Arizona launches an RPG into the immigration debate

On my way to work this morning, I heard a lengthy discussion on NPR's "The Diane Rehm Show" about Arizona's stringent new immigration law. The Support Our Law Enforcement and Safe Neighborhoods Act, signed last week by Gov. Jan Brewer, requires that "for any lawful contact made by a law enforcement official or agency of this state or a county, city, town or other political subdivision of this state where reasonable suspicion exists that the person is an alien who is unlawfully present in the United States, a reasonable attempt shall be made, when practicable, to determine the immigration status of the person." Such a determination presumably means the suspect must produce evidence (read: documentation) of legal immigration status or U.S. citizenship.

Predictably, the bill has sparked outrage in some quarters and hosannahs in others; it's also drawn comparisons to everything from Nazism to apartheid. The main point of contention is the "where reasonable suspicion exists" part. How does an officer of the law arrive at that reasonable suspicion? There are no specific criteria or guidelines, leading many to conclude that the only "reasonable suspicion" needed is the appearance of being an illegal alien ... which in the American Southwest translates to "Hispanic."

Rehm's usual complement of analysts and reporters batted around the implications of the bill, with Mark Krikorian of the Center for Immigration Studies voicing support and Angela Kelley of the Center of American Progress taking the opposite view. What struck me most about the debate was that Krikorian kept painting scenarios in which a suspect would have been stopped by a peace officer for committing some sort of infraction — say, making an illegal left turn, or making too much noise in public. Thing is, there's nothing in the language of the bill that stipulates any such scenario. There's a provision stating that if an alien who is unlawfully present in the United States is convicted of violating state or local law, that person can be deported. Another provision says that a law enforcement officer doesn't need a warrant to arrest a person who the officer has probable cause to believe has "committed any public offense that makes the person removable from the United States." But nowhere does it say that probable cause is required for an officer to question someone about his or her legal status. And nowhere does it detail the grounds for reasonable suspicion.

That's a mighty big omission. In essence, it means that a police officer can walk up to anyone who has brown skin and ask to see proof of legal immigration. And since most of us don't carry around our birth certificates, it also means that someone born in this country could ostensibly be detained until such proof is given — someone like me, or my father, or any of my relatives of Puerto Rican descent who happen to find themselves in Arizona. That last observation is born of a certain wry cynicism: I've learned over the years that few non-Latinos make a distinction between Puerto Rican and Guatemalan, or Colombian and Chilean, or any other flavor of Hispanic. Among less-than-observant Americans, we're all lumped into a much-disdained pile called "Mexicans."

Of course, the failure of the federal government to pass legislation that deals with our porous southern border is a contributing factor here. And as long as there's furious resistance to any bill that includes a path to citizenship for illegal immigrants, I don't see the situation changing. Even so, Arizona's approach is fatally flawed (and quite possibly unconstitutional) because it makes racial profiling practically a given.

Gov. Brewer has said she'll work to ensure that the police have the proper training to carry out the law. But when asked what other factors might be used to single out an unlawful resident, she answered, "We have to trust our law enforcement."

Sorry, but that's simply not enough. Law enforcement officers are by and large dedicated to their jobs and to protecting the people in their jurisdictions. But they're also subject to the same biases and human failings that plague the rest of mankind; they don't suddenly become immune to those biases and failings when they get their badges.

Just ask any African American who's been pulled over for "driving while black."

She was only *mostly* dead

Today marks my return to the blogosphere (under a new moniker!) after a five-year hiatus. I wish I could say that those five years were a whirlwind of exciting events and experiences ... but a demanding job and near-terminal exhaustion don't really meet the criteria.

It's been fascinating, though, to look back and consider how much has happened since last I blogged. For instance:

1. The U.S. and global economies collapsed in a messy heap, with consequences that are still unfolding.
2. America elected a Democrat to the presidency. Did I mention that he's African American?
3. Congress passed healthcare reform, and President Obama signed the bill into law. Unfortunately, Ted Kennedy didn't live to see the cause to which he dedicated himself come to fruition. Also unfortunately, the bill didn't include a public option.
4. Several states and the District of Columbia legalized same-sex marriage. Sadly, California voters overturned the state's approval of marriage rights for gays and lesbians by passing Proposition 8.
5. The political mood of the nation became even more rancorous - something I wouldn't have believed was possible. In fact, it's gotten downright menacing.
6. The far-right wing of the GOP took permanent leave of its senses.
7. Apple's iPhone rewrote the "smartphone" rules.
8. Facebook and Twitter ate the Internet.
9. Mother Nature went on a rampage.
10. The New York Mets and the Baltimore Orioles went from bad to "hide all the sharp objects in the house" awful. 
11. And apparently scantily clad and promiscuous women are to blame for earthquakes. Glad we got that cleared up.

There's an ancient Chinese curse: "May you live in interesting times." If these times get any more "interesting," I may have to make a downpayment on a padded cell. I wonder if they make them with Wi-Fi?

Hell Kat

I haven't blogged yet about Katrina - partly because I've been glued to the television, partly because I don't really know what I can add to the discussion. Am I aggrieved by what's happened? Lord, yes. I never dreamed I would see images of hungry, homeless people lined up on sidewalks waiting for (belated) aid to come, while dead bodies lie where they've fallen in the streets, right here in my own country. I'm by turns heartbroken, appalled, depressed and infuriated by our descent into what sometimes looks like a parody of Third World squalor.

But what can I say about these horrors that hasn't been said? Sure, I could excoriate the federal government for its feeble, much-too-little-much-too-late response ... but plenty of people have done that (here, here, and here), and with an eloquence that eludes me at the moment. I could call for FEMA director Michael Brown's head on a pike ... but my hard-charging senator, Barbara Mikulski, has already beaten me to the punch. And I suppose I could add my own observations about how Katrina ripped through the thin veneer of this nation's tolerance for people who are poor, black or both, thus exposing our innate racism and classism ... but there's not much room left on that particular bandwagon, populated as it is by everyone from Ted Kennedy to Kanye West.

Truth is, nothing I say here can ease the crushing losses suffered by the citizens of New Orleans, Gulfport, Biloxi, Slidell, and the now nonexistent Waveland, Miss.

So, like most everyone else, I make my donation to the Red Cross. I listen to the calls for assistance and for investigations into FEMA mismanagement as I box up clothes and household items to send to people who've lost - it defies imagining - everything. I thank whatever higher power may be lurking out there for the abundant good fortune in my life, and I stop kvetching about the comparatively minor annoyances. And I rededicate myself to campaigning and voting for candidates at every level who put justice and compassion ahead of profits.

It doesn't seem like much ... but right now, it's the best I've got.

Screwballs in short skirts

Time, which has evidently run out of important things to write about, features Ann Coulter on the cover of this week's issue. Well, more precisely, Ann Coulter's very long, very thin legs, which take up most of the cover and look alarmingly like tentacles. The perspective of the photo gives her the appearance of being a circus freak. Which, come to think of it, sums her up pretty well.

The cover story itself, oh-so-cleverly titled "Ms. Right," seeks to position Coulter as a symbol of the partisan divisiveness that currently plagues America:

...no one on the right is so iconic, such a totem of this particular moment. Coulter epitomizes the way politics is now discussed on the airwaves, where opinions must come violently fast and cause as much friction as possible. No one, right or left, delivers the required apothegmatic commentary on the world with as much glee or effectiveness as Coulter. It is almost impossible to watch her and not be sluiced into rage or elation, depending on your views. As a congressional staff member 10 years ago, Coulter used to help write the nation's laws. Now she is far more powerful: she helps set the nation's tone.

At the same time, it portrays her as a white burgundy-drinking, Nicorette-scarfing cutie pie who blushes when overheard excoriating liberals in a restaurant and is horribly, horribly misunderstood. Moreover, the article implies that part of the reason people at both ends of the political spectrum are so het up about her is that no one expects to hear such rancorous bilge spewing from the mouth of a pretty blue-eyed blonde who's thin as a drinking straw.

...one is astounded to hear from Coulter something like, "We should invade their countries, kill their leaders, and convert them to Christianity," as she famously wrote of Muslims who were cheering after the Sept. 11 attacks, not least because Coulter might be shrink-wrapped in a black-leather mini as she says it. The combination of hard-charging righteousness and willowy, sex-kitten pulchritude is vertiginous and—for her many young male fans—intoxicating.

Oh, please.

Coulter is no more appalling than any other conservative blowhard simply because she's female - in truth, she's preceded by any number of viperous women, among them Phyllis Schlafly, Laura Schlessinger, Mary G. Kilbreth, and (as noted in the Time article) Claire Booth Luce.

Nor should her physical attractiveness make her statements more shocking. Why should we be somehow more aggrieved by the deranged rantings of a nutter who looks like Ann Coulter than one who looks like John McLaughlin? A crackpot is a crackpot, no matter what package it comes in. And Coulter is most certainly a crackpot. What else do you call someone who lobs grenades like "My only regret with Timothy McVeigh is he did not go to the New York Times Building"? Bertrand Russell, she ain't.

But Coulter's true agenda emerges about halfway through the Time article:

"Most of what I say, I say to amuse myself and amuse my friends. I don't spend a lot of time thinking about anything beyond that."

So will someone please explain to me why we still spend so much time thinking about what she says?

Her continued fame (or, more accurately, infamy) must surely constitute the longest 15 minutes in recorded history.

Rambling thoughts on recent news

Because It Just Doesn't Make Sense, That's Why

To the great joy of all who believe in basic human rights, San Francisco County Superior Court Judge Richard Kramer ruled on Monday that withholding marriage licenses from gays and lesbians violates California's Constitution.

Quoth Judge Kramer - who is not only a Republican but also Catholic - "It appears that no rational purpose exists for limiting marriage in this state to opposite-sex partners." Amen, Yer Honor.

No rational purpose has ever existed for any form of discrimination against the gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgendered community ... but it's certainly nice to hear it from a relatively conservative judge.

The ruling will be appealed. We know that. The issue will eventually make its way to the Supreme Court, where the issue will have to be decided on the merits of the law - not on religion or tradition or whether half the country freaks out at the thought of gay people having the same rights as their own selves.

Until that day comes, however, we celebrate victories wherever we find 'em.

A Case for Living Wills

The tragedy of Terry Schiavo continued, with the Florida legislature and both chambers of Congress rushing last-minute measures to a vote, all in an effort to keep Schiavo's husband from having her feeding tube removed against the wishes of her parents. In a breathtaking example of Congress's penchant for theater of the absurd, House Republicans issued a subpoena for Schiavo to appear before a congressional hearing - a blatant attempt to subvert a court order allowing her feeding tube to be removed.

The Florida judge presiding over the case finally told Congress where to stick their subpoena, and the feeding tube was removed at 1:45 EST this afternoon.

There is no happy ending to this story. None. But it serves as a potent reminder that every adult should make out a living will.

No Guts. No Glory. No Wonder.

My seamhead husband and I spent a couple of hours last night watching C-SPAN's rerun of the congressional hearings on steroid use in baseball. My beloved had never actually sat down to watch C-SPAN - and probably never will again - but for a while there, it was more entertaining than an episode of Mystery Science Theater 3000.

After listening to a pack of obsequious congressmen lob softballs that Mario Mendoza could have jacked, and hearing Jose Canseco, Sammy Sosa, Mark McGwire, Rafael Palmeiro and Curt Schilling make statements that ranged from pugnacious to pathetic, we came to a few conclusions:

• Jose Canseco is a clown.
  
• Sammy Sosa looked like he got lost on the way to Camden Yards and somehow wound up in the Rayburn building.
• Sammy also managed to conveniently forget he knows how to speak English.
• Jose Canseco is a clown.
• Raffy Palmeiro is one heck of a handsome man.
  
• Curt Schilling needs to make up his mind whether steroid use in baseball is or isn't a problem, because he contradicted himself half a dozen times.
  
• Jose Canseco is a clown.

But what saddened me most was Mark McGwire's non-testimony. The man who kept us glued to the screen in 1998 as he and Sosa chased Roger Maris was a mere shadow of his former self - and I'm not just talking about the considerable change in his physical appearance (which could be explained by the fact that retired ballplayers don't need to retain all that muscle, couldn't it?).

My respect for McGwire came not only from his talent at the plate, but from the way he conducted himself during that remarkable season - with dignity, humility, and a refusal to feed the rivalry the press kept trying to cook up between him and Sammy. Most of all, I gave him huge props for speaking openly about going through therapy - an admission that most athletes wouldn't make if you held a .45 to their heads. He had integrity, and we loved him for it.

The Mark McGwire I saw at yesterday's hearing was not the Mark McGwire of 1998. This Mark McGwire stammered and stalled, feebly refusing to answer questions about whether he or any player he knew had used steroids. Over and over again, he bleated, "I'm not here to talk about the past." "I'm a retired player." "I can't answer that." "It's not for me to determine." "My lawyers have advised me that I cannot answer these questions."

After a couple of hours of that, how can anyone not think that Big Mac was ducking the questions because he was, in fact, juiced while he was playing? That those 70 runs, and the entire magical season, were the result of - let's say the word - cheating. By choosing to all but plead the Fifth, McGwire forever tarnished his legacy as both a great player and a man of integrity. Moreover, as today's Washington Post noted, McGwire's crowning achievement will now be tagged with an "unwritten asterisk."

It's enough to make me wonder whether the notion of the baseball hero has gone the way of the dodo bird. And to thank the gods for Cal Ripken.