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I've been trying to avoid commenting on the most recent flare-up of the immigration debate because if there's anywhere with a worse heat/light ratio in our political discourse, then I really don't want to see it. It's boundlessly depressing to read the Economist's well-reasoned condemnations of the recent legislation in Arizona and see that 90+% of the comments online are from anti-immigrationists. I've been clinging to the hope that this was just the last burst of resistance from a dying generation upset by demographic change, but the latest poll figures belie that.
Still, there's an interesting linguistic angle the whole debate, and it's not what you think. The recurring metaphor in most of these rants is "my country = my home". It goes like this: You wouldn't let someone into your home uninvited, and you certainly wouldn't let them live there without your consent. (Usually framed more belligerently as "How would you like it if...".) Well, the USA is our home, and these people are showing up uninvited. It's a very effective metaphor--simple, easy to grasp, emotionally powerful. (How many terms are more emotionally resonant than "home"? "Mom"...?) That's why I've struggled for weeks now to find a response that shows how essentially wrong-headed it is. I own my home, but I don't own the USA. And it's a good thing, too, at least where these people are concerned, because if I did they wouldn't be here.
See, the essence of the metaphor is that we should be able to exercise control over who we're forced to coexist with. Which is an appealing idea, but just doesn't scale up to size of a city neighbourhood, much less a whole damn country. Aside from which I would take a freshly-arrived undocumented Mexican over an American-born nativist any damn day. Their educational levels tend to be roughly comparable, but the immigrant is likely to be much more optimistic, particularly when it comes to the future of the USA. (Why else would they choose to come here?) And I certainly know who I'd rather have cook for me.
Speaking of cooking, I wouldn't want anyone living in my home who wasn't contributing to its upkeep, would you? Yet 9.5% of the labour force in this country is unemployed. Does that mean I can ask them to leave?
Still, there's an interesting linguistic angle the whole debate, and it's not what you think. The recurring metaphor in most of these rants is "my country = my home". It goes like this: You wouldn't let someone into your home uninvited, and you certainly wouldn't let them live there without your consent. (Usually framed more belligerently as "How would you like it if...".) Well, the USA is our home, and these people are showing up uninvited. It's a very effective metaphor--simple, easy to grasp, emotionally powerful. (How many terms are more emotionally resonant than "home"? "Mom"...?) That's why I've struggled for weeks now to find a response that shows how essentially wrong-headed it is. I own my home, but I don't own the USA. And it's a good thing, too, at least where these people are concerned, because if I did they wouldn't be here.
See, the essence of the metaphor is that we should be able to exercise control over who we're forced to coexist with. Which is an appealing idea, but just doesn't scale up to size of a city neighbourhood, much less a whole damn country. Aside from which I would take a freshly-arrived undocumented Mexican over an American-born nativist any damn day. Their educational levels tend to be roughly comparable, but the immigrant is likely to be much more optimistic, particularly when it comes to the future of the USA. (Why else would they choose to come here?) And I certainly know who I'd rather have cook for me.
Speaking of cooking, I wouldn't want anyone living in my home who wasn't contributing to its upkeep, would you? Yet 9.5% of the labour force in this country is unemployed. Does that mean I can ask them to leave?
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