Cougar Cry
Page 6
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Cont... from the last page
talking about using family members as interpreters, “The
biggest problem in this community is when a six year old
girl spends all night in the hospital interpreting while
Mommy’s having a baby. How can children comprehend
these things?”
Tony strongly believes that there is a great need for in
terpreters in Wilkes County. I strongly believe that there
is more need for English teachers and for immigrants
who want to learn our language.
Wrapping the remainder of the lecture up for you, an
other main point hit on by Tony was this, "I believe that
the reason you’re so pissed off at us is because you be
lieve that we take your money, and it’s not (true)l With
the ex'eption of newly arrived refugees, asylum seek
ers, uuban-Haitian entrants, and Amerasians, the only
public service that immigrants are entitled to is emer
gency health care. This ban lasts for five years before
considering alterations. Otherwise, it is ten years before
an immigrant can gain residential status and be eligible
for public benefits.” This remark was stated in a hand
out we received and was briefly hit upon by Tony.
One last thing of interest. Immigrants working legally
are paying Social Security, but they are not eligible to
receive Social Security. So what’s happening?
“Wetbacks” are helping to support our grandparents. So
think a little bit more before forming a biased opinion on
a family of Mexicans or Guatemalans shopping in Super
K-Mart this weekend. It might just be that your next door
neighbor told you a whole bunch of hogwash and that
this family of six isn’t really interested in turning your
neighborhood into a Mexican Mafia headquarters.
Another Airport Story
by Matthew Lowder
In mid-December I arrived in DC for a connecting flight
to Greensboro. Having come from Frankfurt, I naturally
had to coil through the long lines for Immigration, Cus
toms, and Security. After the September 11*'’ attacks,
Europe had become a teeming mass of security offi
cials, paperwork, menacing soldiers carrying automatic
rifles, and drab grey tanks rolling over cobble-stoned
streets. I had no idea of what to expect upon my return
to the States after living in Prague since August. I cer
tainly hadn’t expected to find out that the American pub
lic had been lied to and that security was as bad as ever.
The first official, a white man with a sand-colored mus
tache, snatched my worn passport, scanned the bar
code, gave me a cold stare, and stamped the last page
usually reserved for amendments. I smiled real big,
thanked him in my best imitation of a thick southern
drawl, and continued the arrival process. The next man,
a short African-American with pinched curly hair and a
bright silver Customs badge pinned to his navy-blue
shirt, gave me a broad smile as soon as he saw me. I’m
pretty sure he was gay, although after an eight hour
flight and a fifth of vodka, I’m not sure I was looking my
cutest. After lying through my teeth about having noth
ing to declare, I proceeded to the longest line of all. The
flight had already been two hours late due to the security
in Frankfurt, and now, after another two hours of stand
ing in lines, tempers were running short. Soldiers were
yelling at frustrated passengers who were arguing with
the screeners. When I finally got close enough to see
the screeners, I think my mouth dropped to my chest.
After all the news and promises by our beloved govern
ment officials about increasing the quality of security
screeners, I really hadn’t expected to witness the scene
in front of me.
About twelve screeners were gathered around the x-
rays, all of them dark-skinned, some of them Indian,
some of them possibly Turkish. Half the men were
wearing turbans, one of the women was wearing a veil,
the rest had those cool red dots in the middle of their
foreheads. None of them had a very good English vo
cabulary. I calmly walked through the x-ray. I’d already
missed my flight by an hour. The beeping went off.
“Empty ALL your pockets!” the small, turban-wearing
dark-skinned man recited. My pockets were already
empty as the little black wand began waving menacingly
against my body.
“Take off this,” he commanded, patting both my shoes.
The woman next to him said something short in a lan
guage I was unfamiliar with: he just shook his head and
said, “No.”
My shoes were off, my belt was sitting on top of them,
and my pants were rolled up to my knees. I think I
smiled. His rough hands rolled around my ankles and
then up my legs. Under different circumstances I might
have given him a dollar. I mean, hey! We were in D.C.
“Go,” he said, shoving my displaced shoes against the
wall.
Forgive me for sounding racist, but why is that when
dark-skinned, turban-wearing zealots attack American
interests that we hire MORE dark-skinned, turban-
wearing immigrants to protect us? People around here
complain about Tyson, but I never met a chicken that
wanted to kill me except one and that was under excru
ciating circumstances...