Bashing Illegal Immigrants Is on Today’s Menu

There’s a lot of immigrant-bashing going on these days. L.A. County Supervisor Mike Antonovich blames them for the county’s budget woes. Mayoral hopeful Julian Nava gets booed for suggesting that resident immigrants be allowed to vote in city elections. Leticia Quezada got much the same reaction when she proposed the same for L.A. school elections.

Many Latinos also are jumping on the bandwagon. In a recent front page Times story, a majority of 2,800 Latinos surveyed in the United States by the Latino National Political Survey think there are too many immigrants--illegal and otherwise--coming to this country.

While I am outraged by this point of view, I’m not surprised by it.

My mother, the daughter of an illegal immigrant, has been saying much the same thing for several years.

At family gatherings over holidays like Thanksgiving, Mom likes to occasionally gauge the state of the world by asking me questions that she knows will provoke. Like, “Well, what do you think about ‘Slick Willie?’ ”

Naturally, I take the bait and the debate is on. This time, no matter how much I talked about the President-elect, Mom wouldn’t give up. She took special delight in repeating the derisive nickname given to Bill Clinton by his detractors.

I pointed out that she was fighting a losing cause: Mom was outvoted on Election Day by her two sons, who thought Slick Willie deserved a chance to run the country.

“Well, let me tell you one thing,” Mom retorted, not giving an inch.

The discussions are fun because Mom is my version of grass-roots America. She is of a generation that struggled in the Depression, grew up during World War II and shaped the ideals and aspirations instilled in baby boomers like me. When I wonder about the Silent Majority, I think of Mom.

As I grew up, she reminded me of the tough trip her mother made when she left Mexico in the mid-1920s to illegally come to Los Angeles. My maternal grandmother stayed for about 15 years before returning to Mexico. In those years in L.A., she gave birth to three children who became instant U.S. citizens, including Mom. Among family members, there is no significance attached to this fact. It’s treated simply as part of family history.

I’m also reminded that my father, who was born in Mexico and came illegally to the United States, served as a U.S. Army infantryman during World War II.

I am proud of that and am not afraid to admit that I’m also the offspring of an illegal. It is one of the special bonds that makes life in my family so special.

So as the turkey went into the oven, Mom let out a sarcastic laugh when the subject of illegal immigrants came up.

“There are too many illegal aliens coming into the country,” she began, “too many undesirables. Many of them come here simply to have babies at the county hospitals. And you know who is paying for it all?

“We the taxpayers are. These aliens are using up all of our resources. No wonder the county is having problems.”

I’ve heard this before. But while I might doggedly question a politician, I gently interrupt my mother.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” I asked. “People just don’t come here to have babies. They come here for a lot of reasons, many of them good and decent. Many of these immigrants contribute to our society. Our family has contributed to this society.

“And,” I concluded, “isn’t there an irony in all this? You are the daughter of an illegal immigrant. How can you denounce as evil this process that many Latinos view was part of family history? After all, the U.S. is a country of immigrants. Don’t you see the irony of what you’re saying?”

“No,” she countered.

She might have been more forgiving in her younger days. But she now believes that illegal immigration today is an out-of-control plague, aided and abetted by unsavory smuggling rings and conniving forgers who peddle fake government documents on street corners. Before the Second World War, times were simpler and immigration did not seem to threaten the republic.

“When my mother came here,” Mom said, “she wasn’t out on the dole. I have the same attitude. My mother’s big thing was, ‘No pida ayuda .’ Don’t ask for help. Today, you have illegals suing people. Drywallers demonstrating. Illegals doing this and doing that.”

No minds were changed during the meal of turkey, mashed potatoes, carrots and warm biscuits. Which means we’ll probably have the same argument on Christmas Eve, the time for another traditional family dinner.

If it weren’t for her homemade tamales. . . .