Don’t End DACA

August 10th, 2017 (letter from me to the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel)

“So far, President Trump has made good on his promise to clamp down on illegal immigrants in this country.

He has claimed that his focus is to deport dangerous criminals from the United States, but Immigration and Customs Enforcement has cast its net much wider than that, arresting and deporting people who have done nothing wrong except to reside in the United States without proper documentation. To his credit, Trump has not eliminated the Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals, Obama’s executive order that allows undocumented young people to remain in America without the threat of deportation. That is at least something.

Unfortunately, ten states have threatened to sue the federal government to make Trump reverse the DACA order. If Trump gets rid of DACA, roughly 800,000 young people will  be suddenly subject to deportation. These are people who were brought to the United States as small children and who know no other country that the U. S.

I know some of these “Dreamers”. They are ambitious and talented. They only want to be part of America and their local community. Trump needs to resist pressure to end DACA. These kids belong here with us.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Trump and Afghanistan

August 11th, 2017 (article from me to the Capital Times in Madison, Wisconsin)

“Dear Editor: I was amazed to read that President Trump believes that he can somehow win the war in Afghanistan by firing the current commander there, Gen. John Nicholson. Apparently, Trump complained in a meeting that we are “losing” in Afghanistan, and therefore it must be the fault of Nicholson. After 16 years and a trillion dollars, we’re losing? No kidding. Nobody has ever won in Afghanistan. Ask the British or the Russians. It’s not called the “graveyard of empires” for nothing.

President Trump also commented that he doesn’t want to listen to his military leaders any more, because they give “lousy” advice. He can do that. There is a precedent for it. Hitler didn’t listen to his generals either.”

 

The Music that Sounds like Barbecue

October 12th, 2013

What Donald Trump Doesn’t Understand About Immigration

August 4th, 2017 (article from me to the Chicago Tribune)

President Donald Trump and two conservative Republican members of the U.S. Senate are promoting legislation to severely limit legal immigration into our country. I want to emphasize that this proposed law has only to do with legal immigration. It would cut in half the number of people able to apply for green cards. It would also set up a “merit-based system,” which would somehow only allow the “best” people to enter the United States.

I help to teach a citizenship class at Voces de la Frontera in Milwaukee. I primarily tutor immigrants from Mexico. These are green card holders who have been in this country for several years. They work as forklift operators, cooks, machinists and landscapers. These people obey the laws of our nation, they work full time, and they pay their taxes. These adult students contribute to their communities, and they are an asset to all of us. They will all be good and loyal citizens.

The fact is that, under Trump’s proposed immigration rules, none of these people would ever have made it this far. They would have never qualified for a permanent resident card. Actually, my wife would not have qualified either. And, come to think of it, my ancestors, who came here over a hundred years ago from Slovenia as unskilled labor, would never have become residents or citizens.

This new legislation would keep out the people who will make America great again.

A Pack of Smokes

December 6th, 2016

Hans called. The night before last he was at a local gas station in Columbus, Ohio. He had parked on the side of the road, because his big, ol’ diesel pick up truck doesn’t fit well in the parking lot of the filling station. Hans grabbed a pack of smokes and went back to his truck. Some guy came out of the darkness, and aimed a .22 at Hans. He told Hans to give him his wallet.

Now, Hans has been shot with a .22. That happened when he was in Iraq. Somebody put a hole in Hans’ leg during a firefight. Hans looked at the mugger and his gun, and calculated the odds of getting killed by this guy.

Hans reaction to his assailant was, “Really… a .22 ?” Hans pulled out his revolver from under his shirt It was a Taurus Judge. The Judge uses .45 LC ammo or 410 shotshells. I fired one with Hans a couple years ago. Big bang, big hole. Hans figured that, unless the robber shot him in the head or the heart, he would survive. The chances of the assailant walking away after being hit with a .45 slug were minimal. The wannabe robber fled the scene and dropped his .22 pistol. So, now Hans has it.

I mentioned to Hans that the .22 was probably hot. He jokingly responded that it was okay. If he needed to use it for some reason, the gun could never be traced to him. I hadn’t considered that.

Never a dull moment.

Angel at a Kwik Trip

May 24th, 2016

I was pumping gas into the Honda at Kwik Trip this morning, after I dropped Karin off at our church. I was watching the dollar amount grow on the readout, when I heard a voice say, “Excuse me, Sir, could you help me with some gas money? I need to go to Ohio.”

 

I turned around, and there was a slight, young woman standing there, with blondish hair and a brown jacket. She looked malnourished, and she had lines in her face that had no business being there yet. Her voice was raspy. She didn’t have a lot of years, but she looked like she had a lot of miles.

 

I told her, “Wait until I get finished here.” She went back to her very used car that was parked at the pump beside mine.

 

I finished fueling the Fit and I walked over to her car. I saw a boy sitting in a child seat in the back. He had curly, black hair and dark skin. The woman was speaking with him, saying something to comfort him.

 

I asked the woman, “How much gas do you need?”

 

She replied, “Well, I’m going to Ohio…”

 

I cut her off. “Just open the tank for me.”

 

She took off the gas cap, and then moved away as I started pumping. I asked, “How old is your kid?”

 

She said, “He’s five.”

 

I nodded. I kept filling the car, and then I stopped when I hit $25.

 

“Okay, close it up.”

 

The woman came up to me and asked, “You wouldn’t by any chance be a smoker, would you?”

 

I shook my head.

 

She smiled weakly, and said, “Oh well. Thank you,” and she got into her car.

 

I went back to the Fit. I had a lot of questions churning in my mind. Was she lying to me? My immediate response to myself was: “Who fucking cares?” Anybody who comes up to a guy as grumpy as me and asks for help is obviously desperate. If she is telling the truth, then one tank of gas isn’t going to be enough to solve her problems. If she is lying, then she is doing far more damage to her soul than is she is to my wallet. For me, a tank of gas means very little. For her, it might mean everything. I don’t know.

 

Did she deserve the help? Once again, “Who fucking cares?” Does anybody really deserve a break? Does anybody not deserve one? I don’t know.

 

I never asked her any other questions. For one thing, it’s not my business to know her business. Second, if she was lying, then asking her more questions is just encouraging her to lie some more. It’s not a good idea to lead people into sin.

 

I didn’t even ask her name. Is there any point in asking an angel her name?

 

So Close, and Yet So Far

May 3, 2015

A couple months ago, my wife and I had dinner with Shlomo Levin and his wife, Noa. It was Shabbat, and we all shared a kosher meal at their house. Shlomo and Noa recited (or sang) the traditional Hebrew prayers before and after dinner. The Levin children were there too, along with a couple other guests. Karin and I were the only non-Jews at the table, but we got along well. We talked mostly about work and our families. We talked about the things that are common to all people.

 

At one point during the meal, my wife, Karin, made a joke about Catholics, which we are. It was humorous to us, but the remark only elicited bemused looks from everyone else at the table. There was some polite laughter, and then a change of topic. After that, I noticed several instances where there were disconnects in our conversations. Our hosts were sometimes talking about Jewish subjects that were alien to Karin or myself, and sometimes Karin and I mentioned things about our church that clearly did not resonate with anybody else. It struck me that, although we were all friends, we were still worlds apart.

 

I have had discussions with my friend, Mohamed, that have been similar in some ways. Mohamed is a devout Muslim and he lives his tradition. We have things in common, and we value our relationship, but sometimes it feels like we come from different planets. Both Mohamed and I have certain unspoken assumptions about life that probably should be spoken, because these underlying views make it difficult for us to connect at times. I know that for my part, I occasionally think, “What is this about?”, when we have coffee and conversation. I suspect Mohamed has similar thoughts.

 

Once in a while, I go to the Sikh temple to pray. It’s a quiet place, and the people there know me by sight. There is one older priest, Gur Tan Singh, who has dark eyes and a beard of biblical proportions. I have seen him dozens of times, but we haven’t ever had a conversation that has lasted longer than a minute. He always makes sure that I get a serving of prashad, a kind of Sikh cookie dough that is in a bowl next to the altar. We are friends who know nothing of each other’s lives.

 

I have interacted with people from different faith traditions for many years now. Later this morning, I will go to Zen practice, and then to the synagogue. I have learned many things over time. I have learned that I am not these other people, and I never will be. I skirt the edges of their lives, and they touch mine. We are friends, and we care for each other, but we live in different realities. We see things differently, and that is often for the good. Our respective traditions make us who we are. We learn from each other, but we do not become the same.

 

We are close, but yet so far.

Remembering When We Were Outsiders

July 28th, 2016

The recent murder of a Catholic priest in France by ISIS terrorists once again brings up a number of pressing questions. Why do these attacks keep happening? What can be done to prevent them? Can Muslims ever assimilate into a secular, democratic society?

 

I think that the last question is especially pertinent to the situation of Muslim immigrants in the United States. Many people in the U.S., including the Republican presidential nominee, do not believe that Muslims in this country can be trusted. There is a great deal of skepticism as to whether Muslims in the U.S. can ever be real Americans. There is a feeling that Muslims do not share American values, and that they, because of their faith tradition, are incapable of being completely loyal citizens of this country. There is an assumption among some that Muslims do not belong in America, and that they will never belong here.

 

It may be useful, at this point, to look at our own history, as Catholics, in the United States. Our history is very tightly woven into the immigrant experience. Our history involves prejudice and persecution. Our history involves clannishness and tribalism. Our history, in many ways, is a precursor of the Muslim experience in America.

 

I am old enough to remember the intense ethnicity of Catholic parishes in the Milwaukee area. When I was growing up, our family went to St. Augustine Catholic Church on 67th and Rogers in West Allis. St. Augustine was a parish that often seemed more Croatian than Catholic. There was always at least one Mass celebrated in Croatian. At least one of the Franciscan priests serving the parish was from the old country. Many of the parishioners had been refugees who had fled Yugoslavia after Tito took power there. The annual church festival always had tamburitza music and a lamb roast. St. Augustine was a parish that served what was then primarily an immigrant community. It as a place where people found comfort in their faith and in the culture of their old homeland.

 

Decades ago, many  parishes in the Archdiocese of Milwaukee used to be like St. Augustine. Milwaukee was full of parishes that were ethnic oases. Catholics who had immigrated to Milwaukee from all over Europe found safety and solace in these various church communities. They were strangers in a strange land, and the parishes gave them a chance to be with people from their home countries, and to practice their Catholic faith in a familiar and comforting way. At the same time, Catholics also tried to show their new loyalty to America. I can clearly remember seeing both the U.S. flag and the Vatican flag in the church sanctuary at St. Augustine.

 

At the same time, the general population of the United States was hostile to immigrant Catholics. To many native-born Americans, the Catholics represented all that was foreign and strange and un-American. Our grandparents allegedly obeyed a foreign potentate, the Pope. Most people in the U.S. at the time believed that Catholics had divided loyalties. How could Catholics ever become real Americans?

 

Now look at today’s Muslims. I sometimes go to the Islamic Society of Milwaukee. A friend of mine, Mohamed, is an immigrant from Tunisia. He invited me to “iftar”, the breaking of the fast in the evening during the month of Ramadan. I sat with Mohamed at a table surrounded by Muslim immigrants. There were refugees at the table from Burma, immigrants from Pakistan, and other people from the world over. When it came time to pray, the mosque was full of people who had come to America from many different countries. They too are strangers in a strange land. These people also seek comfort in the food and faith of their old lands. The Islamic Society provides that comfort, that sense of being at home.

 

The Muslim immigrants cling to things that remind them of their previous lives. They take refuge in their faith tradition, in their languages, and their customs. However, they also actively reach out, and try to be part of the greater community. A local Muslim group, Ma’ruf, does what it can to help the homeless and the elderly in the Milwaukee area. The people in Ma’ruf help everyone in need, not just other Muslims. The Islamic Resource Center in Greenfield offers many educational programs to the public. It also houses the largest library of books on Islam in the state.

 

Like our Catholics forebears, Muslims living now in our country live surrounded by prejudice and fear. We eventually convinced the natives that we were like them. The Muslims are trying to prove the same thing to us.

 

Our previous immigrant experience as Catholics is very similar to the experience of Muslims in our community now. If we take time to remember how difficult it was for our ancestors to assimilate into American society, we should be able to empathize with the current struggles of our Muslim neighbors. We should remember how long it took us to become accepted as Americans. We integrated into the American culture, although it may have cost us part of our soul. The Muslims will integrate too. It will just take time.

 

 

Sanctuary

February 3rd, 2017

I had never been in the meeting room of the Milwaukee County Board. There is a first time for everything. It’s an interesting place, for a variety of reasons. The room itself has a certain character. The ceiling is ornate and has several large hanging lamps. There is a massive mural on the wall facing the door. It seems vaguely heroic. The style looks like it was painted by artists during the Great Depression. The desks for the county supervisors are old, wooden roll tops. The visitor gallery in the back of the room has heavy wooden benches, worn smooth over the years. There is a sense of history in the room, and it is only slightly disturbed by the presence of laptops and microphones on the old wooden desks. I don’t know if a secular government can have a sacred space, but if it can, I was in it.

 

I was there in the meeting room with a number of other people to witness the board’s debate and vote regarding Resolution 16-738. The resolution is a long and unwieldy document that basically says that Milwaukee County will welcome and protect all minorities. It also states that the county will resist any attempts to deport members of our immigrant community. The resolution is sharply critical of President Trump’s recent executive orders, and it is by its very nature divisive. The resolution was originally put forth by Supervisor Marina Dimitrijevic. She has a personal interest in immigration issues, especially seeing as her father is from Serbia. She had been at the committee meeting during the previous week, where the proposal was initially presented and many local citizens gave their input. I know I did. I spoke about my family and our own experiences with immigration. I had my two minutes of fame. I have an intense personal interest in helping immigrants, and I think it showed.

 

Resolution 16-738 was far down on the list of things to do during the County Board meeting. It would be well over an hour before the board got to that particular topic. Even so, the meeting was interesting. There appears to be a ritual to the meetings. There is a roll call. Then everyone says the Pledge of Allegiance. Then there is a moment of silence (call it “secular prayer”). Finally, the supervisors turn to the business at hand. The Board Chairman, Supervisor Lipscomb, kept things moving. He quietly and consistently nudged things forward, despite the tendency for board members to go off on interesting but irrelevant tangents. The five black members of the board all wore traditional African garments to the meeting (it was the start of Black History Month). They literally provided vibrant color to the proceedings. All the while, more and more citizens wandered into the gallery of the room, filling it to overflowing.

 

The media were there in force. There were four TV cameras pointed in our general direction. It’s interesting how people react when they know that they may be momentarily famous. I think the cameras had an effect on the assembled supervisors. Some of them remained quiet. Some of them put on a show.

 

It was after 11:00 when the anti-discrimination resolution was introduced to the board. Things got interesting quickly. Supervisor Dimitrijevic offered up a substitute resolution. In doing so, she gave a passionate defense of her revised proposal. She said that we should protect the immigrants in our community (legal or otherwise), regardless of Trump’s threats to cut off funding to our county. She described Trump as a bully who wanted to shut down local control of the police.

 

There was a reason for a substitution .The original resolution had gone through several reincarnations over time. This wasn’t so much because the proposal was poorly conceived. It was more due to the fact that President Trump had signed orders so quickly, and the original resolution had suddenly become outdated. The chairman wanted the supervisors to simply discuss substitute and then vote on whether they wanted to approve the revised version of the resolution before they got into the actual meat of the subject. That didn’t happen. Various supervisors immediately and enthusiastically launched into speeches about the original resolution.

 

 

One of the first to speak was Supervisor Sartori. He began by loudly stating, “I am a combat vet! I bled for this county!”. That comment made me smile. It wasn’t that I was mocking his military service. It is just that I have also played the “I am a veteran” card in the past. There is no quicker or more effective way for a person to establish his or her bona fides as a patriotic American than to mention that he or she served in the military. The attitude of the people listening changes almost immediately. It reminds of Wilhelmine Germany, when people in the Kaiser’s Reich would step off the sidewalk to make way for a German officer. People in the United States have a profound respect for veterans, at least until they actually have to do something to help them. Then things are different.

 

Supervisor Sartori’s speech was rambling and more than a little unfocused. It was hard to tell what he was really trying to say. He expressed sincere compassion toward immigrants in our community, and he made reference to the fact that his parents had come to this country. However, he kept coming back to the comment, “There is a right way to do things and a wrong way to do things.” He eventually made the argument that immigration law was a matter for the Federal government, and that this county resolution usurped that authority.

 

Supervisor Mayo spoke. He made a point of saying that he is the most senior black supervisor on the board. He is also the most senior supervisor, period. He stated that there were many things in the resolution that he personally disagreed with. However, Supervisor Mayo said that his constituents had made it clear that they wanted him to vote for this resolution. He would follow the will of the voters. That was his duty.

 

Supervisor Schmitt echoed Mayo’s sentiment. He too believed that he needed to follow the will of his constituents, rather than his own beliefs. Schmitt said that the opinions of most of his people were not reflected in this resolution. Supervisor Schmitt also spent time discussing the constitutionality of the resolution. Was the resolution even legal? Were Trump’s executive orders constitutional? Did the board have a right to go against Trump’s orders? Schmitt also referred to the endless struggle between local authority and the power of the Federal government. After two hundred plus years, that fight has not ended. Schmitt ended his talk by decrying the division in our community where “One side calls the other ‘idiots’, and then the other side does the same.” He stated that nobody in the room was an idiot. We just disagree.

 

Supervisor Steve Taylor (my supervisor) spoke. He made it clear that he thought this resolution was useless. Sheriff Clarke can (and will) work closely with I.C.E., and the County Board can’t do a damn thing about it. This is true. Taylor remarked that the resolution was “political pandering”, and just an opportunity for the board to “feel good”. Maybe. He also stated that the debate was an utter waste of the board’s time. I will get back to that comment later in this essay.

 

Supervisor Sebring spoke succinctly. He stood up and said, “In case nobody else has noticed, President Trump is playing hardball. He doesn’t make threats. He makes promises.” Sebring made the point very clearly that President Trump would have no problem with withholding funds from Milwaukee County, funds that the county can ill-afford to reject.

 

Supervisor West, also a child of immigrants, made a plea for the county to help and protect the undocumented persons in the area. She knows these people personally, and she tried to explain the fear and anxiety they now feel.

 

Eventually, the substitute resolution was passed. Then Supervisor Alexander offered up an amendment to the proposal. Her goal was to introduce a version of the resolution that would unite the board, rather than divide them. That didn’t work out very well. Supervisor Dimitrijevic took strong exception to the amendment. Nobody else seemed that interested in it either. This was a topic that was inherently divisive. Even if Alexander had proposed something that said, “We all love puppies”, it wouldn’t have passed.

 

 

Alexander built upon what Sebring had said about Federal funding. The Feds contribute up to 10% of the county budget. That’s a big chunk of change. Supervisor Alexander asked if it was worth passing this resolution and then later being unable to provide essential services. She asked the question about where additional funds could be found. Sarcastically, she asked how many people had overpaid their property taxes or made a freewill donation to the county during the last year.

 

The debate continued. Most everybody had an axe to grind. Supervisor Johnson said that he understood the possible financial repercussions of passing this proposal and risking the wrath of Trump. However, he said that failing to speak out with the resolution would be like giving in to a bully, and he wasn’t willing to do that.

 

Supervisor Moore Omokunde mentioned, “My ancestors came to this country legally. They were kidnapped and brought here, but it was legal.”

He then said that he was supporting the resolution. He said matter-of-factly that it was his job to do so.

 

Supervisor Sequanna Taylor paraphrased the German pastor Martin Niemoeller. She talked about how they came for the immigrant, for the LGBTQ person, for the union member, for the Muslim, for the Jew, etc., until there was nobody left to speak up when they would come for her. Her point was that we had to speak up for minorities now. If we wait, it will be too late for everyone.

 

After 1:00 PM, there was finally a vote. The measure passed, 12 to 6. So, what was the point of it all? The county still is not a sanctuary. It cannot be while Sheriff Clarke works with immigration authorities. What was achieved?

 

I go back to the comment from my county supervisor, Steve Taylor. He stated that this resolution was a waste of time. I disagree with him there. It is sometimes worthwhile for our elected officials to take a deep breath and really think about what it is that we value. This is something worth discussing, and worth proclaiming to the world at large.

 

The basic question involved is this: “What do we value, and what price are we willing to pay to defend our values?”

 

That was the core of the debate, and the conversation was worth the time and effort.

 

Green Dreams

March 23rd, 2017

Confusion.

That’s how I woke up this morning. The furnace clicked on just before 6:00 AM, and the dog rattled the tags on her collar (she does that when she needs to go out). It was just barely getting light outside, and I needed to make sure that Stefan got up in time to make it to his welding class. I needed to make his smoothie. My heart raced and I needed to piss. I kept thinking, “Okay, I’m awake now. All that shit is gone.” That doesn’t mean that all that shit wasn’t real.

I had green dreams last night. I dreamt about the Army all night long. These were dreams that told me about who I was, and who I am now, and maybe what could have been. I dreamt about looking for Hans. I looked everywhere, but I couldn’t find him.  I needed his help,. I was supposed to clear bad guys out of a building, and kick in a few doors. I finally found Hans. He looked like did when he was a kid. He smiled at me. He told me not to worry, and that he would help me kill people. We would be okay.

 

The scene changed. I was seated in a crowd of people. They were listening to somebody talking about how wonderful the Army is. Everybody around me looked like extras from M.A.S H. I could recognize the various actors. They looked older, and they all stood up and applauded. Everybody cheered, except for me. I was surrounded by fatigue uniforms and smiling faces.

 

The scene changed again. I was supposed to report to my new unit. They wanted me to fly again. I couldn’t find my uniforms. I couldn’t find my insignia. I didn’t know where to go. I didn’t want to go back. I knew that I was supposed to fly a night mission, and I couldn’t remember how to fly at night. I felt utter panic.

 

The furnace clicked on. The dog rattled her tags. I pulled myself to a sitting position on the bed and said to myself, “Goddamit! JesusfuckingChrist!” I breathed. “Okay. I’m here. Stefan needs to get up soon. It’s okay.”

 

Somehow it’s not okay. I’m crying now, and I don’t know why.