Tuesday, April 11, 2006

Give me an illegal every time

One hundred thousand people, or five hundred thousand marching in the streets – the actual number doesn’t really matter –the principle that is being ignored here is that the people marching are not legally entitled to be here in the United States, so we’re told, regardless of what they may have been bamboozeled into believing by by feel-good politically correct uptopians. Any way you cut it, they are in effect an organized mob of criminals, with no rights in any way shape or form.

Having said that, the reality is that what you do have here is a population of lawn-mower riders, tree cutters, dishwashers, bus boys, short-order cooks, construction stoop laborers and freeway onramp fruit sellers. I’m told these people have no skills other than slicing guavas on street corners or driving taco trucks to industrial sites. And they can’t even count your change in English. Not to mention the fact that the nearest lettuce field from Los Angeles is over one hundred and twenty miles away.

Are these really the kind of people that we want as our fellow citizens?

Well, consider this: where I live in LA, I am on the fringe of the middle class black city of Inglewood (85% Afro-American) and an upper middle class white suburb of LA (Westchester). This border area is pretty much integrated equally between Hispanics and blacks, mostly the blue collar, laboring kind of folks. The neighborhoods of all of this area (white, black, and Hispanic) are uniformly immaculate. There is no trash on the streets or sidewalks, no junk cars, the lawns are mowed within an inch of their lives, and there is relatively little street crime. Everybody seems to have a job. The cars are older (with a surprising number of brand-new -) Mercedes, Jaguars and Lexuses in the black neighborhoods, with your mandatory Chevys as well as ten-year-old Japanese Toyotas, Nissans and the like in the Hispanic parts. All the cars are washed regularly, and you almost never see a junker.

In the Hispanic parts, everybody is polite, even if they are pushy when getting onto the bus, but that’s probably a cultural thing they learned from waiting for hours on a dirt roadside in Guatemala for a bus already overflowing with people and chickens. In the small downtown section of Inglewood, as I am white, I am generally ignored by old and young alike, but the overall effect is reasonably innocuous, as the gangbangers usually stay over by Compton, which, by the way, is a war zone, and has one of the highest crime rates (read assaults and murders) on the planet outside of a sub-Sahara refugee camp.

I used to live in the Ozarks, where my neighbors were uniformly ignorant, drunken redneck hillbillies. With abandoned cars, bathtubs, refrigerators, raggedy-ass furniture and naked screaming children in their front yards. And they literally do eat possum roadkill. Guess where I prefer to live.

Illegal aliens?
So what.

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