Lets talk about one of the tough subjects. Racism.
By definition, it means to believe in the superiority of a race over other races, and that race is the main factor in that superiority. Lets not confuse this with prejudice, which is a preconceived notion or opinion. I’ve been called a racist many times, when in reality I’m just prejudiced about certain things. I saw on fox news, a story about the minutemen watching our border. Some say they are racist, and only do this because they don’t like Mexicans. I’m not fond of Mexicans, but not because of their ethnicity. I’m not fond of them because I find them parasitic. One might ask how are they parasitic? Lets go back in the time machine to a time when Tom C was a young tough guy with no job. We had just given Carter the boot (incompetent dink!) and were hoping Reagan would get us some work. When federal money became available for new construction, and the interest rate came down, we started building houses. I remember my crew competing against a crew of Mexicans building basements, and pouring concrete. We held our own, but worked for about one third of union scale. Any more, and they worked and we didn’t. I didn’t dislike these people, even ate lunch with them some days. That’s where I got my love of jalapeno peppers. What I did dislike was the lack of money for a very hard job. There’s no harder job then humping mud and block for twelve hours a day, I promise! Especially at six bucks an hour, no time and a half over forty hours. I thought we were better, as far as quality but that might have just been my prejudice, or pride in my work. On some days the wives would show up with the kids, and I would wonder how the hell they could support all those kids. I had one, and another on the way, and a rented house in a blue-collar neighborhood. She worked, I worked, and we didn’t have much.
Fast forward to the present day.
I live in the country where they grow peaches. Lots of peaches. More peaches then anywhere else in the world. (No it’s not Georgia!) It takes a lot of labor to harvest those peaches. Guess who picks them? Yep, the Mexicans. I work in the ghetto. Lots of unemployed blacks around. HMM. How come they aren’t picking peaches? The growers have busses, and will provide transportation. Answer? It’s hot miserable work that doesn’t pay enough to live on. How do they do it? Does any body remember car stuffing? Continued….