After my last post my dad pulled me aside during a visit wanting to talk to me about what I’d written. He shared some of his perspectives and then asked me some pointed questions: Had I considered the other side of the story? What would I propose the country do? It was a tricky conversation to navigate, given our opposing political views, but we navigated it. And I spent time after mulling our exchange and how I’d respond. Below is the letter I sent him with some small edits.
Dear Dad,
When I saw you the week before last we had a conversation about my most recent post. You asked why I hadn’t shared the other side of the story.
I wrote that essay in a moment of despair and rage after seeing the now infamous picture of 5-year-old Liam Canejo Ramos in his backpack and blue bunny hat being detained by a federal immigration enforcement agent and the news of Customs and Border Patrol agents murder of Alex Pretti. The piece was not unbiased. And I told you as much. That what I’d written was not intended as a news story representing multiple perspectives on an issue, but an opinion piece representing my reaction to the events in Minneapolis and around the country.
Nonetheless, you pressed me to consider the other side. So I asked what you meant. You pointed out that I’d focused a lot on Liam and his father and how they’d been treated by immigration enforcement. But what about the potential trauma that Liam’s family had inflicted on Liam during their journey to the United States? While I acknowledged that the trip migrants make to cross our southern border is often perilous, and that Liam might well have experienced hardship and witnessed difficult things, for the purposes of this essay I was more concerned about the treatment he faced at the hands of the U.S. government. As an American citizen, I am horrified by the violent, inhumane ways in which U.S. agents are treating immigrants and U.S. citizens alike. The purpose of my essay was to express that disapproval and to point out that if we as citizens stay silent about injustice, then we are complicit in it. And I don’t want to be complicit.
You are a devout Christian. You regularly seek counsel with the Lord and challenge yourself and your children to follow the examples set by Jesus Christ. I pointed out to you that Jesus called us to love one another as he loved us. I told you that, while I’m not a church-going Christian, I do have a plastic Jesus figurine on the dashboard of my van. Partly for the comedy, but also because I do believe Jesus is a symbol of how we can be better humans. And I try, imperfectly, to follow that example. In writing about the current crisis in our country I am absolutely coming from a place of love. Love of my country and love of other human beings. The rage I felt was rooted in pain. A bone-deep ache for another world. Another way.
You “Uncle Tom’s Cabin” and the role it played in starting the Civil War. Words matter. I reassured you that I don’t have that many readers. I’m no Harriet Beecher Stowe. Then you pointed out that if I’m going to complain about the system, I should have some possible solutions. You asked, “What would you do?”
I’m not a policymaker or legal expert. I’m just an American mother, wife, daughter, sister, teacher, aunt, friend, and neighbor existing in what feels like an increasingly authoritarian state.
Nonetheless, since your request, I’ve been thinking a lot about possible solutions.
What are the alternatives to rounding up anyone suspected of being in our country illegally by armed, masked agents of the state and warehousing them by the thousands without due process in crowded, under-resourced and speciously named detention centers?
For one, we could stop doing that. Immediately.
We could redirect the billions of dollars earmarked for the hiring, “training,” and arming of thousands of agents to terrorize American communities into a thoughtful, methodic, and most critically, HUMANE system for registering migrants.
We talked about how this wasn’t the first time that America has had an influx of migrants. It’s not earth-shattering to point out that unless they can claim 100 percent Native American ancestry, chances are, most Americans are descendants of people who emigrated here by choice or by force from other global locales. The United States experienced waves of migrations during colonialism; in the 1840s and 1850s from Northern and Western Europe; from the 1880s to the 1920s from Southern and Eastern Europe; and then from the 1960s to current times from Asia, the Caribbean and Latin America.
In the past, the U.S. government processed incoming immigrants at places like Ellis Island, attempting to ensure that new arrivals were healthy, self-sufficient, and unlikely to require public assistance. Inspectors also kept an eye out for morally problematic arrivals – suspected anarchists, political discontents, criminals, and the scourge of humanity- unwed expectant mothers. During its busiest year, 1907, Ellis Island screened more than 1 million immigrants. The system wasn’t perfect. There were no passports or visas required for new arrivals. And there was no U.S.-government-sealed official paperwork given to the immigrants who successfully went through the inspection process. No citizenship tests. No-H1 visas. No birth certificates. No green cards. No photo IDs. No papers. No way of really tracking anyone. And yet, here we all are. Surviving.
I digress. What could a modern registration process look like? What information would be deemed essential for entry? I don’t know. Name? Birthdate? Country of origin? Occupation? Contact information? Reason for emigrating? Whether they’re a tourist, a temporary resident, an asylum seeker, or are seeking citizenship. From there, we could tease out the plan moving forward depending on their reason for coming. Whether they have a place to stay, job prospects, familial connections, etc.
Actually, scratch that, maybe none of that is essential. What would Jesus say is the most essential information about a person? How they treat others. Their values. What drives them. Their integrity.
But that’s hardly the stuff of bureaucracy is it?
I suppose we could incentivize registration. Make it Step 1 in the process of becoming a citizen, if citizenship is what they’re seeking. Where would it happen? I imagine at all international airports? At borders? At places where we know people cross all those invisible lines designated as borders. Where you are in or out.
We could develop a system of support for new migrants- modern day Hull Houses– where migrants could get help with education, affordable housing, healthcare, and jobs. To access this system you have to complete Step 1. There could be benchmarks or check-ins established that create a pathway toward citizenship. Acquiring an education. Getting a job. Paying taxes. Community service. All requirements for anyone- not just immigrants- to be a good citizen. And actually, I suspect it’s what many immigrants are likely already doing.
Who is monitoring all this? An ethical, well-trained, and most importantly, humane re-imagined immigration agency. Who pays for it? I imagine the taxes we’re collecting from prospective citizens could more than off-set costs. I imagine the money we would NOT be spending on detention centers, military-grade weapons, and tear gas could be used toward this process.
But what about current American citizens who need an education, affordable housing, healthcare and jobs? Shouldn’t they have access to quality education, affordable housing, healthcare, and jobs just like these migrants? Absolutely. Our government should be helping its citizens find affordable options for managing basic needs. For helping them pursue life, liberty, and happiness. I’m not great at capitalism, but don’t you have to spend money to make money? I imagine an investment in the welfare of our citizens, is an investment into the long-term welfare of our country. I imagine if we look after the basic needs of our citizens- building a healthy, happy populace, we might see dividends.
Our current system – one where there’s an ever-widening wealth gap, a broken health care system, limited affordable housing, gender inequality, systemic racism, etc. et. al- is unsustainable. We as citizens should be questioning who might want to sustain it and why. Because those are the people our current structures are serving the most.
When I went to Penn State, I double majored. I figured if I studied something like international relations/political science it might take the sting out of my journalism degree* for you- I know you weren’t excited to have a journalist in the family. Learning philosophies about how nations, governments, and non-governmental organizations interacted with each other was fascinating. However, I found myself frustrated that the entirety of international relations was broken down into two camps: Realists and Idealists. Realists believe that the world is chaotic and violent and that political actors are driven to make choices by power and competition and that it’s every man for himself, therefore foreign policy should be guided by each state’s own self interest. In contrast, Idealists believe that foreign policy should be rooted in moral and ethical values that promote things like cooperation, human rights, and peace.
It doesn’t take a great detective to decide which side of that divide I fall on.
My frustration with this construct is partly because of the words themselves: Realist vs. Idealist. How the descriptors of a certain philosophy add weight or merit to one side versus the other.
The Realists would argue that their worldview is the most pragmatic and correct because it is based in reality. What is currently happening on the ground. And certainly the world we live in right now affirms that, right? Our current president is very much interested in creating a global order of fiefdoms presided over by aggressive, violent, “manly” heads of state. They would point to all the world’s conflict and disorder and say, “See! Violence is real! Conflict is real! Human nature is one driven by power and discord! Therefore states must respond in kind.”
But all they have done is co-opted a powerful word, “Real,” and used it to describe a limited scope of human and state behavior. One that allows them to justify the use of force to prop up their own self interests and thirst for power and control.
The other camp- with their peace-loving, can’t-we-all-just-get-along? Kum-ba-yah attitudes is given the word “Idealist.” Rooted in the word “idea.” According to etymoline, “an archetype” or “A concept of a thing in the mind of God” or “to see.”
The names we use matter. An idea is not concrete. It can’t be touched. It can’t be held. Whereas the word “real” is related to things that are tangible. Things that are in existence.
These designations frustrate me because it implies that one worldview is somehow more valid or correct than the other. The word “real” is lodged in observable events. The word “ideal” in a nebulous cloud of beliefs or concepts. The word “real” feels sturdy and practical. The word “ideal” feels ethereal and naive.
In reality, both worldviews are based on ideas about human behavior AND both worldviews are based on concrete evidence of human behavior. While it is true that states can be violent and uncooperative, in reality, what is also true is that states can be peaceful and cooperative. While it is true that human beings act in ego-centric and power-hungry ways, it is also true that they can be generous and self-sacrificing on both micro and macro scales. That humans and states act aggressively and selfishly AND they can promote reciprocity and love. We just don’t hear about the peaceful resolutions as often in an “if it bleeds, it leads” media landscape. The good news gets buried by the bad.
What’s more, dividing the possible actions state actors take into two categories doesn’t account for the myriad nuances and gray areas and alternatives. Is it any wonder we keep telling the story of Us vs. Them when the structure we are given to describe behaviors is limited? When it reinforces that there are only two ways of being.
What is true is that this whole enterprise of states and governments and laws and borders are just ideas that have been written into reality. So it’s possible, then, to write different ideas into being. That’s exactly what our country’s founders did – imperfect as some of those ideas were. And what we as citizens of this idea of a nation are called to do.
What is true is that the story that we tell about how our current systems have come into being- stretching back into recorded time- are coming from a limited set of voices. The people who hold the power are the people whose stories are told. They are the people dictating the stories to the hired scribes. They are the ones with access to education and the resources and technology to record the tale. They are the ones who have raced to assimilate “the others” and homogenize the power structure and erase the oral histories that spoke of alternative paths. So it’s no wonder the “Realist” story we tell about how to create policy, how to act on the global stage is centered on power. If you can control the narrative you can maintain control of the state and the people. And the loss of that control has enormous implications on the powerful.
Driving to school the other day, watching my little dashboard Jesus bounce around on his spring, it occurred to me that his life and his death told this story. He was executed because he dared to share a different vision for how humans could function. He spoke truth to power and it threatened the powerful so they killed him. And then his story was co-opted by powerful people both as a means of controlling the people and controlling the narrative. I don’t actually think Jesus would feel comforted by the idea that his life and death has been used as a means to guilt generations of humanity into behaving a particular way. He certainly wouldn’t abide by his name or his teachings being used to justify hateful actions toward any human.
To read the history of America through the lens in which I was raised with – a lens that very much perpetuates today – women and non-white men were all but bit players. The set pieces in front of which affluent white men had big thoughts and enacted big plans. The ones toiling in the wings or else acting as the straight man for all the punchlines.
Here’s an idea: Centuries from now, when the history books tell the story of your daughters and granddaughters and great granddaughters, I want them to be woven into the fabric of the narrative- not just the obligatory “Top 10” lists of Women’s History Month. The same for black people and brown people. I want the people’s history to be for all people. Because that’s something we can build off of. That’s something we can change course with.
Growing up, you had some talking points that you often shared with us. One was about choices – how everyone makes choices about how they live their lives and each of those choices come with their own consequences, good and bad, that we have to live with. The other wisdom you shared was that real love comes from sacrifice. Prioritizing other people’s needs ahead of your own.
In the country I envision, our leaders make the choice to prioritize their constituent’s needs over their own self interests. That they are humble public servants rather than self-aggrandizing and power hungry individuals who are only looking out for their own bottom line.
To answer your question, what should we do? My suggestion is we, as a nation, choose to write policies that keep humanity at the center. My suggestion is that we start by revising our campaign finance laws so that corporations do not get more of a voice in politics than people. That my vote, my neighbor’s votes, should have more of an impact than a billionaire’s bottomless piggy bank. My suggestion is we spend less time focusing on investments and production and all the profits to be reaped and more time focusing on actual people and community. That we continue the work of our founders and the work Lincoln called us to do the last time our nation split in half.
My suggestion is that we turn ideas grounded in love into a reality grounded in love. My suggestion is we do better.
When I left the other day you told me, “the Lord calls us to love each other.” And I told you I didn’t need the lord to call me to love you, that I love you because you’re my dad and because I choose to love you.
Whether we believe in the lord or not, if we don’t choose to love each other, then things don’t change. They don’t get better.
I know you might disagree with some or all of what I wrote. I love you anyway.
Love,
Susan
*Dad did respond and say he didn’t know why I thought he was opposed to my journalism degree. I made the assumption because of how often he spoke negatively about journalists. As it turns out I’ve been wrong about that for the past 20 years. He said he thought I made a good journalist – but always thought I’d end up in a classroom- something I don’t remember ever really expressing out loud to him in my younger years. Odd how life turns out. Odd having to revise the story of your life.