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Missing something

A long time ago – 1942 top be exact – I was in the second grade at East Wenatchee Grade School, East Wenatchee, Washington.

Remember your second grade classroom?  Wall of windows.  Wall of blackboards.  Little desks lined up evenly, front-to- back, side-to-side. Nailed to wooden rails.  American flag hanging up front.  Teacher’s desk front and center.

Imagine 22-26 seven-year-olds.  About evenly split between boys and girls.  Sitting at attention.

Now, imagine four armed Douglas County Sheriff’s deputies entering through the door in the rear of the classroom.  Their boots sounding loudly on the shiny wooden floor as they marched toward the now-scared-to-death kids.

Quickly, the big men scooped up half-a-dozen tots and carried them – screaming – out the door and down the empty hall.

Then – silence.  Except for the crying of kids in the room, now sitting in terror.  Absolutely scared to death.

I lived that scene.  I, too, cried.  For a long time.

In my time, the kids carried out were Japanese- American.  Again, early 1942.  When every Japanese-American in the nation was suddenly looked at as “personally” being our national enemy.  No matter how old.  No matter how young.  An enemy we were suddenly at war with.

I had no youthful bad feelings about young friends I’d probably have known since birth.  No excuse that Jimmy Yoshida had been born three blocks from that classroom filled with desks.  That seven-year-old was now treated as an enemy combatant.  Same for his parents who were being arrested.  At about the same moment.  And, likely, they’d have been born in this country, too.

All this – and much more – flooded my mind while reading about our President using the word “invasion” while describing immigration at our Southern border.  “Invasion.”  “Invasion.”  A word normally used to describe an armed attack by someone.  A word that conjures up scenes of tanks, artillery, hundreds and hundreds of heavily-armed troops.  Invasion.  By an “enemy.”

What we’re really talking about here are small groups of Mexican/Nicaraguan/Brazilian/Chilean, etc. families and friends coming North over our Southern border.  Mostly unarmed, carrying prized possessions and family heirlooms on their backs.  All seeking freedoms not available to them in their home countries.  All wanting a better world for their kids and their neighbor’s kids.

“Invasion,” he said loudly, using the word to condemn.
I sincerely wish we could “package” – and export – what these people are coming for.  Freedom.  Opportunity.  Better lives.  Respect.  Peace and safety for their families.

Since we can’t “package” all that, they have to come for it.  And, therein, lies the crux of the problem. It’s not so much the individual immigrant as it is what comes out of our President’s mouth.  Words without thought.  Words without understanding.  Words without compassion.  Dangerous words.  Ignorant words that can hurt.

The President might not mean it that way.  But, some of the things he says regarding immigrants remind me of sheriff’s deputies.  Of boots sounding in the hallway.  Of cries by terrified youngsters.Our President has no idea how to deal with the common man.  That’s because he’s never been one.  He’s never had to reach for something just out of his grasp.  He’s never had to live without something he couldn’t have.

Like freedom.

 

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