that was unavoidable because the industry was going to be shipped overseas if the company could not compete with other nations around the world. By automating, the jobs stayed hear in the form of designers, engineers and manufacturers who built, operated and serviced the equipment and those who would be hired to support those industries rather than having the profits sent back to families in Mexico. Now industry has decided that it is more profitable to outsource jobs overseas and higher illegal immigrants rather than to design and build automation equipment that would make us competitive around the globe.

With the pressures of a cheap illegal immigrant labor force and corporations busting unions to reduce wages and make profits for the rich shareholders, the middleclass has been financially devastated. No one seems to realize that keeping jobs in the hands of the American citizen means more tax revenues and a robust economy. I can sympathize with the illegal immigrants coming over the border, but I have to say the American citizen and legal immigrants come first. So hear is my solution to the problem.

The only reason these people are coming to this country is to advance them selves economically by finding work. If they could not work hear illegally they would not come.

So I propose a secure Social Security card. Like your bank or credit card with your picture, a hologram and magnetic strip for your pass code. Sure it could be counterfeited, but not as easily as the current piece of paper being put on copiers by the illegal immigrants and all employers would be required to keep a copy of this card on file or be fined for failure to do so! Multiple infractions would result in the company being shut down for not complying. The cards would be issued by Social Security and only to those paying into the system. This would dry up the jobs for illegal aliens and stop the border incursions. Border control could then focus on the drug smuggling that is costing this country billions in drug enforcement, not to mention the devastating effects those drugs are having on the populous.

I have included the following short story I wrote several years ago, before the current Arizona bill was passed. I hope it gives some enjoyment to my readers!

There’s a Mexican under my bed.

 I woke up this morning to the sound of what I thought was my dog rustling around under the bed. He often does this and so, annoyed I got up and demanded that he come out from under their. To my surprise, instead of my dog a short chunky Mexican squirmed his way out from under the bed frame and stood boldly in front of me.

“Who are you?” I asked.

“I am José!” he replied.

“Well José, what exactly do you think you are doing under my bed?” 

“I am looking for work, señor!”

“And what makes you think you will find work under there?”

“Well señor do you know the Irish belief that if you catch a leprecon he must give you his pot of gold in order to be released?”

“Yes I have heard the story, but what does that have to do with your looking for work under my bed?”

“Well you see in my country we have a belief that if you follow the voice of a coyote in the night, he will lead you to prosperity.”

“That still does not explain what you were doing under my bed?”

“Be patient señor, we Mexicans do not rush to the end of a good story. May I continue?”

“By all means do.” I replied.

“Well señor. Late last night I just happened to be sitting on the other side of your fence when I heard the howl of a coyote from your backyard.”

“That would have been my dog, howling to come in.”

“No señor it was definitely a coyote. I know my coyotes.”

“OK! So it was a coyote, please continue?”

 “Not being one to pass up an opportunity for prosperity, I waded across the water feature just outside your fence and found my way through a hole in it. Then I struggled through your cactus garden and across your property to find the coyote standing at your backdoor intent on entering your fine home. Your door was not locked so I let him in and continued to follow him through your house. He led me in here where he went under your bed. We slept well together but he must have left during the night because when I awoke I was alone.”

“That is an interesting story but I don’t believe a word of it.”

“Well then señor, how else do you explain my being hear?”

“I think you are a wetback trying to rob me.”

“No señor, I am an honest man and I slept on my stomach so my back would dry out and as you can see it has dried very nicely since last night, thanks to your warm home.

I am a poor man and have a wife and cinco niños back in México to support. Please can’t you give me a job so they don’t starve?”

“What kind of work can you do?”

“I noticed that your gardens need weeding and your lawn needs mowing. I am very good at yard work.”

“But I already have a yard man.”

“Yes! But I will do it for less and I will work very hard for you.”

“All right, but I will only pay minimum wage and since I am sure you are an illegal alien I suppose I will have to pay you under the table.”

“That is very generous of you, but there is only one problem, I have no place to stay. Can I stay under your bed?”

“OK! But just until the job is done.”

“Mucho gracias señor!”

José worked very hard all day and when evening came he crawled back under my bed for the night. The next morning I found him in my kitchen with a woman and five children raiding my refrigerator.

“What’s this all about?” I shouted.

“No problem!” exclaimed José. This is my wife Margarita and my five children. They are just having something to eat before she drops them off at school on her way to the welfare office.”

“Wait a minute you can’t just come into my house and start eating my food!”

“But señor, you would not let your own children go off to school hungry!”

“No. But these are not my children.”

“I tell you what señor. My Margarita is the finest cook in all of México and just to thank you for your generosity, this evening she will make you and your family the finest Méxican dinner you have ever had. What could be fairer than that?”

I must admit I do love Mexican food and the thought of a real home cooked Mexican dinner had some appeal.

“OK! But just this once!”

That night my wife and our two children dined on the finest Mexican dinner I have ever eaten. José and his family joined us. When I asked where they got all the food, he said “The local grocery store has a very good Hispanic section with everything we needed.” “No! I meant, where did you get the money to buy all the food?”

“I borrowed your credit card and charged it señor.”

“You what?”

“Señor, I am a poor man and have no money; surely you knew that I could not afford to feed you and your entire family.”

Just then my wife chimed in and said, “Honey we can afford to buy them this one meal and by the way Tom the landscaper called to see if we wanted him to come this week. I told him we had someone taking care of it. He seemed upset and mumbled something about those dam Mexicans undercutting his business.”

Tom is a friend of mine and it was going to be hard to explain how a Mexican came to be doing my yard work.

That night, with no place to stay, José and his family slept under my bed. They said it was roomy when compared with their last place and that they were use to sleeping in the same room.

The next morning as I sat down to breakfast José with his wife and children were already eating.

“Wait just a minute; I am not going to continue to feed your entire family.”

“No problem Señor Visa, this food was bought with the food stamps from the welfare office. When they found out we have cinco niños they gave me my own credit card for lots of free food.”

“Why did you call me Señor Visa?”

“That is the name on your credit card Señor. Isn’t this you?” he said as he handed me back the card.

José had no more than left the room when my leg bumped into something under the table. Thinking it was the dog I said, “Get out from under there.”

“Good morning señor.” Came a man’s voice from below and another Mexican stood up at the other end of the table.

“Who are you?” I asked.

“I am José’s brother, Hose-B.”

“What were you doing down there?”

“Looking for work,” he replied.

Were have I heard this before?

Like a sucker I asked, “What makes you think you will find work down there?”

“My brother José says you are letting him work under the table and so I thought I might find some work under your table too!”

“No, you misunderstood, that is a metaphor. You don’t actually work under the table. It means that you are working without paying taxes.”

“Mucho gracias señor, you are a most generous man, not only are you going to employ me as a metaphor, but you are not going to take out the taxes. This is muy bueno! What exactly does a metaphor do?” he asked.

Hose-B was so grateful that I didn’t have the heart to tell him that I didn’t have work for him. “Metaphor’s work cleaning out sheds.” I replied.

I must admit that the lawn was starting to look pretty good and the family liked Margarita’s cooking, plus she watched my children after school. My van was getting a bit crowded on the way too and from the school, but my kids seemed to like José’s children and they were picking up some Spanish because his children spoke no English. It would be good for them to learn a second language, especially since I have been noticing how most stores have signs in Spanish and English. Even the phone answering services and ATM machines have a Spanish option. Strange I hadn’t really noticed it until now. Margarita told me how much she appreciated that the school had hired Spanish speaking teachers so her children could get an education.

Buy the end of the day Hose-B had cleaned out the shed and wanted to know if he could stay in it overnight since it now had plenty of room and he had no place to stay. I told him it would be alright, but just for the night.

The next morning while Margarita was cooking rancho huevos for the family, I noticed two Hispanic teenagers wandering around the back yard. I had just stepped out to see who they were when Hose-B stopped me and said proudly, “Let me introduce my sons Juan and Two. My wife liked the name Juan so much that she named them both Juan and now we have to call my youngest one Two so no one don’t get confused.”

“That’s very nice, but what are they doing here?”

“Now that I have a job and a place to stay, they have come to help me with my pursuit of the American dream. The problem is that they dropped out of school and are not gainfully employed. Do you have any work for them?”

“No I don’t have any work for them!”

They were both covered in tattoos and piercings and reminded me of some Chicano gangs I had seen on the corners in town.

“Hey bro’” said Two “wass happinin?”

He looked stoned and was making strange hand signals as he talked.

“I can’t have them here.” I said.

“But señor they are almost never home and they spend most of their time down on the corner with their cousins,” Said Hose-B “They will be no trouble at all.”

“No! I must insist they can not stay here.”

Just then Juan and Two sidled up next to me on either side and Juan said, “Listen bro you don’t want to be talking to our poppy like that. Something could happen to you and your family, if you get my drift.”

My palms began to sweat and I decided it wasn’t worth the trouble to continue with the conversation.

Just then a van pulled up in front of the house and blew its horn. Juan and Two headed for it saying, “We will be back later Poppy, don’t let the gringo push you around.” As the door of the van slid open a bunch of trash fell out and it looked like someone inside might be kicking it out as they left the mess and sped off.

When I stepped into the house, my wife said, “Look dear I just got the tax bill and they have gone up drastically.

I snatched it from her hand and drove straight to the tax office.

“What is the meaning of this? My taxes have never gone up this much in a single year since I moved to this town!” I shouted at the girl behind the counter.

“I am sorry señor, but with so many people joining the welfare roles and the school system and police force being overburdened by the influx of new people. The government had no choice but to raise taxes to cover the shortfall. You can however fill out a form to contest the amount of the taxes if you think you are being taxed unfairly.”

“You bet I want to contest these taxes! Let me have the form.”

“Would you like that form in English or Spanish?” said the girl.

I was already late for work and so I snatched it from her hand and left without filling it out.

When I got to work the construction boss said, “You’re late for work! Listen Bob things are getting tight around here and with all the new Hispanic workers we are going to need someone who is bilingual. You don’t speak Spanish by any chance do you?”

“No! I said, “Since when did this become a bilingual country? When I woke up this morning I thought that English was still the national language.”

“That may be so, but in order for me to compete; I have to higher these low wage illegals like everyone else or go out of business. I’m sorry Bob but unless you speak Spanish I am going to have to let you go.”

I could not believe what I was hearing. I was being let go from a job that I had held for many years just because I did not speak Spanish.

“To hell with them,” I thought “I will go sign up for unemployment and go out and get a better job. That will show them.”

I went straight to the unemployment office to fill out the forms and collect my fair share.

The lady behind the counter was pleasant and very concerned. When I told her how I had lost my job because I did not speak Spanish, she said, “See señor, there has been a lot of that lately.”

It looked to me like there were Mexicans everywhere.

Sure I had heard that they were having some problems down on the border, but I never thought it would affect me and my family.

After signing up I went home determined to kick the whole bunch of them out of my house and my life.

I stormed in the door to find Hose-A lying on my couch watching the Spanish channel on cable. “That’s it,” I shouted “I want the lot of you out of here!”

Hose-A said, “No hablo ingles señor.”

“Don’t give me that crap, I know you speak English.”

“Un poco señor,” he replied.

“And where is that brother of yours? I want him and his two hoodlums off my property.”

“He is no longer here señor, he is flying back to Mexico for the holidays with his two sons.”

“I thought he had no money?”

“That is true.”

“Then how can they afford to fly back to Mexico?’

“That is simple señor. Hose-B used your phone to call immigration and reported himself and his boys. The government is flying them back to Oaxaca. But do not worry after the holidays they will catch a bus back to the border and be back to work in no time.”

“You will have to excuse Me.” said Jose, “I have some bushes to trim.” And he promptly left through the back door.

Just then there came a knock at the front door. When I opened it I found an immigration officer standing there.

“I am Officer Gonzalez with the INS. It seems that someone recently reported some illegal aliens residing here.

Sir, can you tell me if you have seen any other illegal aliens in the neighborhood?”

 Now was my chance to be rid of the whole bunch of them.

“You bet I have. There is one in my back yard pruning the hedges as we speak.”

“What is he doing trimming your hedge?”

“He was looking for a job so I gave him some work so he could support his wife and five kids, who by the way are living under my bed.”

The officer gave me a strange look and then keyed the mike on his shoulder saying, “It looks like I will need some back up.” 

“Now we are getting somewhere,” I thought.

A van arrived shortly with more agents. As they approached Officer Gonzalez he said, “This guy is running some kind of coyote operation. Not only did he have those three we sent back to Mexico this morning but he has an entire family living here.”

The second officer said, “You are under arrest for employing and harboring illegal aliens. You have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”

“Wait just a minute; I was just trying to help them out.”

“Sure you were, by exploiting them.”

“No! I gave them work and a place to stay.”

“Is that what you call underpaying them and cramming them under your bed?” said Officer Gonzalez.

“And I’ll bet he was paying them under the table,” said one of the other officers.

“Yes,” said José as they escorted him out the door. “He was nice enough to not take out the taxes.”

“Don’t worry we will be notifying the IRS as soon as we get back to the office.”

“You have got this all wrong,” I cried.

“You can tell it to the judge.” He replied.

“What about Jose and his family, what are you going to do about them?” I asked.

“They will be fed and put in to temporary detention, then released to return for their court date.”

“Yah, but most of them never return,” Laughed the other officers in unison.