It’s evening and I’m hitching down the 101 standing on an on ramp in Santa Maria when a Mexican guy stops and says he going as far as Goleta, and do I want a ride? "Sure, thanks." I say, throwing my backpack in back and getting in front. This is a good ride, I can get out on the 101 just north of Goleta where it isn't freeway, stand right on the road and the CHP can not hassle me. If I'm lucky I might even get a ride all the way down to San Diego right through LA. Hitching in LA. is almost always a nightmare, it's hard to do and the rides are always weird, although sometimes it's a good weird, like the time a businesswoman in her 40's saw my guitar and just had to take me home to hear me play. But mostly the rides are just plain bizarre, like the time I got picked up by a Catholic religious nut who kidnapped me and wouldn't let me out of his car until I explained to him how Catholicism could fit into my philosophy. And there's the usual drunks, dopers, sex fiends and other assorted religious nuts who want to know if you've found Jesus yet, and if not, are more than willing to show you how.
This is a good ride in another way too. He's just some regular guy just on his way to visit his grandparents. He's tells me that he’s working illegally in Santa Maria trying to save enough money to go back home to Mexico and open a small business of his own.
I ask if his grandparents are illegal too.
He says no, that they've lived in Goleta all of their lives. His parents though, got sick of all the prejudice in California against the Latinos and before he was born moved back to Mexico, so he's Mexican and can't wait to get back there himself. Living with Anglos is just too much trouble, a sentiment that I completely agree with.
As we cruise south I tell him my plan to get out north of Goleta. He says that it'll be dark by the time we get there and if I want to, I can sleep at his grandparents house and in the morning he'll take me to Santa Barbara, where there's not only no freeway but stop lights even. One of the best hitch hiking places in all of California, so I happily agree.
We get to Goleta about 8 p.m. His grandparents live in a small house at the end of a cull de sac with three other larger houses on a dirt street surrounded by eucalyptus trees, a very pretty place. The grand parents welcome me into their home and feed me. They don't speak much English and my Spanish I've been told by my Mexican friends is about as good as a small child’s, but we get along fine and everything's mellow. The grandson tells me that all of the houses are full of Latinos, some legal, some not, but that they all work hard in the fields for less than minimum wage. He takes me around and introduces me to some of the neighbors, but it's late and they all have to go to work very early in the morning. We go back to his grandparent’s home and they give me a pillow and blanket and tell me that I can sleep on the sofa. Good night, good night. I fall asleep listening to the crickets singing.
WHAT THE FUCK? There's a blinding light shinning right in my face and I hear someone saying, "It's okay, he's white."
But it is not fucking okay with me! I jump out of bed screaming, "Who The Fuck Do You Think You Are, Asshole!" I'm standing there, naked and pissed. It's still dark and all I can see are the flashlights.
One of the voices says, "It's all right, we're Immigration. We're just here to see which of these wetbacks are legal."
Immigration? Wetbacks?
The voice tells me, "Why don't you just go back to sleep. This isn't any of your business."
The Hell With That Shit! I'm awake now and intent to see what's going on. I put on my pants and follow the Nazi outside. There must be a dozen Immigra cars plus a big bus with bars on the windows parked in the cul de sac. People are running everywhere. The Nazi's with their flashlights are chasing the Latinos yelling at them to stop. Some of the Latinos are standing in a group by the bus being guarded by the SS. I thinking, 'this can’t be California 1975, this must be Germany or Poland 1940.' I'm stunned, I can't believe this shit is happening.
I go up too the bus and say to one of the storm troopers, "What the fuck are you doing here!?"
He turns to me, shines his light in my face, sees that I'm white, then says "We're just here to check out these people’s paper to see who's legal and who's not. Those that aren’t are going back to Mexico."
I say hotly, "But what's this night time shit. Can't you see that you're scaring everybody. And what about those who are legal? Ain't they got no rights?"
The Nazi says, "The ones who are legal will be released after their papers are checked, but this isn't any of your business so why don't you just back off!"
This really pisses me off, "None of my business? You wake me up in the middle of the night with a flashlight in my face asking to see my papers. Well, I ain't got no stinking papers, so maybe you just better take me in and make sure I ain't no wetback either. None of my business. Fuck You!"
One of the head SS comes over to see what the fuss is all about. The younger one is ready to arrest me but the older one tells him to cool it, he'll handle it and takes me aside.
A rational friendly Nazi, the worst kind.
He gives me the rap about securing our borders, protecting our security and all that bullshit.
I ask him then why they don't pull this kind middle of night Gestapo shit up in Seattle where I know there’s plenty of Canuks working illegally in the US.
He says that if I give him their names then he will gladly pass them along.
It’s starting to get light now. The SS have about 40 people on the bus, men, women and children. Ready for the showers. Der Furher tells me there's no point in me being arrested, that I can go to Federal prison for five years for interfering with an officer in the performance of his duty if I don't cool it out.
Like I said, the reasonable Nazi's are the worst ones. I'm still pissed off but I think that going to jail won't change a thing; a cowards way of thinking.
Except for the few that got away there's nobody left but me and the grandparents. They tell me not to worry about it, that this happens all the time here. It's just life. There's nothing that I can do about it. Come on in the kitchen, have some tortillas and beans and coffee for breakfast. They smile and pat me on my shoulders and tell me that the legal ones will be back by this afternoon and the illegals will be back in a week, so don't worry about it.
God, that's the reason why I love these people. While we whites rally and protest and give our opinions about anything and everything, things we can't control, the Mexicans just except it as part of life, as part of the struggle to survive and go on from there, content and at peace within themselves. A lesson that will take me a long long time to learn.