Policy is Policy

America is fickle.

by Isaiah Thompson

I used to live — I give my word this is true —in a petting zoo. It was situated in Miami's "Little Haiti" neighborhood, and I'd wake up mornings to the thunderous tromping of little kids from the Haitian parochial school around the corner. They'd come to pet the goats. It was very cute.

One day, a crazy thing happened. A medieval-looking wooden ship crashed onto a nearby beach. Aboard were more than 100 Haitians, nearly dead with exhaustion. They'd gotten lost at sea, and resorted to mixing sea water with toothpaste and drinking it. Their survival, they said, was nothing short of a miracle (just one, a 22-year-old man, perished; he drowned while swimming to the shore).

U.S. authorities saw not a miracle, but a crime. They locked up the Haitians in federal detention centers, to await deportation. The children were sent to juvenile prisons. Policy, they were all told, is policy. During this time, in 2007, several groups of Cubans came ashore, as well, but they were allowed to stay. See, that's policy, too. And policy, it seems to me, is fickle. America, it seems to me, is fickle.

The Haiti earthquake — like the Asian tsunami, like Hurricane Katrina — demonstrated the astounding capacity of Americans for generosity and compassion. As Gov. Ed Rendell said upon returning from his own trip to extract 54 at-risk orphans from that country, "I came back as proud as I've ever been to be an American." But that same day, Jan. 19, we learned that the U.S. denied seriously wounded victims transport to Miami hospitals, and began clearing space in Florida prisons for a possible influx of (illegal) refugees. Even as the Obama administration extends temporary protection status to Haitians here illegally — a move not just humane but practical — the feds promise to detain and deport any new illegal Haitian immigrants. Cubans are still welcome.

Immigration isn't simple. But isn't compassion? At what point do we acknowledge that the people for which we now clutch our hearts and reach for our wallets are the very same ones we imprison for trying to come here, for wanting a better life?

The orphans who left Haiti with Rendell now have American passports and American parents. Maybe they'll come stomping through my old place to pet the animals. The goats, I know, will love them — not because they're Haitian or American or legal or illegal, but because goats, like people, know the gentle touch of a human hand.