We didn’t start the fire

Mike Frantz

In the aftermath of a home fire in which they lost everything, the victims weren’t immediately concerned about their next meal, how to get a change of clothes, where to sleep that night, or how to find a shower to scrub off soot and ash. These legally present, but not native born and non-native speaking, immigrants asked how they could replace their immigration documents now mixed with other belongings in a sodden heap of trash. Said documents were their proof of their right to be on American soil. That was a gut punch from which I may never recover.

How did we get here? As the clock struck midnight on Feb. 5, I was in a shelter for victims of an apartment fire. Some were like the family described above. That new day would have been my dad’s 89th birthday and I thought about the last intelligible thing I remember him saying before Alzheimer’s completely robbed him of speech, “That son of a bitch.” While his brain was so addled on almost everything else, he still recognized Trump for what he remains.

I really don’t want to sound like a conspiracy theorist, and I’ll trust that my readers will hold me accountable if I stray in that direction. I do want to challenge you to consider the likelihood of what follows.

Imagine you are a documented immigrant who has a full-time job, is paying taxes, are law abiding, and living in Trump’s time as president. Your home is now gone and every possession not on your body is unrecoverable. The passport from your country of birth, your state issued ID, your visa/immigration paperwork to be allowed in the US, and your cell phone have disappeared. You’re driving to the local convenience store to get some water before you head to the shelter to rest and you get pulled over because a taillight is out. What happens next?

It could be that the police officer takes pity and lets you go with compassion. Or, the state trooper could be today’s version of Bull Connor or Sheriff Joe Arpaio. “License and registration!”

You reply in accented English, “I have registration and proof of insurance but no license.”

“Why not?”

“Lost it in a fire.”

Waiving the registration and insurance paperwork in the air, “How do I know these papers and car belong to you?” the trooper responds, speaking louder because he knows volume helps people understand English better. “Where are you from?”

You answer, “Bumbleweed, Iowa, sir.”

“No,” he says, “where are you from?”

“I was born in (name your country).”

I won’t take this fictitious scenario further because I’m sure you get the point. Further, I’m not trying to draw a distinction between a kind local cop and a potentially biased state trooper. I could have drawn on many different kinds of authority figures from courthouse workers to immigration officials to employers—all roles that might ask for specific documentation about legal status and identification. Can you imagine the fear and uncertainty these fire victims were and are feeling?

Do you know what they did? Starting at 4 a.m., they began rising from their shelter cots to clean up in the bathroom and leave for work. I am positive none had slept well. I think they had two things in mind in those moments: 1) I’m going to need money to get back on my feet; 2) I have to control what I can control today. I cannot replace all my papers on one day off.

I have no idea how many months or years it took to gain possession of those status proving documents, but I suggest rational people will agree it didn’t happen in days or weeks. Nor will the replacement of those documents happen quickly. Most importantly, how do they even prove they are who they say they are? What might happen to them in the intervening months? Will the fear of engagement with government officials keep them hidden indoors until all is resolved in 2035? It might be easy for us to dismiss their fears as unwarranted of law-abiding members of society, but I argue their feelings are real and rational.

Maybe there is a magic governmental fingerprint machine attached to a printer such that all they have to do is lay the palm of their right hand on a screen and legal papers spew out. Shazam, back in business.

Or, maybe they end up in a retention facility with a processing number that allows them to see a judge in 17 months. In the meantime, the processing facility overflows, and they end up on a plane to Gitmo where they will swat mosquitos until death or deportation. Really, I don’t know what might happen. Do you?

I hate that this is where my thoughts are today. I can even imagine some of my friends saying things like, “I don’t want those people detained or deported, I just want the illegals gone.”

“How do you know which are which?” I will say.

Silence is likely to ensue. Most immigrants have come through legal ports of entry. Those called “illegal” have often, if not usually, presented themselves to immigration officials, been processed within the system, and allowed entry pending an appearance in court at a date so far in the future as to be nearly immeasurable. If you must label one as “illegal” then you must be referring only to those who have entered the country by stealth, thus unknown to any governmental official. Yet, we somehow still report counts of them. Interesting.

I’m sure Kristy Noem will fix this all with grace, humility, and compassion. That is, if she can make time between shooting her pets for poor behavior.

Seriously, my friends, imagine the fear of our neighbors, even those who haven’t lost everything in a fire. I’m sure I can only understand a fraction of what they are going through. Please go out of your way to offer a friendly smile and/or a hand in need. Please hold your elected officials responsible for fixing a very broken system. Please don’t demonize or generalize. Each person must be given the chance at due process and of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

Mike Frantz lives in Storm Lake. Read more by Mike at https://mikefrantz.substack.com