Don’t Know What to Think

I checked in with my favorite legal immigrant on the job. He’s a supervisor in a house-framing crew. He speaks at least two languages and my favorite part of seeing him is that he’s always smiling.

I’ve known him for at least ten years so it would seem that his status is solid enough.

Yet.

Earlier this week one of the work trucks was stopped as the guys, at a 7/11 on break, were met by ICE.

There were 8 guys in the vehicle.

Only 5 made it back to the job site.

“I don’t know what happened there,” my friend said. “We all have the same status. We should be all good.”

“Where are the three guys?” I asked.

“No clue. We haven’t heard anything yet.”

We just stood there looking at one another. He mentioned the names of his co-workers who were hauled off - I knew 2 of the 3 guys.

“They probably won’t be back,” he said. “They aren’t entitled to a hearing, I guess.”

I sighed.

“This ain’t America,” I said.

“I don’t know what to think,” he answered. “I mean my papers are good, but does that matter?”

“Probably not,” I said. “You look the part of the people they want to get rid of.”

He laughed.

“Not for nothing, but you’re dark complected too,” he said.

We laughed, but there truly isn’t anything funny.

We also had the conversation before a freaking judge was arrested.

“This ain’t America.”