Strangely, I don’t remember much from my high school prom. I went stag when most of my class had dates, and honestly, the entire social expectations dance wasn’t my thing. However, after years of bullying and ridicule, I had clawed my way back into relevance. I attended to demonstrate that they would not browbeat me into ‘outsider’ submission, much like my private version of Pretty In Pink. At least that’s the story I tell myself in my head today. Truthfully, I did not have this level of self-awareness when I graduated; it gradually developed over the years.
One conversation I remember from that night came from my friend’s date, a college student. He lamented that although he had turned 19 years old, he was disallowed from drinking alcohol. Specifically, the legal drinking age in the US wasn’t always 21; for many years, and in many states, it was 18. To retain its federal funding, Florida also made this transition to 21.
The question posed to the state was, “For those who had already attained the right to drink at 18, would that right be rescinded upon turning 21?” Florida chose to grandfather those who turned 18 years old; they could continue to drink. The poor aforementioned slob missed that date by two months.
I’ll drink to that
At the time, the idea of drinking didn’t fascinate me. Portrayals of drinking often correlated first with personal conflicts of social acceptance, and consequently, colossally poor judgment. I had little interest in either.
Before his passing, my dad drank the occasional beer. My mom occasionally kept beer in the fridge, and always kept a bottle of Bacardi 151 for some recipes. Therefore, I neither grew up with an ethical objection to alcohol nor did I lack access to it. The idea of drinking had no appeal.
Ironically, I attended the University of Miami, alleged to be the second-largest party school in the nation, which, I imagine, had rampant drinking. Though early on, I acquired a job waiting tables on the weekend, so I missed most parties on campus. On another twist, I occasionally served alcohol in that job, which also required the age of 21. Yes, this was illegal.
Finally, I became friends with another engineer (eventually my roommate) who could buy alcohol. While he would happily buy whatever I wanted, I never asked him to. I scoped my bouts of underage drinking to instances where I got a beer from the fridge, obtained from grocery shopping. I can count those instances on one hand.
Not about the actual drinking
As you might suspect, this post is not about the ability to drink legally; that’s just a red herring. It’s about the government changing policy and taking away rights they had already granted you. The state of Florida never allowed that poor slob from my high school prom to drink upon turning 18 years old. However, Florida did not take away the rights of those who were already 18; they were allowed to continue to drink.
Other states managed this change in stature differently. From casual conversation, I discovered Michigan unconditionally changed its drinking age from 18 to 21. Abruptly, those in that age window lost the right to drink alcohol. To frame it in another way, these states instructed more than half of their college undergraduate students that they may no longer drink.
I won’t necessarily assert that we could legally challenge the states from removing such rights from these young adults. However, there’s a hint of unfairness to abruptly change the rules in a way that makes otherwise law-abiding citizens into criminals. We’re nitpicking about the right to legally have that beer or glass of wine. That glass of champagne can wait until 2028; it won’t change the trajectory of your life. No one needs to drink.
Changes that do impact our lives
Suppose your family has lived in the same house for generations; your mom gave birth to you in that house. The government hands you a check and instructs you to vacate. They acquired your home through eminent domain; you have no legal recourse but to accept their offer (or negotiate the price, I suppose). It’s completely legal, but is it fair?
Much like the drinking age, the government concludes that a particular policy is too permissive. In this case, our government finds our immigration guidelines too permissive. It’s too easy for an immigrant to acquire a visa, attain permanent residency (green card), or even become a citizen. We amended our policy to be more restrictive. Do we retroactively apply that new policy to those who have already attained visas, green cards, and US citizenship?
We’re the ‘greatest country in the world’… Right? Remember us? The Melting Pot? The Land of Opportunity? We are not the villains in this story; we’re the victims. We couldn’t possibly be changing the rules for immigrants after they got here legally.
Are we breaching our contract with them?
Lewelyn Dixon immigrated from the Philippines to Hawaii 50 years ago; she has been a legal US permanent resident for decades. Dixon returned home from a family trip to the Philippines on February 28th, only to be detained by ICE agents, where she remains in custody. She works as a lab technician at the University of Washington. What about our immigration policy has changed that has made her previous fifty years of residency in the US so abruptly questionable?
Gladys and Nelson Gonzalez have called the United States home since 1989; they have raised three daughters here in the US. Shortly after welcoming their first grandchild, they were deported to Colombia. They had no criminal record; they sought for years a pathway to US citizenship.
Abruptly, the Trump administration revokes the legal status of 530,000 immigrants, urging them to leave. Though I need to point out that:
In 2012, in Arizona v United States, the highest court in the land ruled that “as a general rule, it is not a crime for a removable alien to remain in the United States”.
Disagree with that ruling? Take it up with the US Supreme Court.
Moreover, one of the very first things that the Trump administration tried to revoke was birthright citizenship, a right that is enshrined in the Constitution.
Have we breached our agreements with these souls? Even if not legally, have we ethically? Maybe we have become the villain in this story. Have we traded our humanity for xenophobia?