SUBSCRIBE TO OUR FREE NEWSLETTER
Daily news & progressive opinion—funded by the people, not the corporations—delivered straight to your inbox.
5
#000000
#FFFFFF
5
#000000
#FFFFFF
molly ivins
A Wall Won't Fix Immigration
Until our leaders address the real issues, it's not possible to build a wall tall enough to stop them from coming.
Jul 01, 2018
The wailing in our country about the "invasion of immigrants" has been long and loud. As one complainant put it, "Few of their children in the country learn English...The signs in our streets have inscriptions in both languages...Unless the stream of the importation could be turned they will soon so outnumber us that all the advantages we have will not be able to preserve our language, and even our government will become precarious."
That's not some diatribe from one of today's Republican congress critters. It's the anxious cry of none other than Ben Franklin, deploring the wave of Germans pouring into the colony of Pennsylvania in the 1750s. Thus, anti-immigrant eruptions are older than the U.S. itself, and they've flared up periodically throughout our history, targeting the Irish, French, Italians and Chinese among others. Even Donald Trump's current proposal to wall off our border is not a new bit of nuttiness -- around the time of the nation's founding, John Jay, who later became the first chief justice of the Supreme Court, proposed "a wall of brass around the country for the exclusion of Catholics."
Luckily for the development and enrichment of our country, these past public frenzies ultimately failed to exclude the teeming masses, and those uproars now appear through the telescope of time to have been some combination of ridiculous panic, political demagoguery and xenophobic ugliness.
There is way too much xenophobia, racism and demagoguery at play around illegal immigration, and such crude sentiments are not what is bringing this problem to a national political boil. The GOP leaders seem to be having a contest to see who can be the most nativist knucklehead. Their new "zero tolerance" policy punishing immigrant children by ripping them away from their parents at the border has now morphed into detaining families together indefinitely in "detention centers." Meanwhile, rational Republicans like Steve Schmidt and George Will are either leaving the party or simply not supporting it in its current state.
Democratic leaders, on the other hand, have mostly tried to do a squishy shuffle, mouthing soothing words offering a bureaucratic rigmarole to allow some Dreamers to gain permanent residency in our country or are ducking the issue.
Which brings us to the wall, both figuratively and literally. The fact that we are resorting to the construction of an enormous fence between two friendly nations admits to an abject failure by policymakers, who are so bereft of ideas, honesty, courage and morality that all they can do is to try walling off the problem.
We've had experience here in Texas with the futility of tall border fences. Molly Ivins reported a beer-induced incident that took place in 1983. Walling off Mexico had been proposed back then by the Reaganauts, and a test fence had been built way down in the Big Bend outpost of Terlingua. This little town also happened to be the site of a renowned chili cook-off that Molly helped judge, and it attracted a big crowd of impish, beer-drinking chiliheads.
There stood the barrier, 17 feet tall and topped with barbwire. It didn't take many beers before the first-ever "Terlingua Memorial Over, Under, or Through the Mexican Fence Climbing Contest" was cooked up. Winning time: 30 seconds.
The Mexican government and people are insulted and appalled by the wall; ranchers, mayors, and families living on either side of the border hate it; environmentalists are aghast at its destructive impact on the ecology of the area. Still, it's being built.
The question that policymakers have not faced honestly is this one: Why do these immigrants come? The answer is not that they are pulled by our jobs and government benefits, but that they are pushed by the abject poverty and violence that their families face in their homeland. That might seem like a mere semantic difference, but it's huge if you're trying to develop a policy to stop the human flood across our border. Until our leaders address the real issues, it's not possible to build a wall tall enough to stop them from coming.
Keep ReadingShow Less
Patriotism in the Trump Era
"Protest, too often, has been deemed unpatriotic."
Jul 04, 2017
In one of his first official acts upon taking office, President Trump designated the day of his inauguration a "National Day of Patriotic Devotion." While it's not unusual for incoming presidents to issue symbolic proclamations, Trump's choice of words reflected the extreme nationalism of a White House that "seriously considered" an inaugural parade with military tanks rolling down the streets of Washington, D.C. "A new national pride stirs the American soul and inspires the American heart," he proclaimed.
As George Orwell once wrote, however, "Nationalism is not to be confused with patriotism." And nearly six months into Trump's presidency, it seems especially fitting on this Fourth of July to reflect on the meaning of patriotism and to consider how one can be patriotic during such deeply troubling times for the country.
Throughout our history, American patriotism too commonly has been associated with uniform praise for the military and uncritical support for war, along with a visceral belief in America's "greatness" that provided the rhetorical foundation for Trump's campaign. Especially in times of conflict--from the Spanish-American War to Vietnam to Iraq and Afghanistan -- those who dare to dissent have frequently met with public scorn and shouts of disloyalty. Protest, too often, has been deemed unpatriotic.
But there is also a different view, which defines patriotism as working to ensure the country lives up to its highest ideals. That view inspired the Nation magazine, which has amplified dissenting voices ever since its founding by abolitionists, to publish a special issue on patriotism for its 125th anniversary in July 1991. As the dust was settling on the Persian Gulf War, dozens of progressive writers, activists, scholars and leaders shared personal reflections on the topic, many of which feel particularly relevant today.
The Rev. Jesse Jackson, for example, linked patriotism to the fight against oppression. "America at its best guarantees opportunity," he argued, "and so fighting to expand the horizons of oppressed people is an act of patriotism." Noting that real patriotism is not always popular, especially among the elite, he wrote that "true patriots invariably disturb the comfortable and comfort the disturbed, and are persecuted in their lifetimes even as their accomplishments are applauded after their deaths." And he made it clear that empty displays of patriotism are no substitute for unwavering devotion to progress, saying, "We must never relinquish our sense of justice for a false sense of national pride."
Similarly, Texas columnist Molly Ivins reminded us that there is more to patriotism than flag-waving and fireworks. "I believe that patriotism is best expressed in our works, not our parades," she wrote. "We are the heirs of the most magnificent political legacy any people has ever been given." 'We hold these truths to be self-evident . . . ' It is the constant struggle to protect and enlarge that legacy, to make sure that it applies to all citizens, that patriotism lies.
Today, that struggle has taken on a renewed sense of urgency. The ongoing efforts to weaken access to health care, gut environmental protections, roll back voting rights, restrict immigration and ban travel from Muslim-majority countries (among other policies) constitute a full-blown assault on the rights to life and liberty envisioned in the Declaration of Independence. For many Americans, the pursuit of happiness is getting harder every day.
Yet in the face of such threats, it is inspiring to see millions of people nationwide engaging in the political process, many for the first time in their lives, and making their voices heard. In the resistance to Trump, we see clearly the resilience that has enabled Americans to overcome dark chapters in our country's past. In the growing movements demanding justice and equality for all, we see the hard work of patriotism flourishing all around us.
"In times of crisis," the historian Eric Foner wrote after the Sept. 11, 2001, attacks, "the most patriotic act of all is the unyielding defense of civil liberties, the right to dissent and equality before the law for all Americans." This is one of those times.
Keep ReadingShow Less
A Couple of Things About Jimmy Breslin
The brash, profane and brilliant newspaper columnist knew a lot about life — and Donald Trump
Mar 28, 2017
Last Wednesday, I sat down to write a piece about the late Jimmy Breslin, the newspaper columnist whose blunt yet eloquent and crafted prose captured New York and its environs as no one has since Damon Runyon.
Jimmy died a little more than a week ago and I wanted to say a few words to note -- as so many others have -- how he was an inspiration to anyone who on a regular basis has to put some thoughts together in a column for publication, often straining until tiny beads of blood pop out on their foreheads.
But there were distractions. As I started to write, news came from London of the lone wolf terrorist who barreled his SUV into pedestrians on Westminster Bridge, then dashed to Parliament and stabbed to death a policeman. Five died, including the attacker, and more than 50 were injured.
I think I know what Breslin would have thought of the toadying Nunes and I know for sure what Breslin thought about Trump, because he wrote about him on at least three occasions.
Then there was California Republican Devin Nunes, chair of the House Intelligence Committee, dashing to the White House to give to Donald Trump new info he'd received, allegedly on the surveillance of Trump associates who may have been colluding with Russia to mess with the election. None of this was shared with his fellow committee members.
I think I know what Breslin would have thought of the toadying Nunes and I know for sure what Breslin thought about Trump, because he wrote about him on at least three occasions.
The last was on June 7, 1990. Breslin was describing how easily Trump played the press for suckers, simply by returning their phone calls and bragging his way onto the front page. He was able to con financial types, too, getting them to sink more money into his grandiose real estate ventures. Breslin wrote,
"All Trump has to do is stick to the rules on which he was raised by his father in the County of Queens:
"Never use your own money. Steal a good idea and say it's your own. Do anything to get publicity. Remember that everybody can be bought."
As you can see, more than 25 years ago, he had Trump down cold. In fact, another great journalist, Pete Hamill, told the New York Daily News that Breslin saw Trump as the kind of guy who's "all mouth and couldn't fight his way out of an empty lot."
In another piece, Breslin described Trump as toastmaster at a celebration of greed. This was a column about the full-page ad Trump took out in the New York newspapers in 1989, demanding the death penalty for the Central Park Five, teenagers wrongly accused of the rape and attack of a woman jogger.
That last piece of his suggests to me that had Breslin lived to give us a column last Wednesday he would not have been as distracted as I was. He would not have been writing about the London attack or weaselly congressman Nunes. Instead, he would have tracked down the family and friends of Timothy Caughman, the 66-year-old African-African man who was stabbed to death on a Manhattan street late last Monday night, allegedly by a sword-wielding, self-proclaimed white supremacist named James Harris Jackson.
Reports indicate that Jackson intended his hate crime against Caughman as a test run for a mass murder of black men in Times Square. He's from Maryland but thought he'd get more attention by doing his worst in the media capital of the world. He turned himself in before committing more mayhem.
Some described his victim Caughman as a man rummaging though the trash for bottles and cans. But Breslin would have gone deeper, learned from acquaintances that Caughman had attended college, worked with young people, collected autographs and took selfies with celebrities; that he was cherished by the people who knew him.
It's possible Breslin would have cited New York Gov. Andrew Cuomo, son of Breslin's friend Mario, who said, "We must continue to deny that the ideas behind this cowardly crime have any place in democratic society." And he probably would have pointed out that while President Trump was quick to condemn the deaths in London at the hands of a British-born Muslim, he has yet to issue a peep or a tweet about the death of Timothy Caughman at the hands of a homegrown American racist.
It would have made Breslin really mad. "Rage is the only quality," he said, "which has kept me, or anybody I have ever studied, writing columns for newspapers."
I was very young when I first became aware of Jimmy Breslin. It was in the days just after the death of President John F. Kennedy. One of the local newspapers in my area picked up the columns Breslin was writing about the assassination for the New York Herald Tribune.
There was the now-famous piece about Clifton Pollard, the $3.01-an-hour gravedigger who used a backhoe to dig Kennedy's grave at Arlington Cemetery. That Pollard story was mentioned in almost every Breslin obit, but the column I especially remember was "A Death in Emergency Room One." Much of it was about Dr. Malcolm Perry, the Dallas surgeon summoned to do what he could:
"The president, Perry thought. He's much bigger than I thought he was.
"He noticed the tall, dark-haired girl in the plum dress that had her husband's blood all over the front of the skirt. She was standing out of the way, over against the gray tile wall. Her face was tearless and it was set, and it was to stay that way because Jacqueline Kennedy, with a terrible discipline, was not going to take her eyes from her husband's face.
"Then Malcolm Perry stepped up to the aluminum hospital cart and took charge of the hopeless job of trying to keep the 35th president of the United States from death."
I read a paperback collection of Breslin's Herald Tribune columns and then his first book, Can't Anybody Here Play this Game? -- an account of the New York Mets' disastrous first season. They lost 120 games, still a major league baseball record. The title was a quote from Mets manager Casey Stengel, who also said, "Been in this game 100 years, but I see new ways to lose 'em I never knew existed before."
And yet New Yorkers loved the hapless Mets. Breslin wrote:
"This is a team for the cab driver who gets held up and the guy who loses out on a promotion because he didn't maneuver himself to lunch with the boss enough. It is the team for every guy who has to get out of bed in the morning and go to work for short money on a job he does not like. And it is the team for every woman who looks up ten years later and sees her husband eating dinner in a T-shirt and wonders how the hell she ever let this guy talk her into getting married. The Yankees? Who does well enough to root for them, Laurance Rockefeller?"
I wanted to write like Breslin, cracking tough and wise, just as I wanted to write like Pete Hamill and Gay Talese, Hunter Thompson, Tom Wolfe, Molly Ivins and Chicago's Mike Royko. After I moved to Manhattan, our paths crossed from time to time. Once I shot a television segment with Jimmy in the old Daily News city room. He talked about Sinclair Lewis' novel Babbitt and how its portrayal of conformity and jingoism made it a perfect book for the Reagan years. On top of everything else, he was a very well-read fellow.
But our oddest encounter was in 1976, when I briefly held a job as Jimmy Breslin's bodyguard. I am not making this up.
He was receiving an honorary degree from the College of the Holy Cross in Worcester, Massachusetts, and delivering the commencement address. A friend of mine who worked there called and asked me to accompany Breslin on the short plane ride to Worcester. In those days, Jimmy had a reputation for two-fisted drinking and I was charged by my friend with the task of getting Breslin to graduation sober.
Pete Hamill told the New York Daily News that Breslin saw Trump as the kind of guy who's 'all mouth and couldn't fight his way out of an empty lot.'
It turned out to be just about the easiest job I ever had. Jimmy and I met up at LaGuardia Airport and the first words out of his mouth were, "I've got the worst effing hangover in my life." The thought of a drink repulsed him.
So we safely arrived in Worcester. But the friend who had hired me thought it would be a swell idea to take Breslin to a working-class bar and have him interact with the locals. And not only that, my somewhat obtuse friend had invited the NBC affiliate to come shoot the proceedings for the 11 o'clock news.
This joint was hardcore, with picnic tables and folding chairs inside and sawdust on the wooden floor, a hangout for serious blue-collar imbibers. They valued their alcohol but even more their privacy because the second those bright TV lights went on in that dark saloon, patrons scattered, howling profane variations on, "What if my boss/wife/husband/girlfriend/boyfriend, etc., sees me!?"
Jimmy handled the difficult situation with aplomb and that night in his hotel room, hangover be damned, wrote a hell of a commencement speech. Two of the other degree recipients were Mother Teresa and federal judge Arthur Garrity, who two years before had ordered mandatory busing to desegregate Boston's public schools. There was violence and Garrity received death threats. The college was honoring the jurist's brave and difficult decision and in his speech, Breslin did, too:
"As we are here this morning, men in power meet in Washington to discuss ways of getting around Arthur Garrity's decisions. Is there, these men ask, some way to use polite meaningless words as a method of avoiding moral obligations? To Arthur Garrity the answer is clear. The answer is no."
Ceremony over and hangover forgotten, Breslin headed for the hotel bar, the rest of us in tow. At the graduation, he had run into a pal from his old neighborhood, a military officer of high rank, and by the end of that boozy afternoon, the two were on the phone long distance to Queens, shouting to a character who frequently popped up in Breslin's columns, Fat Thomas the bookie.
It was quite a day. Somewhere I still have a copy of the Worcester newspaper from that afternoon with Breslin's commencement speech featured as the lead story. Jimmy autographed the front page.
He stopped drinking a decade or so later -- "Whiskey betrays you when you need it most," he said -- but kept pouring out the prose, brilliant and rude and irascible, looking out for the underdog, calling out the bad guys; always to the point and a perpetual pain in the neck, usually for the right reasons.
Of his vast range of experience, good and bad, Jimmy Breslin said, "I was about 67 people in my life." Lucky for the rest of us, all of them could write.
Keep ReadingShow Less
Most Popular