Bailey Guns
08-11-2010, 07:22
Barack Obama warned me...warned all of of us...this would happen. A few months ago, regarding the new racist law in AZ, Barack said:
“If you don’t have your papers and you took your kid out to get ice cream…you could be harassed, that’s something that could potentially happen.”Well, I never thought it could happen to me...here, in America.
Yesterday, my wife and I (our kids are long since grown and gone...I'm glad they didn't have to witness this) decided to go out for a little ice cream. It was a peaceful, beautifully sunny day in Bailey, Colorado. We weren't particularly concerned about anything as we got in the car and headed towards town.
"Hey," I said to her. "It's Tuesday. Let's stop and vote while we're out."
"Great idea," she said.
Neither of us could imagine the humiliation we would suffer simply because we made the decision to exercise one of the great freedoms we enjoy in this country.
We stopped at the polling place and walked inside. That's when I noticed the sign. Printed on the sign, in large letters, were words that stated something to the effect of (I can't recall the exact wording as I was - and still am - shocked):
You must show proof of identification to vote. Valid forms of ID are state issued drivers licenses, ID cards, Passports, etc...
Your ID is needed to prove you are a legal resident of the jurisdiction in which you are voting.I felt as though I'd suddenly been transported back to Nazi Germany, with a jackbooted thug saying in heavily accented English, "You must show your papers, please."
And then I noticed them. The quasi-government agents sitting at the table, enforcing the law. Checking papers. Checking IDs.
I watched as the sheeple in front of us handed over their identification and were ordered by the government "Election Judges" to take their papers and move to certain parts of the room. The poor people didn't even have a choice of where to sit. Government "privacy booths" had been arranged around the room and the people were herded like so many cattle to the slaughter into these "private" cubicles. I could only imagine the horrors taking place behind the curtains.
Another thing that struck me as odd...they weren't checking the identification of any minorities. None. And then it hit me. There were no minorities in the room! Where had they gone? Where had they taken them? I could only imagine what awful fate they had suffered at the hands of these thugs. If they can do this to white people, what must they be doing to the poor people of color?
"I thought this was America," I cautiously whispered to my wife. I then noticed she was absentmindedly - almost automatically - pulling her "papers" out of her wallet and didn't seem to share my concerns. It was as though she was expecting this kind of treatment. She had probably just lost the will to resist at this point...guess I can't blame her. She's only human, after all.
Then it was my turn. Under the surprisingly calm exterior of the government agent checking IDs, I could tell a true fascist lurked...waiting for me to slip up. Her cool, calculating, blue eyes were lined in the corners with many wrinkles...no doubt from countless years of hounding people for their "papers". Her gray hair was neat and the knitted sweater with a little sequined poodle on it - almost completely hidden by the government issued uniform smock that read, in bold letters on the front "ELECTION JUDGE" - almost made her look human. Almost.
As she reached for my ID I noticed her hands...the hands of a professional government inquisitor...wrinkled from years of service to a beauracracy gone rogue, shaking slightly as she almost forced my license from my grasp. Her eyes appeared to burn a whole right through my license as she peered over her glasses and scrutinized the photo on my ID. Her gaze shifted back and forth from the ID to me. "Oh my God," I thought silently. "What has she found? What does she see?"
Then she spoke. It was the voice of a well-practiced and skillful interrogator. "Yes, that looks like you." What the hell did that mean? What sort of trap was she laying for me? My voice cracked perceptibly as I answered meekly, "Yes, ma'am. That's me." It was then that I knew I, too, had lost the will to resist. I had given up emotionally and surrendered to her out-of-control authority. She said something to one of her many assistants. Some papers were shuffled. I was handed a ballot and herded off to my "privacy booth".
The choices I made on the ballot...did they really matter? When we've come to this in our government...checking people's identification simply to prove that one legally lives in a certain geographical location, a location outlined by random lines on a map, are we really free? The irony of the situation wasn't lost on me.
Barack was right. This is not the country I want it to be.
“If you don’t have your papers and you took your kid out to get ice cream…you could be harassed, that’s something that could potentially happen.”Well, I never thought it could happen to me...here, in America.
Yesterday, my wife and I (our kids are long since grown and gone...I'm glad they didn't have to witness this) decided to go out for a little ice cream. It was a peaceful, beautifully sunny day in Bailey, Colorado. We weren't particularly concerned about anything as we got in the car and headed towards town.
"Hey," I said to her. "It's Tuesday. Let's stop and vote while we're out."
"Great idea," she said.
Neither of us could imagine the humiliation we would suffer simply because we made the decision to exercise one of the great freedoms we enjoy in this country.
We stopped at the polling place and walked inside. That's when I noticed the sign. Printed on the sign, in large letters, were words that stated something to the effect of (I can't recall the exact wording as I was - and still am - shocked):
You must show proof of identification to vote. Valid forms of ID are state issued drivers licenses, ID cards, Passports, etc...
Your ID is needed to prove you are a legal resident of the jurisdiction in which you are voting.I felt as though I'd suddenly been transported back to Nazi Germany, with a jackbooted thug saying in heavily accented English, "You must show your papers, please."
And then I noticed them. The quasi-government agents sitting at the table, enforcing the law. Checking papers. Checking IDs.
I watched as the sheeple in front of us handed over their identification and were ordered by the government "Election Judges" to take their papers and move to certain parts of the room. The poor people didn't even have a choice of where to sit. Government "privacy booths" had been arranged around the room and the people were herded like so many cattle to the slaughter into these "private" cubicles. I could only imagine the horrors taking place behind the curtains.
Another thing that struck me as odd...they weren't checking the identification of any minorities. None. And then it hit me. There were no minorities in the room! Where had they gone? Where had they taken them? I could only imagine what awful fate they had suffered at the hands of these thugs. If they can do this to white people, what must they be doing to the poor people of color?
"I thought this was America," I cautiously whispered to my wife. I then noticed she was absentmindedly - almost automatically - pulling her "papers" out of her wallet and didn't seem to share my concerns. It was as though she was expecting this kind of treatment. She had probably just lost the will to resist at this point...guess I can't blame her. She's only human, after all.
Then it was my turn. Under the surprisingly calm exterior of the government agent checking IDs, I could tell a true fascist lurked...waiting for me to slip up. Her cool, calculating, blue eyes were lined in the corners with many wrinkles...no doubt from countless years of hounding people for their "papers". Her gray hair was neat and the knitted sweater with a little sequined poodle on it - almost completely hidden by the government issued uniform smock that read, in bold letters on the front "ELECTION JUDGE" - almost made her look human. Almost.
As she reached for my ID I noticed her hands...the hands of a professional government inquisitor...wrinkled from years of service to a beauracracy gone rogue, shaking slightly as she almost forced my license from my grasp. Her eyes appeared to burn a whole right through my license as she peered over her glasses and scrutinized the photo on my ID. Her gaze shifted back and forth from the ID to me. "Oh my God," I thought silently. "What has she found? What does she see?"
Then she spoke. It was the voice of a well-practiced and skillful interrogator. "Yes, that looks like you." What the hell did that mean? What sort of trap was she laying for me? My voice cracked perceptibly as I answered meekly, "Yes, ma'am. That's me." It was then that I knew I, too, had lost the will to resist. I had given up emotionally and surrendered to her out-of-control authority. She said something to one of her many assistants. Some papers were shuffled. I was handed a ballot and herded off to my "privacy booth".
The choices I made on the ballot...did they really matter? When we've come to this in our government...checking people's identification simply to prove that one legally lives in a certain geographical location, a location outlined by random lines on a map, are we really free? The irony of the situation wasn't lost on me.
Barack was right. This is not the country I want it to be.