Stuck again in Leonardville?
I come on my shift to hear someone screaming in one of the barracks.
Something’s always happening these days with the feds bringing more and more people in, illegal aliens that need to be put somewhere before they get sent back to whatever place they come from.
The sons of bitches just keep coming like an invasion of cockroaches, rolling over the border from Mexico off some boat from some other place, as if this was D-Day and we was the Nazis.
As a guard here, whole days go by without me hearing one word of English, except from my own mouth, shouting for the son’s of bitches to do what they’re told, or shut the hell up.
Someone is always complaining about lack of food or overflowing toilets, like I don’t have my own problems at home.
I come into the barracks to find Juan standing on a bunk with a torn sheet tied around his neck, threatening to hang himself if somebody don’t let him out of this place.
The fool don’t even understand when I tell him to calm down. He just keeps on moaning and saying things in Spanish that other people tell me later means he won’t go back to where he came from to watch his family starve.
Now, I’m not a heartless guy.
I got my “Jesus saves” bumper on my car and a family to raise of my own.
That’s why I took this job in a place like Leonardville.
My kids got to eat, too, and if camps like this are the only place a man can get a decent paying job, then I got to work here.
I’m not saying I like illegal aliens. I don’t. They just come here to steal our jobs and get free benefits from our country, benefits we real Americans got to pay for in taxes.
But I’ve hired a few from time to time.
Hell, they’re the only ones who would work on my house for as little as I was willing to pay, and the only ones that would do it without getting a permit from the city.
I don’t even dislike Juan.
For me, he’s just another wetback, part of the faceless mob of aliens I see everyday.
But I don’t want him killing himself on my shift and making me look bad, so I grab him and drag him down.
He doesn’t appreciate it, and glares at me like I’m some kind of Nazi, and yammers at me so fast even if I could understand Spanish I would miss half the words.
Someone else tells me later, Juan promises to attempt to kill himself again.
I don’t have time for this.
If you let one of them get away with giving you a hard time, you’re likely to have a riot
And with so many of them stuffed into one place and management so cheap about hiring enough guards, one of them is going to figure out they want to kill one of us rather than themselves sooner or later.
Sure, it seems strange that America would need camps like this, filling them with Mexicans and others as if they were Jews. But damn, if we don’t stop them from coming in, we ain’t gonna have an America any more. They’ll make the America we know into a new Mexico.
I take Juan down to isolation, and tell the guard there to watch him close and to keep anything sharp from him.
Juan moans, but he’s out of my hair
With a trouble maker like him out of the way, the others calm down, grumbling rather than shouting at me, so I feel like I have watch my back.
I glance at the clock and count off the hours before my shift ends so I can get back to my home where I can hear my kids speaking English and a wife, who doesn’t look half starved all the time.
That’s when a couple of buses pull in with a new load of illegal aliens the government dragged out of lousy jobs in the city
The government is packing them into this place faster than we can get rid of them, so that I know more toilets are going to break and we’re not going to have enough food to feed them.
And we’re going to have more trouble makers like Juan, trying to hang themselves, escape or kill us.
Needless to say, I’m scared, thinking that my wife will be a widow some day, and my kids orphans and on welfare, just because some damned alien couldn’t stay in his own country and watch his own kids starve.
When my boss comes, I tell him about my fears, about how I want to do my duty to my country and keep these people from stealing jobs and such.
My boss tells me it is all part of the plan. To make these people so miserable in places like Leondardville that they won’t want to repeat the experience by coming back
He assures me that the number of illegal aliens will eventually decline not just in Leonardville, but in the country, and we can go back to the way things were before, and the aliens can go back to the factories we set up in their country for them to work at starvation wages.
And if we lose people like Juan, so what?
One less we have to worry about sneaking back later.
I feel good about what my boss says for about 20 minutes, and then I start getting scared again.
What if it doesn’t work?
What if they just keep coming and coming, and we keep arresting them and putting him here?
What happens when we have to build a hundred or a thousand more Leonardvilles to handle them all. Who pays for all those camps? Even if we starve most of them, we still have to pay taxes to feed half
And then in my head I see myself coming to work everyday with screaming in every barracks with a hundred or a thousand Juans standing on bunks with sheets around their throats.
I begin thinking how the Nazis may have been right.
Wouldn’t it be more merciful just to kill the aliens off rather than die off one at a time.
or risk an uprising that might get all of us killed.
Heck, we wouldn’t need a thousand camps, only a handful scattered around the country, where we could bring them, gas them and burn their remains.