This post is by my very wise and beautiful friend Jenny Jones Moats
As I was traversing my neighborhood this morning with my dog, Bonnie at my side, I spied a cat crossing the street up ahead. This cat looked suspiciously like my cat, Sapphire. I was surprised to see him a couple blocks from home, but he probably considers it home territory. He disappeared before I could confirm if it was my kitty or not. Bonnie and I continued. It was a lovely fall day in Arizona.
Around the corner, I passed a modest little well kept house. A father and two teenage children, obviously of Hispanic descent were conversing in their driveway. An American flag was proudly being flown from a pole on their front porch railing. And of course, being from Arizona, where the question of legality permeates the mindset of the state’s inhabitants, I wondered silently if they were “legal.” If so, were their parents “legal,” or were they descended from one of the dreaded “anchor babies?”
I silently thanked my European ancestors who came over to this country two centuries ago, for having the foresight to come at a time when it was possible to become “legal” by simply saving up enough money for passage to the US and proving that you are healthy and not a criminal. They came here with a dream of a better life for themselves and their children. They came to escape the tyranny of the kings, and a chance to benefit from the fruits of their labors.
Pretty much the same reasons the “illegals” risked their lives to cross our sacred borders. They came for freedom from poverty and the tyranny of a corrupt government, and from the drug dealers and criminals that rule their home country. I wonder if the Native Americans thought it was “legal” when we destroyed their way of life in this land they had inhabited for so many centuries, and declared it our own. Did they think it was “legal” when we traded worthless trinkets for the right to possess the land they had called home for centuries? Was it “legal” for us to kill all the buffalo, and destroy their entire way of life, so we could “civilize” this land?
The Hispanic ancestors of the illegal border crossers intermittently inhabited this region long before my ancestors ever knew of its existence. Yet I am legal, and they are not. Lucky me. That family over there looks a lot like my family. Except that their skin is brown. And they may be “criminals.” Or their parents may be “criminals.” Funny, but they don’t look or act like criminals to me. They look and act like an American family that wants a chance at the American lifestyle. To live and work and play in this bountiful country that my ancestors helped to settle. And yes, took by force and one sided “deals.”
I round the corner at the end of my street. Sapphire is coming toward me and mewing “hello.” My friendly cat, who knows no borders. My American cat, who does not have enough sense to stay on his own street, in his own back yard. My adventurous cat, who recklessly breaches fences to trespass onto other people’s territory. I hope Sheriff Joe doesn’t come along and ask him for his papers. Lucky for him, he’s white and not brown!
Jenny Jones Moats
As I was traversing my neighborhood this morning with my dog, Bonnie at my side, I spied a cat crossing the street up ahead. This cat looked suspiciously like my cat, Sapphire. I was surprised to see him a couple blocks from home, but he probably considers it home territory. He disappeared before I could confirm if it was my kitty or not. Bonnie and I continued. It was a lovely fall day in Arizona.Around the corner, I passed a modest little well kept house. A father and two teenage children, obviously of Hispanic descent were conversing in their driveway. An American flag was proudly being flown from a pole on their front porch railing. And of course, being from Arizona, where the question of legality permeates the mindset of the state’s inhabitants, I wondered silently if they were “legal.” If so, were their parents “legal,” or were they descended from one of the dreaded “anchor babies?”
I silently thanked my European ancestors who came over to this country two centuries ago, for having the foresight to come at a time when it was possible to become “legal” by simply saving up enough money for passage to the US and proving that you are healthy and not a criminal. They came here with a dream of a better life for themselves and their children. They came to escape the tyranny of the kings, and a chance to benefit from the fruits of their labors.
Pretty much the same reasons the “illegals” risked their lives to cross our sacred borders. They came for freedom from poverty and the tyranny of a corrupt government, and from the drug dealers and criminals that rule their home country. I wonder if the Native Americans thought it was “legal” when we destroyed their way of life in this land they had inhabited for so many centuries, and declared it our own. Did they think it was “legal” when we traded worthless trinkets for the right to possess the land they had called home for centuries? Was it “legal” for us to kill all the buffalo, and destroy their entire way of life, so we could “civilize” this land?
The Hispanic ancestors of the illegal border crossers intermittently inhabited this region long before my ancestors ever knew of its existence. Yet I am legal, and they are not. Lucky me. That family over there looks a lot like my family. Except that their skin is brown. And they may be “criminals.” Or their parents may be “criminals.” Funny, but they don’t look or act like criminals to me. They look and act like an American family that wants a chance at the American lifestyle. To live and work and play in this bountiful country that my ancestors helped to settle. And yes, took by force and one sided “deals.”I round the corner at the end of my street. Sapphire is coming toward me and mewing “hello.” My friendly cat, who knows no borders. My American cat, who does not have enough sense to stay on his own street, in his own back yard. My adventurous cat, who recklessly breaches fences to trespass onto other people’s territory. I hope Sheriff Joe doesn’t come along and ask him for his papers. Lucky for him, he’s white and not brown!
Jenny Jones Moats
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