Everybody Wants Some
In Balboa Park, San Diego, there are three staring statues of European explorers, standing against the wall in arrogant poise, the one on the left particularly proud, his hand on his hip and a cape thrown casually over his shoulder. He looks as if he’s just conquered the world. The trio stares sternly ahead, pleased with themselves and the trail of bodies they’ve likely left behind.
If they could speak, should they apologize? Does one apologize for being stronger, more advanced, more ambitious? Should they whisper rather than yell, we came, we saw, we…feel so guilty about it? They meant to explore, to claim, to conquer. They meant to convert, even enslave. Why? They saw themselves as Conquistadores, those simply meant to explore and conquer. We may not agree today, but they didn’t leave the shores of the Old World today. No, they set sail centuries ago before the modern concept of immigration existed.
When they sailed into the unknown ~ think of the courage that took ~ they didn’t know what they’d find. Imagine living in ignorance of the geography of roughly half the world. Is it flat, or is it a sphere? It seemed spherical, but the question wasn’t quite settled. Here be Monsters? Or there? Go on, get in the boat anyway. You may get lost. You may run out of food. You may disappear forever. Go on, get in the boat anyway. Could you do it? They did, and they clung to their hopes and dreams as they clung to the hulls of their battered ships, wondering what hell they were sailing into. Still, they were ambitious. They were optimists. They meant to take what they could, if they could, or die trying. Could you do it?
I couldn’t, and for that alone I must give these strong souls a begrudging respect. I don’t like what happened to the silken haired natives once those boats hit sand, but that changes nothing. Before we judge, we must look at those shores and the wild unknown just beyond the sands through their sun-burned eyes. Step into the body of a fifteenth century Spaniard and look. See what he sees ~ You’ve just been on the most harrowing journey of your life. It’s been months since you’ve seen land. Where are you exactly ~ you have no idea. You’re exhausted, probably hungry. There are people here, strange people. Are they friendly? You’re not sure. They’re not sure. Everyone is…scared. Tensions are high. Anything could happen.
We know what happened, and any number of scenarios could have played out next. Who is to blame? Human nature, ultimately. Those screeching about universal love and acceptance are the same babbling idiots who preach hatred for our shared past. Love, love, love…but we hate this guy. How dare he succumb to being human! Where is that hatred for the bloodthirsty Bantu who has ravaged more than half of inner Africa? Where is that hatred for the Choctaw who in a fit of rage after losing his black slaves hunts them down like wild animals? Where is that self-righteous hatred for the marauding bands of rapists who scream to Allah a few times a day, just yesterday? It isn’t there. The activist hates only the white man; past, present, and future. Why?
It is a question we must ask ourselves, even if the answer is a thing to go to war about. Before we open the gates to a flood of third-world immigrants because America is a nation of immigrants, we need to understand the nature of those first immigrants. They wouldn’t use that word. They wouldn’t capitulate. They wouldn’t apologize. And so, because of their brazen spirit, we have this country where we are free to moan and groan about old white men, the same white men who ensured our freedom of speech.
Here’s another question to ponder: Who has caused this social unrest? The same ilk who would open your country to each and every sorry soul salivating for a piece of American pie. If we continue on this path, there will be no more pie and our hearth will be bare. Everybody wants some? Make your own.
Mexican? Make Mexico the place you want to raise your Mexican family. African? Make Africa the fertile breadbasket it should be. Arab? Make the Middle East remember its ancient glory and live it again. American pie isn’t for you ~ you deserve your own. Go home and make it yourself; you are capable. In marches the Social Justice Warrior screaming, but they can’t… What? Those with varying shades of brown skin can’t make it without help from magnanimous whites? Wait a minute… You said I was the racist? Maybe not.