Back out on the road for me. Driving without a plan, turning in whichever direction looks appealing. Southeast was the way the car started, but soon, I was aiming dead south, heading for the border. Astute viewers of the image and those thoroughly knowledgeable about Arizona’s terrain will notice that the photo above is actually looking north. Well, it was the nicer view, not only because it had the appearance of freedom, but not too far ahead was this view:

Give me your snakes, your flying insects, your narrow-framed animals able to squeeze between these bars. The wretched refuse of your Mexican shore. Do not send these; keep your homeless; toss them to the tempest. I raise a fence beside the golden land. Now go home, or we’ll ask for your papers in a poor imitation of what we railed against as a nation during a world war that witnessed a fascist state isolating and profiling a segment of the population that was deemed unworthy and ready for removal. Then, it was Jews; today, it is Hispanics. Just who is on the right side of the fence?

Now, before you go on a tangential argument with me about my opinions regarding immigration, do not read more into this than I have offered. I do not favor allowing everyone to freely walk across the border, but nor do I believe we should be rounding up those already here who have entered due to our ineptitude regarding our own policies and the economic convenience illegal immigrants fill. The fact of the matter is we would certainly face ancillary problems if this exploitable labor force were gone and our elderly social security recipients were forced to purchase unsubsidized, full-cost-for-value food that their pittance of retirement funds could hardly cover. And to all of those people who benefit from clean offices, cheap yard work, maids who have taken care of your hotel room, those hidden away in hospital basements washing the shit from your dying grandfather’s sheets, for all the services they have done in our name for our convenience – a class of people we simultaneously need and hate – we owe them our acceptance, our respect, and the opportunity to pay into our tax system just like the rest of us former immigrants.

This is Joan Ruane, who’s an expert cotton spinner and the woman who led the workshop this weekend. Time to go home.