Thoughts on Immigration, Part 3 (posted 4/9/25)

I’ll start today by thanking everybody for your feedback on my Monday column. I normally respond to all comments, but I’ve had a lot going on the last several days, including watching the fightin’ Gators winning the NCAA basketball national championship! 

And that game went just the way we drew it up.  Have your best scorer play his worst game? Check.  Score the fewest points you’ve scored in a very long time? Check.  Trail by 12 points pretty late?  Check.  Lead the game for right around one minute out of 40?  Check.

But space that minute out wisely.  Take 17 seconds of lead time in the first half…and then the last 45 seconds of the game!

Also, it didn’t hurt that we played defense like Hulk Homan™ holding Gandalf’s staff at the southern border.  (“You shall not pass!  Or score very often…”) 

UF opened our basketball stadium and showed the game live on the big screen.  The place was packed, and it’s only half a mile from our house, so you could practically feel the ground shaking when the game ended! 

Anyway, I did read your comments, and I appreciate them.

This is the third and final part of my series of columns about immigration.  In the first part, I went through the evolution of our immigration laws, and pointed out groups who were specifically excluded from immigrating, including the stupid, insane, sick, welfare recipients and criminals.

In the second part, I discussed the reasons why many Americans were once either browbeaten or shamed into not deporting illegals, and how the lefties’ tactics to achieve that goal are no longer working.  Today I’m closing with a simple analogy, and a little analysis of how immigration rules should apply to visa holders and would-be naturalized citizens. 

The analogy is that a nation is like a house. 

Okay, I know that’s not especially deep or brilliant.  It’s no “faith is like a mustard seed.”  Or even, “Life is like a box of chocolates.”  But I think it can still be useful.

Your house has clear boundaries around it, i.e. its walls.  If we consider the slightly more expansive concept of “your property,” your house even has a series of exterior borders, such as your yard.  Often that is marked by a fence, or a hedge, or the edge of a lawn.  Sometimes there is another liminal space — a porch, a stoop or a patio – where you are not within the house yet, but you’re farther from the purely public space outside the yard.

If you’re a well-raised person, you feel a bit of natural reluctance to enter someone’s property without a prior arrangement to do so.  You might walk up to a door and onto the porch and knock on the door…if you’re delivering a package or you’ve told the resident that you’d be dropping by. 

But if it’s a stranger’s house and they’re not expecting you, it’s uncomfortable to let yourself in through a gated fence, and more so to walk up onto the porch.  Most of us, after knocking, will instinctively step back to the edge of the porch and try to put a pleasant look on our faces, so that the inhabitants can take a reassuring look at us from a safe distance before they open the door.  Most of us will be more polite than usual in such a situation.

Since you have the right to decide who comes into your house, and under what circumstances, you don’t even have to open the door. 

And only a sociopathic squatter, if nobody comes to the door, will just let himself in and make himself at home!

And if he does – and if the house in question is in a red state or smaller town where people have their heads on straight – he might be greeted with a warning gunshot to the chest or head.  Or at least the mind-focusing sound of a shell being racked into a shotgun.

If said squatter was lucky enough to find no one at home, and especially if it’s a big house, he would be wise to find a good hiding place, if he wanted to stay in the house.  Maybe an attic, or a basement, or the garage. 

You see where I’m going with this.  Illegal immigrants are the squatters here, and traditional, old-fashioned illegals at least had the good sense to hide, and make themselves as unobtrusive as possible.  Hence the saying from the good old days of 20 years ago which described illegals as “living in the shadows.”  They would hide from the authorities, work under-the-table jobs, and try super-hard to not be noticed.  When that didn’t work, they had the good sense to try to run.

But, like beleaguered citizens in a sanctuary city run by morons, we’ve created a new type of illegals: the entitled type.  In our lawn we’ve put up one of those idiotic signs saying, “In this house, we believe no one is illegal.”  And on our porch we’ve put up an even more idiotic welcome mat saying, “Welcome, MS-13!”

And beside our door we put a thrice-idiotic big plastic pumpkin filled with cell phones, hundred-dollar-bills, EBT cards and voter registration forms, and above that pumpkin a sign saying, “FREE!  But we’re on the honor system, so just take one of each.” (Spoiler alert: each day the first sociopath to arrive takes them all.) 

And for four years our demented grandpa who was in charge of the house – let’s call him Brandon – left the front door wide open.  And he’s the one who put the pumpkin there, because in his diminished state, he thinks every day is Halloween.

So now the squatters don’t even bother to hide in the attic or garage.  They raid our fridge, eat on our sectional couch, order pay-per-view imam sermons, and take over the master bedroom for themselves.

Sure, there are still some “nice” squatters, with the good sense to hide out in the garage with a hot plate and try to fly under the radar.  If they’re caught, they might offer to take care of the yard, clean and do our laundry if we just let them stay.

It’s no coincidence that in our blue cities and states we’ve had an unprecedented epidemic of literal squatters.  In a healthy country, no one would have the cojones to try to forcibly take over someone’s house, because they’d expect to be forcibly removed and jailed quick, fast and in a hurry.

But in recent years, squatters figured out that if we won’t enforce our borders and our laws, why would we draw that line at our houses?   And they weren’t wrong.

Obviously, we shouldn’t allow illegals to stay here, any more than we’d allow squatters to stay in our house.  Yes, we should prioritize removing the brazen sociopaths in the master bedroom first, but the “nicer” ones in the garage will need to go too, as soon as we can get to them.

People legally here on visas are more like house guests or roommates.  Some of them are here temporarily – on a student or working visa that is the equivalent of a one- or two-year lease.  Others are in a potential rent-to-own situation, with a green card that allows them to live here while they’re going through a process that they hope will eventually allow them to become citizens. 

But in those cases – and I cannot stress this enough – the roommates must be on their very best behavior.  Pay your rent on time.  Abide by all house rules.  Don’t make us sorry that we allowed you to move in!

That’s what’s been so infuriating about the entitled little Ivy League Marxists and junior jihadis, and the elite leftists who support and defend them.  We give them the amazing gift of allowing them to come to the greatest country in the world, to study at what used to be top-flight universities, and they immediately start acting like horrible roommates and entitled brats.

Khalid Mahmoud and many like him seem to double-major in anti-Semitism and campus disruption.  Helyeh (more like “Hell no!” am I right?) Doutaghi gets a professor gig, and then spends most of her time slandering America and the West as fascist colonizers, and promoting the jihadist ideology of our nation’s enemies. 

And when we cancel their visas and move to deport them, the usual suspects wail about it.  “They haven’t committed any crimes!  They haven’t gotten due process!  This is a free speech issue!”

No, it isn’t.  It’s a spoiled, horrible piece-of-crap squatting roommate issue!

They’ve done the equivalent of moving into my house, drinking all of my bourbon, then falling asleep on my best recliner and urinating on it in their sleep.  Then they wake me up in the morning by blasting some horrific Palestinian rap music (Lil Scimitar and the Infidel Beheaders’ “Throw the Jew Down the Well”).  When I go to the kitchen to make breakfast, I discover that they’ve eaten all the eggs and thrown out all the bacon, because it’s “haram.”  

Then, just when I’m watching the Gators celebrating the national championship, and our 7’9” redshirt freshman cutting down the net without the use of a ladder (that’s a real thing that happened on Monday night), they switch the channel to a Syrian soccer game.   

When I look at them with murder in my eyes, they inform me that Cassie the Wonder Dog is going to have to go, because Muhammad says that dogs are unclean. 

And then their first rent check bounces.

They’re in our house, and they’ve got no right to be here.  They’ve abused our hospitality, and they need to be thrown out, both because they richly deserve it, and “pour encourager les autres.”      So we’re calling our neighborhood cop to come over and give them a taser-and-billy-club-assisted eviction. 

And our neighborhood cop is Hulk Homan.™

Hamas delenda est!