the drummer boy at the inn
The Christmas buzz this year is peppered with campaign news and political sound-bytes. The juxtaposition between holiday cheer and candidate rhetoric is tragicomedy. This afternoon Bing Crosby’s crooning about the little drummer boy was interrupted by campaign promises to rid the world (or at least this nation) of illegal immigrants.
Understandably the immigration ‘issue’ is appropriate policy ground in this campaign cycle. Immigrationcounters.com is a data crunching website that estimates that there are 21 million illegal immigrants in the United States. This means that there are tens of millions of adults who are working and paying taxes (no one gets a reprieve from the IRS) but who have no legal status. We’re not talking a few lawn services, we’re talking about a major labor field. Immigration Counters estimates that these adults add 4 million children to the public school system and send billions of dollars back home. Admittedly this site is not keen on illegal immigrants.
In several places on their site I saw the term “anchor babies”. This term is new to me and in this season of making ready for new birth, I was curious. Turns out that the phrase was coined by a site called Numbersusa.com and refers to the babies born in the United States to illegal immigrants. Babies born in the United States, regardless of parentage, are granted citizenship. Both Numbers USA and Immigration Counts argue that by granting citizenship to the children, we are providing refuge (anchors) for the parents. Anchor babies.
Opposing birthright citizenship is but one of many ways currently proposed to discourage immigration. Although we of pale skin cannot deny our own immigrant histories, a plausible concern has been raised not only about process but also about the ability of our land and our economy to sustain the burgeoning population. Roy Beck, Executive Director of Numbers USA, opposes both immigration and immigrant bashing. He writes, “The chief difficulties that America faces because of current immigration are not triggered by who the immigrants are but by how many they are.”
Simply put, Beck argues that the inn is full. As I hear the steady beat of the drummer boy, I wonder.
The smoothness of Bing Crosby’s crooning belies the edginess of the hymn. Although the song is one of my favorite, I loathed the movie as a child. I was incredibly frightened by the violence at the beginning and the unabating vulnerability of the boy throughout the story. He meets the worst kind of people and his life is an unremitting nightmare. Even as a child I knew that the fictitious story is all too real.
The story of the poor drummer boy is about as sad as they come, unless of course you consider the lot of the one to whom he sings. Jesus, we’re told, was born in a barn and spent his childhood as a refugee. Although Christmas American-style involves billions of dollars in retail, the one whose birth we celebrate didn’t even rate a crib.
The good folk at Numbers USA are concerned that there isn’t room at the inn. Assuming that they are correct, the pertinent question as we approach Christmas Eve is whether we’ll open the barn.
