Why Immigration reformers are turning me off

When I was little I never considered race. No child does. I had a wonderful friend in first or second grade whose name was Leilani. I thought it was the most beautiful name in the world and she was the most beautiful girl. Alas, Leilani was African American (or Black, back then, which I will use during the story when that was the preferred term). Still, I had no real concept of that.

One day, my mother was planning my birthday party. My parties were always lots of fun. We weren't rich but I had a gay (though not out) older brother who threw a grand party for his baby brother. There was always a theme, great decorations, games, and even entertainment. I was asked to list the school chums I wished to invite. Leilani's name was at the top of the list.

A few days later my mother sat me down and said Leilani couldn't come to the party. I asked why and she said "Because she's black." That was the first time anyone had ever said that being black meant you were different. I pitched one of my better hissy fits but to no avail. Pretty Leilani was off the guest list.

Fast forward to Junior High. I still didn't really distinguish between black and white. In fact, I sort of rebelled after the party which is my normal reaction to being told no. In eighth grade, though, I had a black teacher who was very hip and militant (this was the last 1970's). She wore African prints and lots of African jewelry. She had the requisite Afro and was all around pretty cool looking. I liked her well enough.

That school year, we had consolidated three or four previous junior highs into one central one. So we had teachers that some of us had never met. One of those, an elderly black man, had decided to retire mid-year. Our teacher was in charge of collecting money from the kids for a present for this man. Though I didn't know him and had never met him since he was from another school; I obligingly gave a few dollars because I'd been taught that it was the right thing to do. Others in my class did the same - but not everyone and obviously we did not give the amount our teacher thought appropriate.

A rare true protest sign... even Native Americans
are immigrants to North America.

One morning she strode into the room and glared at us. Our homeroom which covered the first few letters of the alphabet was primarily white. She began to pace back and forth and then launched into a tirade about us "crackers" and "little white brats" and how if it was a white teacher retiring we'd be giving money but because the teacher was black we wouldn't give a penny. She went on to tell us we were racists and how we, personally it seemed, were responsible for slavery and every bad thing that ever happened in the world.

It was a true "Holy shit!" moment for a 12 year old. I'd never been called a racist or a cracker. I'd never done anything, I thought, to warrant that level of abuse. But here I was responsible for everything that had happened in the last 300 years - personally and deemed a racist just because of my skin color.

It would take me a few years to puzzle out that she was actually the racist. She had preconceived ideas about how white people were supposed to act and no matter what they did she would proceed as if those people had acted in that manner. Still, it messed me up. I had few black friends in high school and really didn't make any new ones until college.

That's sort of how I feel with the immigration reform debates. No matter what you do or say in support of reform, if your skin color is too light you're going to get painted with that big ol' racist brush.

Let's move to the Kansas Legislature where they're arguing over an SB1070 type bill. It's an onerous law here in Arizona and one I opposed vociferously as I do most of the anti-immigration laws. But, our lone Native American (or First Nations as I prefer) legislator had a pithy comeback recently and the entire liberal world fell over themselves laughing and cheering. Here's what she said (to a white legislator):“I think it’s funny Mr. Kobach, because when you mention illegal immigrant, I think of all of you."

"All of you." To me, that's racist. Normally, an "all of you" or a "you people" type comment would engender outrage. Remember, Ann Romney? She wasn't even talking about a racial group. But, Rep. We-Victors got cheers and applause because she is First Nations.

Yet, there's so much factually wrong with her sentiment. We can begin with the fact that Native Americans are not native. They are immigrants like everyone else. Sure, they got here before the Europeans (unless a new theory based on distribution of Clovis points is right in which case we may really have a serious conundrum). But, their arrival doesn't make them native to the area. In fact, the only place on Earth where Homo Sapiens is native would be Africa. Everything after that is migration.

The sentiment also seems to express the idea that our First Nations peoples had some sort of codified law system which covered immigration into a region. To my knowledge, they didn't. There were no customs officials standing on the shores when Europeans arrived to stamp passports and issue visas. So, the European settlement could not be illegal as Rep. We-Victors contends in her pithy statement.

Now, that's not to say what happened is not immoral. Other than slavery (which was also applied to the First Nations peoples) there are few things in our history of the Western Hemisphere as horrible as the subjugation of those peoples and the theft of their lands and property. That is something that continued nearly to the present day. It is also something that must be addressed to level the playing fields for everyone who wishes to have a stake in the modern world.

This type of racism doesn't help the cause of battling racism - which
is the basis for the anti-immigrant right. 

Rep. We-Victors' comments though, are typical of what you hear in the immigration debate. I've heard "gringo" slung around, not to mention all sorts of jokes about "whities." Many of my fellow liberals just laugh along. But I can't do that. If I'm going to be against racism, which I am, then I'm against ALL racism - including that pointed in my own direction. My "liberal guilt" does not allow me enough room to become a person who can pick and choose which racism is acceptable.

The longer the immigration debate goes on, the less engaged I feel in it. It's even begun to feel that if you are white your input and your support really aren't wanted unless you are willing to debase yourself. I won't do that. Just as my friend Mari is proud to be Mexican, I'm pretty proud to be English although neither of us have been truly Mexican or English for hundreds of years! We're both American - and that's the point.

If there is to be true immigration reform in this country then folks like Rep. We-Victors need to abandon the pithy comebacks fraught with inaccuracies and talk plainly about why it is morally and economically right. No matter how odious someone like Kobach is (and he's pretty odious) equating him with all people of European ancestry just makes you sound like an asshole - no matter how much applause you get from the sycophants in the peanut gallery.  Racism, is racism, is racism and to claim differently is an exercise in hypocrisy.

By the way, many years later I asked my mother about the party and Leilani. For all those years, though I loved my mother, I'd put her down as just another old south racist because she wouldn't let Leilani come to my party. What I learned was that she had been fine with it but when my grandmother had found out she had pitched a fit because it wasn't right for white and black children to mix. It was bad enough the government made them do it at school - she'd be damned if they'd do it at a party.

An open letter to my doctor's Medical Assistant

Dear Medical Assistant:

I've been out of a medication for a month. My pharmacy has called and faxed you and I've called and faxed you. We've left message after message - to the point that the last two times I called your voice-mail was full and you couldn't even get any more messages.

Really? Are you that busy or are you just overwhelmed? Could it be you're just not equipped for the job you're doing? I think it might be the latter because the last time I actually spoke to you you had no idea about  medicine. You had no idea about liver enzymes or what they were, you were puzzled about what the normal readings on something as simple as an A1c test were and you couldn't even pronounce most of the medications we discussed. That's a little scary.

Look, I know. You have six months of training at a "college" that used to be a Circuit City or an abandoned car dealership. I get it. You probably owe in the tens of thousands of dollars for that "education" and may never be able to pay off what you owe. But that doesn't excuse your mistakes and inability to take care of patients. If you want to be in medicine that comes with a big heaping helping of sacrifice. I know, I used to be there.

Once upon a time there used to be someone who helped the doctor called a nurse. Specifically, there used to be someone who helped the doctor called a Registered Nurse. A Registered Nurse (or RN) has an actual college degree from an actual college. Some have two year degrees and some have four. Regardless, they all study very hard and take lots of weird classes like pharmacology, anatomy and physiology, microbiology, psychology, and even spend a lot of time working practically in hospitals and clinics. After all that and the hundreds of tests they take while in school they have to take another big test to actually get their license to practice. Then, they still have to go to school for a certain amount of time every year to keep their license! It's a lot of work and they were very good at their jobs for the most part. They understood patients' problems and could react quickly and prioritize their duties. They also got paid handsomely for all this knowledge and skill.

Then the insurance companies looked at how much doctors charged. They thought doctors charged too much because, well, those RN's had to be paid good money. So the insurance companies began cutting back on what doctors were allowed to charge. Enter the Licensed Practical Nurse or LPN. The LPN didn't have quite as much education as the RN but still, it was a minimum of one year of training and most of the classes were the same. They still, generally, attended real colleges or community colleges and still had to take lots of tests. They also had to take a licensing test before they could get a job. While the LPN's weren't quite as knowledgeable as the RN's about their patients' health and needs they still did a pretty good job.

But, as things go, the insurance folks decided LPN's were just too expensive too. So, they cut those rates until there had to be someone to fill the gap. The doctors knew they couldn't just turn loose their secretary on the patients so a new "profession" was created - the Medical Assistant. The MA was three parts secretary (or administrative assistant) and one part health care associate. The education requirements were minimal - as little as six months in most cases and there were no licensing requirements. If you made it out of school, you were golden. And most of the new for-profit colleges springing up on street corners made sure you made it out - whether you actually got the knowledge or not.

And that brings us to you and why you don't know what ALT means or even what liver enzymes indicate. And why you can't pronounce illnesses or medications - much less understand what they are or what they do. But what it doesn't explain is why you can't figure out phone messages. That's the one thing looking at the curriculum for your program that you should be able to do. Ninety-nine percent of your college time was spent on office systems of one type or another. Surely, phones and fax machines were covered. So, why have I been out of my medicine for a month?

Maybe it's not just the slow decline of quality of care because of the for-profit medical system we have in the United States. Perhaps, I'm over-analyzing things as is my wont when I'm out of a certain medication. Of course, maybe... just maybe... you're an idiot.

Sincerely,

Your Patient

NOT part of the Neo-Gay Agenda

Undoubtedly, the "Genderqueer" folks have decided
the Rainbow Flag isn't for them anymore. I didn't even
know this was a "new" thing. But I shouldn't be
surprised as I was told a few years ago that
they and the transgenders did not "identify"
with the Gay and Lesbian community anymore.

Out of the blue I got an email from the editor of a large gay blog asking if I'd be interested in writing for them or sharing content from here that deals with LGBT issues. I gave it about two minutes of thought and decided, no.

The more interaction I have with younger members of the community the more I realize I don't really fit in anymore. Those of us growing up in the 80's have one last real battle and that's marriage. We want to get married. We like the idea of settling down with the person we love and having a pretty normal and boring life.

Maybe that's a leftover of the Reagan era that somehow seeped into our brains. That idea of normalcy and family we heard so much about after the wild and crazy 70's. Who knows? But the upshot is that those of us in our 40's and 50's no longer really fit in all that well with the younger crowd.

I don't consider myself "queer." I like being a man. I believe in having a loving relationship that is monogamous and supportive. I can't do the neo-liberal "free pass" on religion thing where you have to criticize Christian fundamentalism but you put down Muslim fundamentalism to some sort of political and economic disparity that is really just the fault of the "Western World." I don't even understand the "T" part of LGBT anymore. Once upon a time I was pretty tight with some of the rarest in our community - those who had had sex reassignment surgery. One of my early mentors was transsexual (yes, that was the proper term back then.) Now, I have not a clue about the T portion. Transgender, Gender Queer, and whatever else is going on. It's not that I don't care, it's that I'm just tired of trying to navigate that minefield. No matter what you say or do if you're a gay man and white it's going to be wrong in someone's eyes on that end of the alphabet soup.

I think that's the crux of it. Once upon a time we all came together for common goals. Now, everyone has their own issues and think they need to be job one for everyone else. In the LGBT community there can be no compromise it seems. Righteous indignation is the watchword.

So, I won't be writing for an LGBT blog because I'm tired of it all. I wrote a column a few years ago on LGBT issues in our local community. I got so tired of dealing with the various attitudes of sub-groups that I just gave it up. Even when you were trying to help or be supportive someone was going to get pissed off because - well, they just wanted to pissed off.

I just turned 46 which is really old in the community it seems. At this stage in my life I look forward to getting a marriage certificate and just settling in for the ride. For 20+ years I battled for basic civil rights - things like being able to have sex with the person you love without being arrested. Now, I'm happy to see the promised land in my last battle - marriage. I don't want to keep battling people who should be my allies just because I'm old, like being a guy, was born white, and have a dream of just being a boring old married middle aged guy.

Of Gods, Ghosts, and Gaps

Part of a ghost hunting kit.

I used to hunt ghosts. Something about the stories I grew up with in the south fascinated me to no end. I loved a good scary (or romantic) ghost story. Stories of phantom lights darting among Spanish moss draped oaks or ghost doctors whistling on the stairs of an old mansion south of Broad were my preferred way to spend a rainy afternoon. I idolized many of our southern folklorists who collected and passed along these stories. I was particularly fond of Mrs. Nancy Roberts who is the grande dame of traditional ghost stories.

Later in life I began to wonder if there was more to all this than just a good story. In junior high we did a section on folklore and history. As my project I tracked down information on a famous story from where I grew up: The Hound of Goshen. My mother drove me around with a little cassette recorder and notebook in hand while I talked to people in the area who had claimed to have seen the "Happy Dog" at one time or another. One thing I learned is that the folks I talked to were quite enamored with their ghost dog. That seemed strange because my icon, Nancy Roberts, told frightening tales of people being chased and scared witless by the hound. It was the first time I noticed that ghosts and stories could be changed in order to sell a product. I was all of twelve.

Fast forward thirty some odd years and I became interested in the "scientific" pursuit of ghosts. I joined a group of people who belonged to the esteemed TAPS family of ghost hunting groups and set to work trying to discover if ghosts existed and if so what exactly they might be. Honestly, I wasn't convinced of the whole "soul with unfinished business" stuff.

Is Facebook worth it?

Over the time I've had a Facebook account I've often wondered whether the whole "social media" circus was worth the trouble and strife it causes. A couple years ago I even deleted my Facebook account and started a whole new one because over time I'd picked up dozens of people who did little but get on my nerves. I vowed that I would not make that mistake again and would limit myself to people I knew in the real world.

But here's the funny thing. A lot of the people I know in the real world cause a lot of grief. There's one person I was very close to and with whom I enjoyed spending time in the real world. Then, through Facebook, I saw a mean and ugly side of her. Racist rants against Hispanics and immigrants, rants against access to affordable healthcare, rants against "liberals" and Democrats, etc. I had a lot of trouble fitting that with how I had always viewed her. I found that I couldn't share in her Facebook experience because each time she posted those things (which was several times a day) I found myself grieving because I never expected such ugliness. I also found I couldn't look at her the same way in person. We drifted apart. I stopped planning days out, she stopped inviting us to dinners. Soon, there were no more shared meals, no more shopping days, no more movie marathons, no more shared holidays. We're still "nominally" friends on Facebook but I know that my posts are hidden on her feed as hers are hidden on mine. Rarely, now will we cross in a short comment on someone's profile we both know.

There's another friend I used to work with some years ago. We had a great time together. We sort of knew that we had different politics so following the old Southern rule of never discussing politics or religion we steered clear of the subject(s). We enjoyed our work time and developed a nice working friendship. Since I moved to Arizona we kept up a sporadic communication through email - sharing family news, commiserating over getting older and how her business was doing. Then we reconnected on Facebook and all that changed. Now politics and religion came into play because with the click of a button you can "share" things you normally wouldn't discuss in regular company. Sure enough, we began to drift apart. She posted photoshopped pictures of President Obama saying he wasn't a "real American." When I pointed out the photos were fakes she became upset with me. Now, we don't have a lot to say.

Some time ago, I reconnected on Facebook with an acquaintance from my high school days. He was an unusual character back then - think a blond Judd Nelson from The Breakfast Club. Yeah, there was a little bit of a crush thing going on for my part. Anyway, we connected and come to find out he's joined a very conservative religious group and is now a minister. OK, we could deal with that, right? Just keep it light, reminisce and have fun. It worked fine for about a month. When he asked about my home life I was honest and told him I was gay and happily partnered for many years. Then he realized I was an atheist. We suddenly went from reminiscing to him sending me long messages and posts more or less demanding I account for myself and my philosophy. At first I tried to be polite and explain things to him but it quickly became apparent I was some type of project. The messages became long lists of loaded questions. Finally, I had to tell him I didn't owe him anything - we'd known each other 20+ years ago and that was it. It was a very disconcerting experience. Would he have been that way in person if we'd met at a reunion? I don't know, but I can't help but think not.