June 28th was a very fine day, indeed. For one thing, under pressure from my fellow Americans, the boobs in the Beltway caved in, and stopped trying to shove the amnesty bill down our collective throats.
It was also the day that the Supreme Court finally got around to deciding that in a society that keeps insisting that it’s colorblind, race can no longer be used as a means to determine the makeup of student bodies. I’d like to think that Martin Luther King, Jr., would have approved, just as I take comfort in knowing that Jesse Jackson doesn’t.
My spirits were so uplifted by the news, it nearly made up for the fact that the 2007 New York Yankees are beginning to remind me a lot of the 1962 New York Mets.
The wonderful thing about the demise of the immigration bill is that it managed to delight not only those who wish Ted Kennedy would retire to the home for old sots, but those who are eagerly counting off the days until George Bush can finally devote all his waking hours to clearing the brush down in Crawford.
The bill not only drove a wedge between Republicans, with the smarmy likes of Hagel, Gregg, Snowe, Lott, Lugar, McCain, Craig, Specter, Martinez and Graham, siding with Biden, Kerry, Clinton and Obama, but even between me and one of my favorite radio talk show hosts, Michael Medved. He was clearly irked that the bill failed to pass. In fact, on the day of the bill’s demise, he even railed against the mere notion of amending the Constitution to prevent the offspring of those in the U.S. illegally from being granted automatic citizenship. I happen to believe that such an amendment is long over-due. I grant that reasonable people can disagree about this issue, but whenever I hear anybody carry on as if the Constitution was etched in stone, I remind myself that two of the 27 amendments deal with booze!
I can’t help feeling that whether our forefathers were Christians, deists, agnostics or atheists, they would have strongly opposed the proposition that an infant could benefit from the commission of a crime committed by its parents.
Those who promoted passage of the bill argued that it would allow the U.S. to finally get a handle on illegal immigration. What a laugh! Millions of illegals have come here on visas, but once they decided to overstay their welcome, absolutely nothing was done about it. You may recall having read about several of them in the aftermath of 9/11.
When the feds can’t even cope with so-called legal immigration, why on earth would we trust them to deal with the far more complicated problem of illegal aliens?
The biggest joke is when the number of those who have snuck in is placed at 12 million. Is that a figure that somebody saw in a crystal ball or deciphered in a glob of wet tea leaves? The president’s mouthpiece, Tony Snow, has admitted that nobody knows who or where these people are. But the one thing we know for certain is their number?! Inasmuch as I keep hearing from readers in the Southeast, the Northwest and the Midwest, not to mention those in Texas, California and Arizona, that their towns are being over-run with illegals, I’m willing to wager that the actual figure is close to double that number.
Harry Reid has vowed that the bill, though severely wounded, will live to rise another day. It reminds you of those scary movies in which the evil creature, apparently dead and buried, suddenly climbs out of its grave. Come to think of it, that also reminds me of Harry Reid.
Those who scratch their heads and ponder the impossible logistics of deporting millions of people make me want to shake them until the marbles come tumbling out of their ears. There is one simple solution, and one that wouldn’t even require the building of a wall. We’d simply make it a felony for anyone to hire illegals. If the potential employee was unable to supply a verifiable birth certificate and social security number, he couldn’t get a job. You would soon see a mass exodus. After all, if they were able to make their way north, they sure as heck can make their way south.
Then there are those who believed that because brother Jeb was married to a woman born in Mexico, thus making his niece and nephews half-Latino, George was just overly sympathetic to the plight of poor Hispanics.
The latest theory I’ve heard espoused was that young George may have had a Mexican nanny to whom he was particularly attached. Although most people might regard that as a frivolous reason for endangering our national sovereignty, not to mention scuttling the GOP’s chances of recovering from the 2006 elections, it’s certainly within the realm of possibility. If Charles Foster Kane’s implausible life could be traced all the way back to a sled named Rosebud in the movie classic, “Citizen Kane,” I’m willing to accept that in pushing so aggressively for this lousy piece of legislation, the president was merely trying to atone for some youthful shenanigan that provoked his beloved Maria, Consuela or Esperanza.
So, instead of dismissing the bill as amnesty in sheep’s clothing, perhaps we should merely think of it as the nanny bill. After all, there’s no getting around the fact that those childhood experiences often have a very profound effect on us. For instance, do any of you have the slightest doubt that Ted Kennedy was a bottle baby?