Appraising Arizona

After a lovely few days in Paris with the Compte de Rienville, I decided upon my return that some emphasis on my sugar beet enterprise was called for. So to my office, and a focus upon supply and demand, accompanied with a good dollop of VaR -- value at risk, something ignored by Lehman Brothers, among others. (But not by Goldman Sachs.)

All was well, save for a request from China inviting me to enter into a joint agreement. This negotiation had been going on for some time, the stumbling block being my insistence upon majority control, and the contract drawn up under Canadian legal principles. (These are no hell, but a damn sight better than those proffered by the Chinese, who really have no word for transparency.) They would not budge, nor would I, and this has led to a raft of super-polite correspondence that seems somewhat pointless, although in a weird way, rather enjoyable -- cuff and kiss in an artistic form, if you will. But I am determined not to be hustled by the East, and was pondering my latest rejoinder when Consuela, my gardener, burst into the office, her face blurry with tears.

"Maria has been arrested!" she blurted.

"Calm down, Connie, calm down. Just sit," I said, pointing to a chair. Goodness, the woman was eight months pregnant, and the last thing she needed was stress. "Now who is Maria?"

"My cousin. And it's not fair! She didn't do anything!"

I will summarize Consuela's very disjointed account of what particular pit the unfortunate Maria had fallen into. The woman lived in a small Arizona town in Pima county, where she worked as a waitress. Upon leaving her place of employment, a popular bar in the centre of town, and while waiting for a bus that was running late, she had been knocked to the ground and her purse snatched. Dazed, she looked around, then saw a passing police car. Two of Arizona's finest listened to her story, and asked for some identification. Since any relevant documents were in her purse, she was unable to produce any satisfactory I.D. So it was off to the jail, and given Arizona's latest insane policy of deporting any Latino or Latina at the drop of a hat, cousin Maria, born in Guatemala, was shortly to be whisked back to Mexico, a place to which she had never been, didn't want to go to, and which terrified her, the drug cartels being what they were.

What to do?

Then a thought occurred, and I got Matilda Hatt on the phone. Tilly, I knew, had in conjunction with the Drug Enforcement Agency made several forays along the Arizona / Mexican border, to the severe detriment of numerous drug smugglers and to the delight of the DEA. (It's amazing the effect of a hand grenade placed judiciously within the confines of a small room.) I apprised her of the situation, and indicated the need for some fast action.

"What county did all this happen in?" asked Tilly.

"Pima," I replied.

"She's a lucky girl. It could have been Maricopa."

"What on earth are you talking about?"

Tilly went on to explain that the sheriff of Pima County, improbably named Clarence Dupnik, was a sane and respected official. Not, Tilly continued, the situation in Maricopa, where the sheriff was one Joe Arpaio. Now even I had heard stories about Sheriff Joe, and his penchant for jailing and deporting Mexicans with a verve and keenness worthy of Inspector Javert.

Tilly indicated that she would get in touch with 'her friend Clarence' and see if the situation could be resolved, although she added that now would be a good time for Maria to come and visit her cousin.

"Isn't Consuela great with child?", Tilly inquired.

"She is."

"Then Maria could help with the baby. I can make travel arrangements."

"It would be appreciated."

Tilly said, "But you owe me one. A little expedition to the Congo. Right?"

"Right," I sighed, once again acknowledging that no good deed goes unpunished.

And so it transpired. The good Clarence was reasonable, and as well seemed aware that Arizona's ridiculous immigration policy was likely afoul of the U.S. Constitution. He even put a successful effort into retrieving Maria's purse from the low-life that had taken it, not a difficult feat to accomplish in a small town whose only failing in this case were the actions of two over-zealous deputies.

Still, the whole Arizona thing is rather sad, and Lincoln's words echoed in my head: "A house divided against itself cannot stand." For goodness sakes, WAKE UP, AMERICA!