Thursday, January 03, 2008

llamar al pan pan y al vino vino

OK, the Spanish doesn't exactly translate as "Call a spade a spade," but Ruben Navarrette nails the nativist nonsense that passes for immigration debate in Iowa (and everywhere else). Anti-Mexican sentiment in Iowa is the same as the anti-Mexican stuff I heard from snowbirds in Arizona last month. It wouldn't take much to create anti-Mexican mobs today that would echo the anti-German mobs of 1917 or anti-Japanese mobs in 1941. There is latent rage about 9/11, but the Jihadist culprits are unavailable for a good ol' lynching; the Afghan-Pakistan border is far removed from Iowa or Arizona or Texas. Instead, we have the Brown Menace creeping over our porous southwestern border. First, they "took over" Texas and California with bilingual signage and official government forms. Now, the anti-Mexican element hears Para Español oprima numero dos ("For Spanish, press 2") following "For English, press 1" on most automated call systems. Blinded by xenophobic rage, the anti-Mexicans seek the equivalent of the Great Wall of China from California to Texas along the border with Mexico. Damn the cost! Stop the Mexican takeover! Now, the Wetback takeover is imminent in Iowa! If this is (fair & balanced) jingoism, so be it.

[x San Diego Fishwrap]
Something's wrong in Iowa
By Ruben Navarrette Jr.

What's the matter with Iowa?

Maybe I'm experiencing a little geographic jealously. When I moved to California, I assumed that San Diego — as a border town — would be ground zero in the immigration debate. So when did Sioux City, Des Moines and Cedar Rapids cut in line?

If Iowa is, in fact, the new center of the immigration debate, what sense does that make? If you've been paying attention, you know that despite the lip service given to border security and fighting terrorism, much of the debate is driven by demographics and the concern that the United States is becoming too Latino. In some parts of the country, such anxiety might make sense. But who would have imagined you'd find traces of it in a region that is still overwhelmingly Anglo?

According to the 2000 Census, Iowa is about 94 percent white, 3 percent Hispanic, 2 percent black and 1 percent Asian.

That is not exactly a majority-minority state in the offing. And yet, we're told the outcome of the Iowa caucuses — especially on the Republican side — could come down to the candidates' views on immigration.

For that, you can blame those Iowa voters who, from the sound of it, can't find anything else to talk about at town hall meetings throughout the Hawkeye State.

That's fine. Folks in that red state can talk about immigration until they're blue in the face. But they should at least have the decency to talk about it honestly.

Instead, some of them give the impression that Mexican immigrants are launching a full-scale invasion of Iowa, soaking up public benefits, subverting the culture and undermining the English language. They never acknowledge that immigrants are making their way to the heartland because someone there is offering them jobs, profiting from their labor and pumping tax dollars into the local economy to the benefit of everyone — even the complainers.

Someone needs to tell that to the retiree who grilled Fred Thompson at a recent gathering at the Music Man Square museum in Mason City. Concerned that Mexicans were plotting to retake the Southwest and insisting that illegal immigrants were a burden to taxpayers, the woman finally quit beating around the bush and got around to what really bothered her.

Surprise: It's the changing culture, and specifically how — even in Iowa — the Spanish language pops up at the most inopportune moments. In what was obviously a gross exaggeration, the questioner claimed that, when Iowans call the power company, "everything is in Spanish" and that she finds it all "sickening."

You want sickening? Consider Thompson's lily-livered response. "You are so, so right," he told the retiree. He even suggested that English be the national language. Instead of providing leadership by telling the woman to knock off the nativist lingo and acknowledge that illegal immigration is a self-inflicted wound, Thompson opted to pander. Just like everyone else.

Doesn't any of this immigration narrative sound familiar to native Iowans? It should. Nearly 100 years ago, another ethnic group found itself on the cultural skillet in that state. Its members had last names such as "Schultz" or "Braun" or "Kalb."

As Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist Dale Maharidge points out in "Denison, Iowa," the first German immigrants arrived in Iowa shortly after it became a state in 1846. For several decades, they built "Germantowns," created German schools and churches, and founded German brotherhood associations. And, about this, no one seemed to mind much.

But then the United States entered World War I in 1917. And an anti-German crusade began. It might have been cloaked in concerns over the war, but it quickly focused on the German language, German newspapers and German culture.

In Denison, which is now a town of about 8,000 people, German Americans were beaten and piles of German books were set afire. English-only laws were passed.

Critics will reject the comparison and point out the obvious: that many of the Latino immigrants now streaming into Iowa are coming illegally and that the Germans came legally.

That's true. German immigrants who helped settle Iowa in the late 1800s did come legally. There was no way to come illegally until the 1920s. And yet it made little difference. They were still mistreated. That's because the issue was never legality. It was the same thing that fuels the discussion today: fear of change.

It all makes for an ugly chapter in history that Iowans would be wise not to repeat.

[Ruben Navarrette Jr., a columnist and editorial board member of The San Diego Union-Tribune, is a fresh and increasingly important voice in the national political debate. His twice-weekly column offers new thinking on many of the major issues of the day, especially on thorny questions involving ethnicity and national origin. His column is syndicated worldwide by The Washington Post Writers Group.

After graduating from Harvard in 1990, Navarrette returned to his native Fresno, CA, where he began a free-lance writing career that produced more than 200 articles in such publications as the Los Angeles Times, The Fresno Bee, the Chicago Tribune and The Arizona Republic.

In 1997 he joined the staff of The Arizona Republic, first as a reporter and then as a twice-weekly columnist, before returning to Harvard in the fall of 1999 to earn a master's in public administration from the Kennedy School of Government. He joined the editorial board of The Dallas Morning News in July 2000, and in 2005, moved to the Union-Tribune. His column has been in syndication since 2001.]

Copyright © 2008 The Washington Post Writers Group



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I Said 2-Buck Chuck, Not 2-Buck Huck!

There are several LOL (Laugh Out Loud, according to NetLingo.com) moments in this piece about Governor Mike Huckabee (R-AR) on the day of the Iowa primaries. Egan grabbed me with the "2-Buck" catchphrase; "Two-Buck Chuck" refers to a domestic brand of "extreme value" (cheap) wine. All from California vineyards, Charles Shaw wines are distributed predominantly by Trader Joe's grocery stores (a CA-based chain), and sell for $1.99 in California. Charles Shaw wines are affectionately known in the Golden State as "Two Buck Chuck."

In other states in the California market area, the price can go up to around $4. As such, the wine is often referred to as "3-Buck Chuck" or "4-Buck Chuck" relative to the price; Arizonans buy "3-Buck Chuck." Times columnist Timothy Egan probably buys "4-Buck Chuck" in Seattle. If this is (fair & balanced) oenology, so be it.

P.S: The real tragedy of this piece is the inability of lower-class folk to distinguish between regressive and progressive taxation schemes. 2-Buck Huck, playing the rube, pitches the most regressive of all taxation schemes to his kind of people in Iowa: a national sales tax. In response, the authentic rubes (if they haven't already committed to Ron Paul's Libertarian pitch to dismantle the IRS and progressive taxation) howl like huntin' dogs at 2-Buck Huck's promise to abolish the income tax. The amazing thing is that the rubes would pay more dearly than the Trumps, Buffetts, or Bushes (in terms of relative well-being) under a national sales tax. During my "career" at the Collegium Excellens, I listened to one lower-class student after another express his/her preference for a flat-tax or a sales tax over a progressive income tax. The poor students had no sense of their own economic interests. If this is (fair & balanced) unreality, so be it.


[x NY Fishwrap]
Two-Buck Huck
By Timothy Egan

The rap against Mike Huckabee, the Baptist preacher and ex-Arkansas governor now doing for the Republican Party establishment what three-alarm chili does for an afternoon nap, is that he’s too inexperienced to be president, too naïve — a rube straight out of Dogpatch.

Few of Huckabee’s critics have actually come out and said what many of them think. The language is coded, as it usually is with class and race in this country. The Wall Street Journal, the anti-tax jihadists at the Club For Growth, the National Review – these pillars of Old School Republicanism have signaled that Huckabee is Not One of Ours. But they’re careful to say it’s not about class, because, of course – it is!

Class war is forbidden in the Republican playbook. But Huckabee, despite an inept last week of campaigning, has forced the Republican party to face the Wal-Mart shoppers that they have long taken advantage of. He’s here. He’s Gomer. And he’s not going away.

Huckabee revels in the class war. He’s Two-Buck Huck, and darn proud of it. He likes nothing better than playing the Hick from Hope. He and his wife lived in a trailer for a while, he points out. His son killed a dog one summer, “a mangy dog” at that, as Huckabee explained to the befuddled national press corps. He said he used to eat squirrels, cooking them up in his popcorn popper. Ewwwwhhh!

And what’s up with that Chuck Norris shadow, following him everywhere like a late-night rerun? To the establishment, Norris is a B-lister with a bad hair dye and a ’70s-era karate shtick. They prefer Bruce Willis – bald Republican action hero.

Huckabee has been telling people in Iowa that Republican higher-ups would never let him become the nominee because he “has a hick last name.” Wow. I’d like to be in on that focus group.

“For my family, summer was never a verb,” he says. Take that, Mitt Romney and your perfect family, costumed in Ralph Lauren casual wear down by the shore. And this: “Wall Street types are afraid to death of a guy like me.” You mean, a guy who lost 110 pounds and cooks squirrels in his popcorn popper?

In his book From Hope to Higher Ground, Huckabee wrote that just before he moved into the governor’s mansion, “dozens of hate-filled letters proclaimed that we lacked the class to live in such a fine and stately home.”

Of course, he didn’t help himself when he finally moved out of the mansion and into a fine and stately home of his own. A gift registry was set up so people could help the Hucks furnish their new 7,000-square-foot casa. This from a man who accepted more than $130,000 worth of gifts as governor, everything from a $600 chain saw to a discount card at Wendy’s.

At the root of all the sniping at Huckabee, he sees a common cause. Some powerful Republicans dislike him, he said on the “Today Show,” because “I’m not one of them.”

It’s okay to have faux rubes, a la Bush senior and his pork rinds, or George W. and his Midland malapropisms. But when something that looks like the real thing comes along, the Republican royalists get apoplectic. They were appalled at the recent YouTube debate because it looked like a parody of one faction of their party – complete with Bible-waving wackos, trigger-happy gun nuts and Confederate-flag enthusiasts.

Among fellow Republican candidates, Huckabee is certainly “not one of them” in the bottom-line sense. All the other leading contenders would be comfortable on the massage table at a Trump seaside resort, in between seminars on how to keep poor people from getting health care. Romney, with a net worth estimated by Money magazine at upwards of $250 million, made his pile with an investment firm. Rudolph Giuliani is close to the $50 million club, enriched by such heavy-lifting as trying to help the makers of OxyContin stay out of jail.

Huckabee tells audiences that he is one generation removed from folks who slept on a dirt floor, and that he’s the first person in his family to graduate from high school. It’s a terrific narrative, as American as they come.

There is some evidence that he’s bringing lower-income Americans into the party. The latest Des Moines Register poll shows that Huckabee runs strongest among people earning $50,000 or less a year.

Still, there’s not much for the other end to fear from Huckabee. He bashes the “Wall Street to Washington axis.” But would he put some restraint on the new Gilded Age titans, or abolish the gravy train that lets guys like Fred Thompson and Trent Lott get rich by selling the ex-senator part of their resume? Nope.

And his astonishingly regressive tax plan, getting rid of the income tax for one that takes revenue from sales, would do for the rich what the late Leona Helmsley did for her dog in that infamous will.

Republicans in the three-home set should relax. Huckabee may occasionally lack class, but he’s no class warrior. You can have him over for dinner. Honest. Just hide the popcorn popper.

[Timothy Egan worked for 18 years as a writer for The New York Times, first as the Pacific Northwest correspondent, then as a national enterprise reporter. In 2006, Mr. Egan won the National Book Award for his history of people who lived through the Dust Bowl, The Worst Hard Time. In 2001, he won the Pulitzer Prize as part of a team of reporters who wrote the series "How Race Is Lived in America." Mr. Egan is the author of five books, including The Good Rain: Across Time and Terrain in the Pacific Northwest, and Lasso the Wind, Away to the New West. He lives in Seattle.]

Copyright © 2008 The New York Times Company



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