How it must feel for a writer to pat themselves on the back and add figures to an apparent disaster as they sit in the comfortable chair by their typewriter.
Meantime, in a home in Central America one of the parents in a home is trying to decide the future of their children. Should they we sent to the US border, on their own, with a gang of homegrown gangsters, or should the parent tear them from their brothers and sisters because, being the youngest child, the child presents the best opportunity for getting a foot on American soil.
How warm and comfortable it must be to pressure the writer’s neighbors into paying for the welfare of the child, by now having been raped or stocked with a drug package, while the writer bleats “I would take a child in myself but I haven’t got the room.”
How often a writer must bury their head in the sand and turn away from the Headline “MS13 Slaughter Young Girl And Rip Out Her Heart.”
“Oh!” The writer cries “It could just have easily have been a natural born American.”
“Never mind,” the writer cries “when we are in power again we will demolish the ICE “natzis” and everyone can come into America at any time.”
Thinks “As long as they don’t come into my block.”
