← Autodidact Archive · Original Dissent · Sertorius
Thread ID: 19977 | Posts: 8 | Started: 2005-09-03
2005-09-03 18:43 | User Profile
Border Has Record Illegal Immigrant Deaths Sep 03 9:57 AM US/Eastern
By ARTHUR H. ROTSTEIN Associated Press Writer
TUCSON, Ariz.
A record 415 people have died trying to cross the border illegally from Mexico in the past 11 months, surpassing the previous high of 383 recorded in fiscal year 2000, a spokesman for U.S. Customs and Border Protection in Washington said Friday.
Record numbers of deaths are being recorded in both Border Patrol sectors that cover Arizona and in south Texas, spokesman Mario Villarreal said.
Some of the increase reflects a change in the way Tucson Border Patrol officials are counting the dead. In late June, they began including some remains found by other law enforcement agencies but not previously counted.
Even accounting for the change, Arizona's 228 recorded deaths so far this fiscal year, which ends Sept. 30, were more than in all of fiscal said Border Patrol spokesman Luis Garza.
He attributed the increase to unprecedented heat and an eastward shift by smugglers to a more mountainous and treacherous stretch of desert east of the Baboquivari Mountains and the Tohono O'odham Indian reservation.
Villarreal noted that many immigrants probably are physically stressed even before they cross into the United States.
"The smugglers are moving the groups laterally in Mexico and then crossing them in very desolate, remote places along the Southwest border," he said. He said smugglers frequently abandon those who become ill, injured or tired in harsh conditions.
In the El Paso sector, which covers the border area in New Mexico and two western Texas counties, there were 25 deaths by mid-August, up from 18 last year. [url]http://www.breitbart.com/news/2005/09/03/D8CCQNN80.html[/url] ==================== We can expect the Mexican govt. to make a big deal about this. Not that we should give a damn at this time.
2005-09-03 22:28 | User Profile
[font=Times New Roman][size=3]Oooo, my heart is breaking.
The fecund nature of these wretches means this number is like a drop of water in the ocean. IOW there are plenty more beans where these came from.[/size][/font]
2005-09-03 22:31 | User Profile
Nature is doing more to solve this problem than the Clouseau Administration.
2005-09-03 23:53 | User Profile
[QUOTE=Sertorius]Nature is doing more to solve this problem than the Clouseau Administration.[/QUOTE]
Maybe so. I can say that it's definitely seemed hotter than you-know-what this summer.
2005-09-04 00:21 | User Profile
Says it all.
[img]http://tomeaker.com/mb/bft600.jpg[/img]
2005-09-04 00:38 | User Profile
Hamilton,
Works for me.
2005-09-04 06:16 | User Profile
[QUOTE=Sertorius] the Clouseau Administration.[/QUOTE]
:1eye:
that's good stuff
2005-09-05 02:58 | User Profile
Sadly, there will be no end to the Mexican Invasion in the near future.
[url]http://www.nationalvanguard.org/story.php?id=5779[/url]
Pedro's Story: Part One of 42 Million Opinion; Posted on: 2005-08-24 15:43:57
Part of a continuing series that appears to have no end...
by Mike Wood
LET'S SAY, just for a moment, that your name isââ¬Â¦ Pedro.
Congratulations, Pedro, on your successful entry into the United States. You've managed to avoid all three Border Patrol officers assigned to the 100 mile-long stretch of the border you hiked across, and now that you're 10 or so miles into our territory, your risk of deportation is considerably lessened if not eliminated altogether. Now what do you do?
Never one to rest on your laurels, Pedro, you stop in at a 7-11 and buy a long-distance phone card. The instructions on it are in Spanish, just for you, so it's not too long until you figure out how to telephone your cousin Juan in Denver. You haven't seen Juan for a few years now, since he hopped the Rio Grande. He's working for a concrete company, setting forms, finishing slabs. He's got a nice little postwar house in an old Denver suburb, and, since his brother-in-law just moved out, there are only 17 people living there now. He's got plenty of room for you to crash.
Juan, of course, expects you to pay your way, so he gets you a job working for his concrete company. His employer is happy because he never has to pay the newspaper to advertise for help. He just asks his Mexicans if they have some more recently-arrived kinfolk. You'll be making $8-10 per hour, which might not sound like a lot to us Americans, but it can buy plenty of frijoles and tortillas. You won't have to pay Juan but maybe $100 a month in rent, and you don't need to have a car yet because you can ride with Juan, his brother Paco, and your other cousin Alfredo to work every day in Juan's old smoke-belching clunker. (Juan is smart, too -- he never, ever, ever drives any faster than the speed limit, no matter how bad that might make the traffic.)
Working 50-60 hours per week (and your employer knows you won't complain about the long hours, because you're expendable) you pretty soon start saving some serious cash. By this time, naturalmente, you've opened a checking account at Wells Fargo, where they're all too happy to set you up without a Social Security number (which they won't do for us stupid White people) -- they'll take your matricula consular ID that you picked up at the Mexican Embassy. All you had to do was tell the nice lady at the embassy that your name was Pedro Gonsales, (but we know that's not your real name, is it, Pedro?) and she gave you the card. Now you're on your way to freedom!
Feeling flush with a couple grand saved up, it's time for you to buy a car, so you scour the Auto Trader -- the version that's published in Spanish. Or maybe you head down to one of those used car lots down on South Federal, where they "se habla español." $1800 poorer, you drive away in your new trusty, rusty Ford Escort. You still have no license to drive, and no insurance, so you drive slowly and carefully so as not to draw the attention of any cops (who are so busy trying to bust teenage White kids for smoking pot they don't notice you anyway). But you still have some money left for some bling -- maybe some gold-colored spoke wheels and a vinyl portrait of the Virgin Mary for your freshly tinted rear window.
Later on, Juan explains to you that your temporary tags are only good for 45 days, but when you get close to the expiration date, you just need to see José at the Mile High Flea Market, and he'll set you up with a new temp tag -- good for another 45 days, and it only costs you $20.
12 days later, you are pulled over for making an illegal U-turn without signaling. It's not that you really screwed up, since you just don't really understand traffic laws yet. Your heart jumps into your throat, because you still fear deportation; the loss of the American dream. Have no fear, Pedro, have no worries. When you get to court, there will be an interpreter waiting for you, and because you have special linguistic needs, you'll even get first priority -- over the Americans -- when your case goes before the judge! You're out of there in 30 minutes, tops, with your fine paid! You casually stroll out of the courthouse whistling "La Cucaracha" and feeling invincible. See, Pedro? I told you there was nothing to worry about!
So, the weeks go by, and every week you faithfully head for the Western Union. There, the friendly bilingual employees can wire some of your money to your wife, so she can take care of the six little hijos and hijas. She's saving a lot of it too, so she can pay the coyotes to smuggle herself and the rest of the family into the country to join you. Hopefully, she can make it before the next little one is born, so the youngest will automatically become a citizen. This has the added benefit of entitling the entire family to government aid, health care, and free education. You can't wait to see her again. But Juan's house might be a little cramped for another 8 occupants.
So what to do now?
Juan tells you to call Señor Hernandez, who is a real estate agent. You don't see how, without papers, you can buy a house, but after all, Juan has one -- why can't you? Hernandez finds you a lovely little two bedroom, one bath house in Lakewood. It's big enough for your growing family, close to schools with excellent ESL programs, and even has a big enough yard to raise some chickens and a goat! He sets up a meeting with Tony Padilla, a mortgage broker. You're concerned about how much this little slice of the American Dream is going to cost, but Tony quickly lays out how your down payment is already covered by one of the government programs designed to assist first-time buyers. Best of all, that means all the money you've saved can just go to the payments!
You income and tax history verifications are a breeze, since you don't have any. That's OK, Pedro. The lenders don't expect those from you anyway, since don't have to obey the laws because you're not an American. You already have what you need -- your Individual Taxpayer Identification Number, or ITIN. You got that by filing a simple form (printed in Spanish) with the IRS and showing them your matricula. The papers are signed, the title company does their thing, and you get the keys. You pick up some nice free furniture for your new abode on bulk pickup day when the White people throw out their junk, and soon the rest of the family joins you. Everything is great!
Now you just have to worry about making those house payments and feeding the litter. But what if you lose your job? Not to worry, Pedro. You can stay there for at least six months without paying your mortgage before you get foreclosed on, and after that, it's another couple months before you get evicted. Don't fret with cleaning the place up, either. Someone will take care of the mess -- the mounds of cat feces in the basement where the kids played, the grease all over the kitchen walls, the clogs in the pipes because you've yet to figure out this newfangled indoor plumbing, the garbage dump where there was once a grassy back yard. Just pack the clan into the Escort and head cross-country.
Maybe you'll end up in North Carolina. Your cousin Jesus lives there, and he can get you a job at the chicken plant. You need a place to live, but your credit is shot. Well, Pedro Gonsales' credit is shot, anyway. Time to head to the consulate for a new ID card. There you go, Tomás Martinez, you have a nice clean slate, and a fresh start. Yeah, it's a bummer that you had to move, but that's the price you pay for free housing. The kiddies are already adjusting to their new life and their first week of school. They've just brought home the paperwork (in Spanish, of course) for you to sign so they will get free lunches. Child number eight is on the way by this time, and the wife is well adjusted with the knowledge that the pregnancy is going well -- thanks to regular checkups at the OB-GYN, courtesy of Medicaid.
Ahh, Pedro -- I mean, Tomás -- life is good, sÃÂ? With all the money you're saving, you can buy that used Freightliner dump truck you've been wanting. You're going to be a businessman! Martinez Trucking! Has a nice ring to it, no? Cousin Rico knows a guy who knows a guy who can get you the contracts to haul dirt for the construction company up the road, and the dough starts rolling in. You can put the kids through college! But wait -- they aren't legal citizens. How can they go to college? That's OK, Tomás: Because the university isn't allowed to discriminate except against White people, illegals get in-state tuition rates. Just think, you'll be able to retire soon and spend some quality time with your 47 grandchildren.
Life is muy bueno for you, Pedro Tomás deJesus Machaca de la Torre Gonsales Martinez.
Author's note: Although Pedro is a fictional character, his story is a composite of entirely real events in the lives of several real Mestizos