Mass Diversity not Deportation

Standing in the U.S. Customs and Border Protection line at the Minneapolis/St. Paul airport (MSP) after my flight back from Paris, I couldn’t help but think of Donald Trump’s consistent message about mass deportation of immigrants if he is elected again.

Upon arrival, the passengers of all international flights were funneled into one big room where their passports (and visas?) were processed. But, it wasn’t one giant line for all as we were immediately separated by the type of passport we possessed. If you had a U.S. Passport, you queued up in one line, if you held a passport from another country, you queued up in a different line. It’s worth noting here that the U.S. Passport line had at least four agents processing passports while the “other passports” line had only one, which struck me as a bad look from a public relations standpoint.

At some point in the hour-plus wait to have my passport processed with all the other passengers, I found myself looking around the room (as anyone would do) and suddenly became aware of the similarities between the two separate lines. As anyone would expect, the “other passports” line had a great diversity of characters—people of color, different religions based on their clothing, and probably even a diversity when it comes to socio-economic status. But, here’s the thing… the line I was standing in was every bit as diverse—so much, you truly couldn’t tell the two apart.

I wanted to snap a photo of the room and send it to those like Donald Trump or his running mate, J.D. Vance, but didn’t want to give the security folk in such a no-nonsense area of the airport a reason to pull me aside as a suspicious person. With that photo, I would have simply included some wise-crack message like, “You’re too late, they’re already citizens.”

In short, our country has always been about being a great melting pot—that has always been one of its strengths. So, why in the hell are some of us cheering on Trump when he says he wants to implement the country’s largest deportation program this country has ever seen?

Looking around the room at the variety of people present—especially in the U.S. Passports line—I had an overwhelming sense of pride. Yet, if Trump or Vance had been standing next to me, they would have been disgusted. And, there are few things more un-American than that.

Moving Forward, Looking Back


February 21, 1997
on the road to Billings, MT

My dad bought a brand new Ford station wagon in 1966. It had a 289 V-8 with a dark green body—sans the wood paneling down the side. Somewhere between the ages of six and ten, I remember riding in the back of the wagon, facing the rear window. I always liked riding in this fashion no matter where we were going. At first it was a little awkward in tight traffic or at a stop light because I was forced to look directly at the car behind us and its forward-facing passengers who couldn’t help but look at me. However, once I mastered a couple of silly faces, I didn’t even mind the stop lights and heavy traffic.

Often I pretended the car was a World War II bomber. As its tailgunner, I watched the world rush up and around my head and slowly disappear into the horizon’s infinity. But, no matter how carried away my imagination would get, I would eventually stretch out and fall asleep as the world continued to shoot by. Sleeping in the car was easy and became an enjoyable experience for me. I would venture to say that the best sleeping I’ve ever experienced was in the family wagon on long vacations out West.

Today I traveled to the city with a large group of students in a full-blown, Greyhound-like bus. This particular model has a row of seats in the rear facing backwards. I unconsciously selected one of these seats for the two-hour journey. I was astonished by the comfort I found in this location of the bus. Yes, it did remind me of my childhood, but my thoughts drifted far beyond the old ’66 Ford. I started searching for the source of my contentment. Why was I so comfortable in this particular orientation of travel—moving forward, looking back?

While muddling over my attraction for riding backwards, a sense of contentment came over me as we rambled down the road. I was reminded of romance as the whining resonance of the anterior-based engine became as intimate as a lover’s breathing. It didn’t take long to tune in to the delicate variations of frequency and pitch as the bus moved through its gears resulting in the slightest changes of velocity. After a while, the whine transformed into a lullaby—seducing the community of riders into a blanket of sleep.

It’s rather surreal to watch the world go by when you’re looking back. Here you don’t see anything coming—there’s no time for preparation—it just hits you. Without warning, a huge billboard demands your full attention, but slowly—even the obnoxious oversized advertisements blend into the landscape until it is reduced to a single point on the horizon. I’m reminded of how we sometimes fall in and out of love. We never see it coming but often we have plenty of time to watch it fade slowly and eventually out of our lives.

Most of us probably prefer to see something coming so we can prepare for its arrival—I guess this is why our eyes are mounted in the front of our head. However, living in a world that changes everyday with blinding speed, I suspect we have grown accustomed to things springing up on us out of nowhere. And it is only after the surprise attack that we have the luxury of watching its aftermath drift slowly out of our lives.