Border Crossing

“American conservatism depends for its continued dominance and even for its very existence on people never making certain mental connections about the world… Thomas Frank, author, What’s the Matter with Kansas

I was getting ready for bed when the phone rang. “Hello,” I said.

“I’m sick and tired of lazy people expecting the government to guarantee them a comfortable life.”

Ever since he began collecting Social Security, Donny has been bitching about welfare, immigrants, and food stamps. We’re friends on Facebook and I see his posts, mainly flaming screeds from Fox News that he passes along. You know, baseless statements like, “America’s economic problems are the result of overly generous social welfare programs.” Yeah, six weeks of unpaid family medical leave is bleeding us dry.

Other than his weird politics, I consider Donny one of my closest friends. He’s got a heart of gold and a soft spot for animals, but when he’s downed seven or eight beers or a flagon of red wine, he slips off the rails and spouts total right-wing gibberish; he leaves his brain and making sense far behind. When I can get a word in, which is rare, I remind him that he’d be sleeping on flattened cardboard under a bridge if not for his pension from the State Teachers Retirement System and his Social Security check.

He says, “I was raised Catholic and I want to help people, but there’s no free lunch. If you want something you’d better be ready to work for it, just like I did. That’s all I’m saying.”

He’s drunk, I’m sober, and there’s no point in arguing. I know from experience that it’s only a matter of time before he starts complaining about Mexicans. In Donny’s view, Mexicans fornicate recklessly and take advantage of America’s big heart and generous nature by suckling at the public teat.

Right on cue Donny says, “Mexican girls need to close their legs. That’s the root problem. Don’t have five kids if you can’t afford to feed them -- that’s all I’m saying. Basic common sense is always in short supply. If you’re living in a converted garage with a hot plate for a stove and a bucket for a toilet, and you’ve already got three kids under the age of five, you keep your legs closed, am I right?”

Sure, Donny, I say. I can hear him slurping another beer, lighting another cigarette. He’s getting loose, building a head of steam; in the morning he won’t remember a damn thing about this call. He says Mexicans are crossing the border in droves, laden with drugs and guns and mean intentions. Never mind that under President Obama the US has deported record numbers of human beings. Donny hasn’t kept up with the doings of ICE.

About the NSA, drone strikes in Pakistan, criminal bankers, income inequality, unabashed support for Israel, and climate change, Donny has nothing to say. Compared to Mexican freeloaders those problems pale. Stop the Mexicans and glory days will be here again.

Donny reminds me of something I heard on the radio the other day about gun violence and terrorism. The probability of an American citizen being killed or injured on US soil in a terrorist attack is infinitesimal, yet to protect ourselves from this threat we have a massive national security apparatus, militarized police forces, and invasive security screening at airports. Small threat, outsized response.

American citizens are far more likely to be killed or injured by a deranged person armed with an assault rifle, but we can’t protect ourselves against this threat because of the NRA and its deliberate misinterpretation of the second amendment. We can’t get background checks or stop the sale of assault weapons or high capacity magazines. This danger is real and constant, and our response is anemic.

My drunken friend worries about the wrong threat, and he’s hardly alone.