Politics

“I thought of my father waking before dawn, driving hours through the cool morning mist, to cut grass, to spray and inhale chemicals—to become a spectre. He had done everything right. He worked like an animal for his employers. He had no criminal record. His credit was great. He didn’t drink or do drugs. He went quietly to work every morning and came quietly home every evening. He obeyed his bosses and won employee of the year multiple times. He paid his taxes and mowed his lawn and met with his children’s teachers. He was the ideal immigrant. The American Dream personified. And yet, the moment his broken body could no longer be exploited for its labor, he was doubted and ignored and humiliated. Everywhere he turned for help—workers’ compensation or welfare or Social Security or Medi-Cal or the court system itself—he was treated like a scam artist. A crook. The bureaucracy inherent to these programs turned him into a stack of documents. A list of ailments. He was dismissed and forgotten. Just another spectre in America.”