Jesus Mojado

On-line Arizona news about immigration is usually followed by 47 pages of childish, insulting, and unashamedly racist comments. One thing is certain: these brave Interzone experts don’t know much about the people they have decided to hate, why they come here, or simple politeness.

Forty years ago my grade school classmates with Spanish surnames, some with slightly darker skin, were not considered a separate category of human. We got along without a thought, assisted by team sports and plenty to eat.

Jesus was my first companero mojado, wetback work-buddy. We took turns crawling ratty attics, blowing insulation for low-income supplicants in places like St. Johns. Short, stocky, always in full cowboy uniform, and bowlegged, he never drank anything stronger than Pepsi. Worked hard, missed his wife and babies terribly, and sent them every cent he made.

The first actual cowboy I’d ever met, he mostly rode herd and fence for a Luna, New Mexico rancher who sometimes “loaned” him to folks. Interaction was friendly and respectful, both ways. Before the heavy snows, Jesus headed home for the winter. Came back in spring.

Thinking it polite, I used the clumsy term “illegal immigrant” for years, until the vatos I was pretending to supervise at a South Phoenix grocery mocked me. “They’re called wetbacks, dumb-ass.”

 

Historically this “border” area is not a war zone.

Humans wander, following food, work, and trade, always. It was not a federal crime here until 1952. For the last few decades, corrupt governments and banks, on both sides, have systematically wreaked economic havoc on Mexico. The years 1982-1988 were worse for Mexico than 1929-1932 in the States. Periodic peso devaluations—more bank mumbo-jumbo—drove wave after wave of desperadoes north. The Owners of the world know hungry people work cheap. Their institutions are working their magic in our fair States as you read.

As these human waves washed over, I worked under, over, and next to Mexicans, like almost everyone in Arizona. At work, paper-shuffling and language are minor details. Let the Owners figure that out, we got stuff to do. Most Mexicans can outwork the gavachos (foreigners, they sometimes call us,) in my experience. My contractor brother rants ‘cause they drive project prices down, then rants  ‘cause he can’t occasionally hire a few anymore.

As long as someone will hire them, they will come. The wretched desperado and the hiring Owner are equally guilty. The desperado is arrested and deported. The Owner hires another. Repeat indefinitely. So who really has the ability to stop the cycle? How often do you see an anti-illegal-immigration law-enforcement round-up of rich business Owners?

The only solution workers have is international labor unions, which are dead in Arizona, a “right-to-screw-the-help” state, in an anti-union country, in a world run by corporations who fear unions more than tax audits. Why? Good question, but there is to be no discussion; every union is corrupt forever in their script.

So guess what? The ancient migrations will continue. Build all the fences you want (how dumb is that!?), waste guns and vehicles and hi-tech doo-dads, trample basic human rights, nothing will change. Our border is an imaginary line, someday to vanish in the wind. Guess what else? I don’t care. The people who do are mostly from points east, recent Arizona immigrants themselves.

One big gripe is the health care we sometimes provide to strangers. But who is ripping us off: the ignorant young mama whose baby needs Tylenol and maybe some antibiotics? Or the system that charges taxpayers $1000 for a ten minute exam and 38 cents worth of medicine?

 

Love requires no proof of citizenship. “Mexican-Americans” are part of my family and my life. You tortured souls, quaking in self-righteous fury at improper paperwork: you do not speak for me. Nor the majority of gavachos I have known.

Throw open the border, both directions. Give whoever wants one an identification card good in both countries. Throw bad people in jail, leave the rest alone. Business on both sides will boom.

And if you don’t like Mexicans, don’t live in Arizona. Mexico is next door. It’s not complicated. Our government stole this place in a shameless military land grab; if you won’t apologize, at least remember your kindergarten lesson and play nice.

%$#@!

SB1070:

government tool

to harass

everyone.