Yelling at Children

The fourth of July celebrations of USA Independence Day seemed unusually hollow this year to me because of the reaction of USA citizens to the arrival at the USA-Mexico border of large numbers of war refugee children and mothers. These poor children and their mothers were seen here as “a threat to our very existence,” had their buses blocked by USA patriots and even received death threats.

The best single comment I read on the occasion was from Duncan Black:

     “July 4th:  Should we yell at some poor children or something?”

This occasion seemed to me to be a new low for the US and I tried writing something out to that point, but soon realized that it was not at all a new low.

Canada Day 2014 - My Appreciation

I used to love going to Canada, particularly between 2001 and 2008, when I had a big truck. I had some very good friends there, too, and lots of memories.

But something went wrong over time so that I got “flagged” in the Canadian customs/immigration computer for something- they never tell you what it is, why – so I eventually came to feel that this country I loved so much had something against me. Every time I would cross the border, I would get detained and grilled and then seemingly grudgingly and suspiciously admitted.

I talked with an older, decent, kind, truly experienced Canadian customs official about this one day when I crossed the border into Cornwall, Ontario. He relieved a lot of the sourness I was developing by saying to me: “Don't take it personally, it's just the rules,” and by recognizing my love of Canada and sharing his love of Canada with me. I told him about how I used to feel coming across that high bridge over the St. Lawrence and seeing the lights of Cornwall spread out down there before me on the other side. He spoke of Manitoba. That old guy represents Canada to me. Yes, Canada has its problems, but here was the heart of it.

Crossing the other way, from Canada into the US, was an entirely different matter. I was not “flagged” in the US customs for anything. The trouble I ran into there had nothing to do with “rules,” and in fact the problem was just the opposite – no rules. The absolute worst US customs officials and border guards were at Port Huron, Michigan, where you come in from Sarnia, Ontario. These guys were simply sadists – swaggering, violence-obsessed, self-important, vicious bullies. I don't have the vocabulary.

The idea that “It's just the rules” does apply in Canada, in general.

The idea in the US is that rules and justice are bullshit, and that the essence of “America” is exactly that. I will do just whatever the hell I want and screwing you over, eventually destroying you, is the best part of that.