Posts Tagged ‘immigrants’

Cornucopia Time!

November 22, 2018

Well I’m glad those Native Americans taught the Pilgrims how to plant corn, aren’t you?

Back in the day, it was. . . 1620 or so.

Those Pilgrims had found themselves in a tight spot over in Europe. The hyper-institutionalized Church—both the Roman version and the Brit version—had become too high and mighty for its own good. So those Puritans, looking for a purer manifestation of the Old Time Religion, pulled up stakes and lit out for the New World.

When they got here, it was a whole new ball game; they didn’t have all that advanced Euro culture and tech to make life manageable as it had been back in the Old World.

So, thank God for Them Injuns, huh?!

Squanto, or Squatcho or Pocahontas, Sacajawea—or whoever Injun it was—demonstrated for the clueless Pilgrims how to grow corn, as you see in the pic here:

CornNtiv

Well by ’n by, as it turned out, those Pilgrims made it through, with a little help from their friends, new friends. They managed to hang on, get through a few winters and all that adversity we hear about at Turkey Day, if we’re not too busy watching football or gearing up for the black friday ritual dance.

Anyway, after those Pilgrims squeaked through, and word got back to the old country, there were other groups of emigrants who headed west for America. And for all kinds of reasons. . . religious, economic, etcetera etcetera, and just to feel free in an undeveloped continent that wasn’t so crowded and constricted with religious and political authoritarian blahblah.

In fact, the buzz about the New World got so widespread that after a century or two it went viral. Next thing you know there’s everybody and their brother piling on ships to go west young man and get the hell out of dodge and make it over here where a man could breathe free and a woman could too.

Long about 1886 or so, those crazy French sent the Statue of Liberty over here, because they were so caught up in the idea of freedom, and they knew we had done a better job of making liberty really happen, see’n as how we didn’t have all that ancient class system and religious institutional inertia to obstruct our westward quest for freedom and liberty.

Gosh, France!   Thanks for that statue, y’all.

StatLibty

Couldn’t a done it without you.

Anyway, long about the time that Lady Liberty showed up in New York harbor—that was pretty much the most intense period for folks get’n fed up with the Old World and strikin’ out for the New.

Crazy! Leavin’ it all behind and coming over here. Unbelievable. That took some balls, y’all! Or some gumption, or chutzpah, or hutzpah or  courage, or just down-right down-n-out desperation.

Anyway, they did.  They came. They forsook the Old in search of the New. So many of those Europeans and other, Africans, Asians, etcetera etcetera caught a whiff of the Liberty that was blowin’ in the wind across the wide world and so many of ‘em just chucked it all—all the the old stuff—and threw it in a rucksack or whatever and headed for the land of the free and home of the brave.

Like I said before, it went viral. And about the time that Lady Liberty got her spot in New York Harbor—that was the most intense time for folks coming this way.

And they just kept coming, and coming, and coming. . .

Brutha Neil wrote a song about it, y’all:

     https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cRTHdC7k4uY

And they’re still coming! God bless  ‘em! Coming to America!

Nowadays, some Americans who got their britches on too tight are trying to put a stop to all the folks who wanna get in on the greatness of America (Again).

They need to stop and wonder: what if your great great great great grampa and granma had’t gotten in back in the day?

Where would you be now?

Probably bobbin’ along on a rubber dingy somewhere between Lesvos and Athens, or between Belfast and Boston, or between Havana and Miami, or between San Salvador and San Isidro, or between Bangladesh and Bangor, or somewhere between a rock and a hard place.

And if your politics doesn’t allow for the extension of American liberty unto them newbies and immigrants, maybe you should adjust your politics, so you don’t feel so high and mighty about what all you got, but rather—renew the vision for what this America is all about—the land of the free and home of the brave.

Free enough to let that Freedom be extended, and brave enough to not be all paranoid about the new immigrants.

This may seem kinda naive and corny to you. But let’s not forget this is the last Thursday in November, Thanksgiving.

Cornucopia Time! There’s plenty enough for everybody!  Spread it around.  As Brutha Paul sang it:            Let ‘em in!

King of Soul

News of Mr. HoHoHo

December 15, 2016

With all the fake news that’s been flying around lately, I wanted to make a contribution toward alleviating the problem of this malodorous development.

I read on the internet somewhere that fake news is similar to a disease in some ways. Fortuitously, it has been shown that nationwide outbreaks of fake news can be snuffed out with a vaccine, which is easily injected because of multitudinous media conglomeration points such as twitter, facebook and so on and so forth.

Now you know a vaccine is an actual sample of the dreaded malady, and if injected into the body politic, it can act in such a way as to provoke the body’s generation of antibodies that will work against the dreaded disease.

Therefore, in the interests of the body politic of this malingered nation I hereby am shooting up (uploading) an appropriately innocuous minuscule amount of fake news for purposes of turning this damn epidemic around so that it will no longer plague us with its irrelevancies.

So I dug this story up on the internet, and  I’m injecting it into your cyber-concsciousness.

Now you might feel a little pinch, but don’t worry it’s all for the good.

It has been reported that in the recent election, an illegal immigrant has voted. The alleged alien had slidden under the radar (it just happened to be in the state of Maryland) and was able to obtain a ballot and vote in the presidential election.

The votive offender has been identified as an illegal alien from Indochina. We have incredible sources who confirm that his identity as  HoHoHo Claus Minh, although the counterintuitive ID which he used to enter the poll location has been proven to be fake; it was fabricated in 1982 by Venezualan hackers, who had learned their malodious craft in Russian sweat shops under the guise of cranking out unlicensed athletic shoes which the Chicago Cubs allegedly obtained for recently-disclosed purposes  of gaining traction so they could teach the  Cleveland sluggers a thing or two about our national sport. But this has not been corroborated.

Nevertheless,  be on the lookout. At the present time Mr. HoHoHo is still at large, but we have been able to obtain an image of him, which was snapped by an alert journalist as the illegitimate vote-caster was illegally depositing his ballot into the box.

HoVote

In an undercover interview conducted outside the polling booth Mr. HoHoHo intimated that he was very relieved to be able to vote again, as he had not voted since 1956 back in his home country of Indochina. His rationale for not voting since that time was, as he shared, that he was so upset that in his country a great election had been conducted in 1956 but the politicians down south refused to conduct the election in their precincts because, as Mr. HoHoHo said, “they were pretty damn sure they would lose the election!” And so they and their lackeys just didn’t show up; they declined to participate in authentic democratic shenanigans. Now is that any way to run an election, or for that matter, a whole dam country!?

We think not, he reportedly said.

And so he has been mad about it since that time. Can you blame him? As Pulitzer prize-winning poet Bobby Dylan once said:

“I pity the poor immigrant, who wishes he should’ve stayed at home.”

Although, to be fair, Mr. HoHoHo definitely does not wish he had stayed at home, because life in the America is, like, great!

Just glad to be here, he said.  He disclosed that he lucked out–thought he’d have to climb over a big wall but as it was all he had to do was take a little swim to Key West.

The good news is he thereby got an  opportunity to become a citizen and cast vote in great US of A. Accordingly, the reclusive Mr. HoHoHo has stepped forward out of the shadows to participate in the USA vote-gathering. This is quite an accomplishment when you consider that he is the only man in history to ever defeat all three, JFK, LBJ, and RMN, in an undeclared military theatre.

Mr. HoHoHo declined to divulge for whom he voted, although he did allow that their initials were not HRC; nor were the the DT.

All in all, the beleaguered alien seemed quite alive and well, and doing his part to make a positive difference in the good ole US of A!

HoHoHo

(Please notify the CDC if this vaccine has successfully immunized your devices against the dreaded fake news epidemic.)

Glass Chimera

Them Immigrants

November 22, 2014

She said  Send me 

your huddled masses yearning to be free.

He said Lend me 

your immigrant asses yearning to work for me.

She calls out for all mankind

have a little compassion willya cuz they need some time

to get their act together, find some opportunity–

to make it on their own, juz like you and me.

 

He insists they play by the rules

cuz  our ancestors were no fools–

they broke the ground,  forged their own tools!

She said yeah but that was then and this is now

they just got off the boat–they don’t know how– 

not yet.

Just get

me some productivity he said,

while masses toiled and earnings fed.

 

But then the Great Recession changed all that;

by n bye entitlements got fat;

while jobs went stale, wages flat.

All that pie in the sky we be been dreaming of

went splat in the face when push came to shove.

So now them huddled masses yearning to be free

dun scooped them jobs from you an me,

or so they say.

 

But hey,

it’s all good in the ‘burbs, it’s hunky-dory in the ‘hood,

them doin’ what them could, we doin’ what we should,

raisin’ upward mobilitators, squeezin’ out them couch potatoes,

’til black swans fly o’er white doves’ gains,

and burnin’ wood doth move against more-of-the-same.

 

Smoke

The “class” thing

January 25, 2014

I am an American, a southerner, college-educated working fellow, married with three grown, and reasonably happy. I love my wife and I love my life. I am a follower of Jesus. Although I do a 40-hour gig as a maintenance guy for 92  apartments, I am not a member of the working “class.”

All this talk these days, arising from the Democrats and sociologists and talking media heads, about “class” this and “class” that, the “working class,” the “privileged” class, the so-called “disappearing middle class”–I wouldn’t give you a nickel for all of it.

As far as I’m concerned, I am an individual, my own man, and beyond classification. God made me just the way I am, thank you, and I thank Him for that. So you can call me middle-class if you want to. You can classify me in the disappearing middle because my working wage is 2/3 of what I was bringing in at my peak, a dozen or so years ago when I was fifty years old. You can call me middle class, working class, dumb-ass, or whatever you wanna call me, you can call me ray, you can call me jay, or ray jay, or  you can call me “hey” or “hey you,” but ya doesn’t have to call me anything at all.

The only identity that matters is what my wife, my grownup young-uns, loved ones and friends call me–Carey. And btw I’ll soon be publishing the third novel, which is named Smoke. So put that in your literary pipe and smoke it.

This little class rant came up this morning because I have been hearing more and more about these designated class distinctions lately, ever since, oh, couple years ago when the Occupy thing started and they were out in the streets–I watched them for two days in Vancouver and Seattle–with their signs about the 1% and the 99% and all that redistributionist and income disparity hype.

Maybe I’m in the 99%, maybe I’m way down in the 50% or even below that. I don’t care. If I had a chance to join the 1%, I would jump at it. This great country was built on upward mobility.

We used to call it the American Dream. I still do. I’m not subscribing to this neo-marxian class stuff. No thank you. It’s just for political manipulation, and I am no political hack’s lackey. Therefore am I not pleased to accept some sociologist’s semi-permanent societal place assignment. Well, maybe “first class”. I would settle for that, but I’m not buying the proletarian, nor the bourgeois label.

Speaking of “not buying”. . .

This morning I began reading David Horowitz’ excellent autobiography, Radical Son.

Here is a passage from page 39 that got my attention, then became, it seems, the impetus for the little bloggish rumination you are now reading. From Radical Son:

“At the time my parents moved into the (Sunnyside) Gardens in 1940, they could have purchased the house on Bliss Street for $4000–less than its original price. But as radicals, they had scorned the opportunity to own property and moved in as renters. Seven years later, the Gardens were acquired by new owners, who decided to sell of the individual units, including our house. A Sunnyside Tenants’ Association was organized to resist the sales.”

Why did David’s parents not buy their house when they had the chance to do it? Weren’t they Americans? Well not yet, apparently.

They were second generation Americans, from Russian immigrants, and they identified themselves as communists. I understand that angst; its where they came from, how they were brought up and so forth. They did not subscribe to the American dream, but to the Russian communist dream that they had brought with them, and then dragged it as excess baggage off the boat at Ellis Island.

Son David later learned, in the school of hard knocks, what it means to be an American, to be an opportunist for yourself and your family, instead of letting yourself be limited by an imposed class identity. If his parents had been willing to learn that lesson in 1940 when they bought their home in Sunnyside Gardens, maybe they would have acceded a little more successfully to the American Dream motivator. But hey, they were immigrants; what can you expect? It takes a generation or two off the boat to acquire a taste for this melting pot porridge. David Horowitz’ life is testimony to that, and that is what his book is about.

Now I’m a southerner, and very different from all those immigrants and their Old World forebears who got off the boat at New York Harbor. (My wife, Pat, is however from an Irish family from New Jersey.) And although my life experience is very different from that of Mr. Horowitz, I sure enjoy reading a good book, which is btw, the key (reading and education) to overcoming all this classist entrapment that’s going around now.

Try it some time, you’ll learn a thing or two from reading a book, even if its on your Kindle.

Smoke