Thank you, sir, may I have another?
10:18 on Friday, March 12, 2004 • 4 responses
I’ve had so much I’ve wanted to write about these past few days and no time or energy to write. I’m leaving early tomorrow for a two-week return to Illinois, and as such I’m scrambling to finish up my academic and my teaching responsibilities here in Santa Cruz before departing.
One of the things I’ve wanted to write most about was Tuesday’s 50th anniversary of Edward R. Murrow’s monumentally defiant news broadcast criticizing the anti-communist policies of Wisconsin senator Joseph McCarthy. It strikes me as particularly poignant that such a remembrance should take place in an era where the field of journalism has completely bent over for the entertainment industry. In what I fear is a terminal case of post 9/11 aphasia, the field of journalism is no longer interested in being a force for social change. There are no more Edward R. Murrows. The FCC and Clear Channel will see to that.
Fittingly, I got a disturbing email from my friend Dan yesterday. With his permission, I’m posting it here. For context, the employee mentioned in this email, a Mexican mechanic, is without question one of the nicest people I know.
Today at lunch a very serious looking guy in a Hawaiian shirt stepped up to the front counter at my shop and informed me that he would be taking one of my employees away “to talk to him.”
“Oh, really?” I asked.
Out came the badge: Department of Homeland Security. HFS!!!
I looked out the window, and sure enough, my employee was already cuffed and stuffed into the back of a Ford.
My employee called a few hours later, telling me that they were shipping him off to Arizona for questioning. Needless to say, he was rather upset.
An hour later he called back to say they had made a mistake and had let him go. They left him without a ride 50 miles away from home, but he was free to go.
They asked him a bunch of crap and told him to call his work and family to tell them he’ll be gone for “some time”. Then, after an hour he overheard them say, “We can’t hold him.” He was on the street in five minutes. They said they were sorry for the inconvenience. I sent him home for the day to decompress. I keep trying to think of something witty to write, but just can’t seem to make light of it yet.
Cuba. There, that’s real funny.
Now I don’t know what I’m more afraid of. My personal security or the people ensuring it.
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