Instigator in Chief. Honestly, I am trying to imagine a president doing this. I'm not condemning it, I'm trying to imagine it. The compassion I do understand. Yes. But that compassion is understood while also understanding there is an army under my command in Afghanistan and having compassion for that too. Now my outstretched hands are the trays of a scale, in one tray illegal immigrants fasting to lower the standards, for what? Legal entry, acknowledgement, faster citizenship, or just leave them alone, and in the other tray U.S. Soldiers at war under my orders overseas. My soldiers. Thud. One tray flips the other.
Here clearly active in the role of community instigator where government is seen as paying for everything, setting fires, arsonist, basically, then off to the next one, while holding the position of president of the United States ostensibly representing all legal citizens, including middle class workers and chief among those young workers starting out and high among those, students with onerous loans. Imagine starting out economic life that deeply in debt then seeing your own president instigate for increased labor pool diluting your chances to recover making your dreams more distant all the while telling you he's doing you a favor.
Allow me to relate this from a young white guy's point of view, I used to be one of those so I know. Not this exact thing, I'm tired of that, but something else related. A comparison, if you like. At fifteen in Colorado I became eligible for driver's permit. I already knew how drive from living in Louisiana previously but I was back to square one in Colorado and that required a test. Both tests in Louisiana and Colorado were rigorous. You had to know all the rules of the road, recognize shapes of signs, hand signals, lengths for stopping, how weather changes things, acceptable alcohol levels, the names of alcohol levels, the abbreviations for them, the rules for motorcycles, for trucks, stopping distances for trucks, things related to chauffeurs licenses. The booklet was thorough. The test was four pages, a serious business all around.
The next decade I was required to take the test again. The booklet shrunk considerably and now there is not near the emphasis on alcohol. The test itself is one page xeroxed copied, designed for the lowest denominator that might be found on the roads and might not necessarily speak English. And the test site itself, on Mississippi St., may as well be located in Mexico. A friendly lively bustling place of happiness where everybody passes their test.
Also, a favorite employee here is from Mexico. She speaks Spanish to me all the time, and corrects me all over the place. That's how we're friends. Oddly, her name is Olga. Then suddenly she was gone. I missed her and asked where she went. "She's gone."
Months elapsed. Over half a year. Suddenly Olga came back and it's a happy reunion and everyone is filled with affection. I ask, "Where you been?" And she answered, "I been gone."