**George Lopez:** "I believe in the idea of the melting pot, I just don’t want to be the tomato."

Some people are saying to send them all back to where they came from. I say that’s only fair. But let’s ship them in the same manner that they arrived in this country – starving, thirsty, exhausted, and on foot. *** George Lopez:** "I believe in the idea of the melting pot, I just don’t want to be the tomato."#####Some people are saying to send them all back to where they came from. I say that’s only fair. But let’s ship them in the same manner that they arrived in this country – starving, thirsty, exhausted, and on foot. *** While the press was distracted by the administration’s latest child separation policy, a long standing court case finally resolved. A lawsuit that had its start back in 1682, and had been in the courts ever since, finally had a decision. The plaintiff, the Mi’kmaq tribe, had sued the British government for theft of their land. In spite of a long series of appeals that had wound their way through the courts for two centuries, the decision in 2023 was that the original land was, in fact, taken without consent. But rather than having to return all of the land, the court settled on a compromise. Two large cities were to be given back to the Mi’kmaq tribe: Boston and New York City. The land was to be returned inside of two months. The inhabitants were free to stay, as long as they learned to speak Mi’kmaq. Otherwise, they needed to be gone. The inhabitants of Maine, New Hampshire, and the Canadian Maritime provinces were given two years to leave the territory. *** “So, we’re like the Israelites,” said her co-worker, Janet. “Yeah, and they’re like the Palestinians,” replied another coworker, Kelly. The three of them went silent as they looked around the conference room, making sure no one had heard. They had just been handed layoff notices, along with half the company. The bosses had declared that they were now living on tribal land and that the Mi’kmaq had their own economic development plans for the area. Unfortunately, those plans didn’t include a software company. “I mean, I’m sorry and all, but the Mi’kmaq shouldn’t get to just *take* the land,” said Kelly. “Oh, hell,” replied Janet. “I’m glad they did. Now I get to be in charge and you guys get to play the role of the displaced person.” “What did we do to the Mi’kmaq,” asked Kelly. “*Nothing*?!” said Janet. “So you admit that we’re guilty.” “I’m serious,” said Kelly. “I know that we took their land, but what did we do to them.” “What did they do to us,” countered Janet. “I can’t speak the Mi’kmaq language. I’m one of the bad people.” Kelly sighed and shook her head. “You’re starting to creep me out.” “Yeah, well, let’s just say that I’ve been preparing for this moment for a few years now. Let’s just say that I was talking to a few lawyers who were fairly sure this was going to turn out the way it did. They assured me that the press was being told to keep the whole thing quiet.” “I knew it,” said Kelly. “There’s a conspiracy behind this.” “Hell no,” said Janet. “I’ve been preparing for this moment since I was a little girl. Let’s just say that my grandmother had a *lot* of time on her hands.” “Janet, is that blood on your hands?” asked Kelly. “Yes. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a skin to tan.” * * * Janet and Kelly were the first two people to be escorted out of the office building. They were followed by their former coworkers, and a few former bosses. Before the week was over, half of Boston had been cleared out. The city was starting to resemble a war zone. Abandoned vehicles lined the streets, the stores had been stripped bare by looters, and the few remaining residents were holed up in their home, waiting for the inevitable. There was a rumor going around that at least one neighborhood had been burned to the ground. Not by the Mi’kmaq, but by a mob of white people. The white people had been convinced that the residents of the burned out neighborhood were actually Indians. Janet heard that the residents had been rounded up and shipped out to Oklahoma. Whether they arrived alive or not, nobody knew. *** “I learned Tejano when I was a kid,” said her new boss. “I was the only white kid in the neighborhood. I used to walk around saying ‘¿Por que me prochoso con rico?’” “‘Why do you call me dumb?’” translated Janet. “I’ve heard that one before.” “Yeah. I heard it a lot when I was a kid. I remember walking home from school with my friend Pepe. We’d walk past an old man who was sitting on his porch, drinking wine, and he’d yell out at us: ‘¡Estoy muy chingon para triunfar!’” “‘I am too mother f\*\*king cool to care!’” translated Janet. “It’s a classic,” said the boss. “But I also used to hear a lot of Spanish. Two brothers lived next to our house, and they were always playing pranks on each other. I always used to hear ‘¡Fumas-marahoo! ¡Es un perata!’” “‘You smoke shit! You f\*\*k frogs,’” translated Janet. “My great aunt used to say something similar to my uncle.” “She was a classy lady,” said the boss. “While we’re talking about Townies, have you heard the one about the guy from Southie who walked into a bar?” “Yeah,” said Janet. “How do you know?” “Because you haven’t heard the end of it.” *** A week after moving into her new office, Janet was given a promotion. She still had the same desk that she had inherited a week before. But the new job was different. She was given the title of Deputy Director of Townie Disposal. She had been let go from her other job because the Mi’kmaq wanted to set up their own economic development center. Janet had been hired to help with the new business ventures, but this new job was attached to a different department. It was attached to the Mi’kmaq police force. Janet worked out of the local police station. She had a desk in the back of the police station and a small group of translators at her disposal. When someone was rounded up, brought to the station, and didn’t speak Mi’kmaq, Janet was called in to explain the charges and translate any questions. Otherwise, it was usually a simple deport or don’t deport situation. Until the day that Janet was asked to pick out a person. She had been summoned to a large holding cell. There were hundreds of people, mostly men, all of whom were white. Janet had been asked to walk up and down the rows of cells and point out people that she recognized. She wandered aimlessly for ten minutes before she saw him. * * * He looked a little grayer than he used to. He looked older and a little more wrinkled. But otherwise, he looked the same as he had the day he skipped town. Janet had been in high school at the time, and her brother had been about ten. He had left in the same manner that he had arrived. He had walked in out of the Maine wilderness when Janet was a little girl, starving, thirsty, exhausted, and on foot. But Janet had been too young to remember the day. She had been told the story many times by her brother and her grandmother. Janet debated for a moment before pointing out her father to the guards. The three of them walked over to him. Janet spoke in Mi’kmaq. Her father looked at her in confusion. Then he figured it out. He looked up at her in pain and said “Why?” Janet shook her head. “I believe in the idea of the melting pot. I just don’t want to be the tomato.” *** *This story is dedicated to the indigenous people of Massachusetts who were slaughtered, forced out, and left to rot in the woods. There are no professional sports teams in the USA named the Palestinians or the Irish or the Jews. There is no St. Lucian or Jamaican whisky. But there are plenty of references to the slaughtered people of the USA. Let’s wish them the same peace that we wish the people of Ukraine.*

George Lopez: "I believe in the idea of the melting pot, I just don’t want to be the tomato."

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