The feelings currently swirling in my heart might not make me the best person on earth, but I have never claimed (and I dare you to quote me if I have) that I am a nice sweet person. This morning, while I tried to find out if the city I live in is going to spend $485,000 in a patriot memorial whose original budget was $80,000, I ran into the news that over the weekend, Anthony Mangione, the head of ICE (Immigration and Custom Enforcement) had FBI agents searching his house because of child pornography allegedly stored in his home computer.
You know ICE, that agency that is seen in the news banging down house doors and spiriting away Hispanic people from their very homes, or raiding meat packing companies, or tomato picking farms, or the corner of Wal-Mart where they stand waiting for some day work. That agency that holds, oh such a warm place in my heart, that agency’s Miami Branch has a head of department accused of holding child pornography. The head of department who according to the article has “aggressively targeted child pornography” and spoken against predators.
Ah, and I feel a sweet little tickle spreading like sweet nectar over my chest…sigh.
I am not completely heartless and horrible, however, and I truly wish there was another alleged crime that he had committed; it makes me feel kind of guilty that I am enjoying this. I wish he would’ve been accused of cheating taxes, or hiring undocumented workers to clean his house and babysit his children (the sweet irony) or some other victimless crime. But I am too frustrated with the system and ICE, as long as I remain in limbo waiting for my process to complete, represents everything I fear and there is no room in my heart for feelings of compassion for an agency whose main object is to chase me and those like me out of this country.
I am afraid I feel like I feel every time there is some self-righteous right wing nut that ends up propositioning for gay sex in a bathroom, or discovered with his mistress when he spouts so much about the importance and sanctity of marriage. It just so damn poetic it makes me want to cry a little.
So while Florida seems to be cracking down on those undocumented workers whose only crime was to be here undocumented and work their asses off to help their families (not only the ones here but also the ones from their country of origin) the agency that handles all the cracking has an alleged pedophile at its head.
Nothing has been proven, and Mr. Mangiano, who by the way is the son of Italian and Portuguese immigrants, (go figure), is considered under the eyes of the eyes of the law innocent until proven contrary. Therefore I will say no more. But while this whole deal is being solved I have but one thought in my head:
Swift poetic justice taste divine.