The Good, the Pretty, and Fear Itself

Living and dying through the ICE Age

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I just haven’t known what to say.

You can only watch a man get blown apart by the government on the daylit freezing streets of a major city for the crime of trying to help a woman off the ground from so many different angles before you feel like you should say something. Everyone is yelling in the desperate hope that yelling can still be enough, the least you could do is use that word thing your brain is good at to make some small attempt at helping the country off the ground.

But I just haven’t known what to say. Silly gifs and the services of Sir Swears-a-Lot Bear don’t really cut it. To say, as many have, that it’s wrong and fascist and evil and grotesque has felt so small and useless—and it’s not like we haven’t all been saying that for really, quite some time now. Saying this exact thing was coming. Saying once it started, stopping it would be a lot harder than checking a box that didn’t have a man invented in a fucking Antichrist factory that mass-manufactures clearly-labelled Antichrists for the highly-competitive international Antichrist market next to it. To say, as many have, that now that they’ve done this to a white man exercising his second amendment rights, a whole lot of people are finally finding a last crumpled, lonely, half-frozen fuck to give between the couch cushions of their discontent, has seemed too cynical and unhelpful. At least there was one to find. I guess.

To say, as many have, that I am afraid, so afraid, for my family, my loved ones, my child, my little world almost entirely filled with what these smirking, plastic-masked carcasses of humanity would consider the Wrong Kind of People, has seemed both selfish and redundant. Another helpless cry of fear to add to the maelstrom.

And my god, I’ve been afraid. We all have. For so long. Many much more than I. I don’t remember what it felt like to not begin each day by swallowing a dark lump of existential dread. I don’t know how many more layers of fear you can Jenga onto the pre-stacked tower before it just doesn’t make any difference anymore. Fear is just where you live. What you eat. What clicks on in the morning with the heat. What you do to relax. What you work on on the weekends. What makes up the cells of your body.

I started writing this piece about ICE about a week and a half ago for an entirely different reason. Before we all knew the name Alex Pretti, but after we knew the name Renee Good. And every single day something new would happen to make it all worse and what I’d written out of date. I’m pretty sure this will be out of date before I get to the last paragraph.

I wanted to tell you what’s been going on in my state, not because I live in Minnesota, because I don’t.

I live in Maine.

It’s very hard for me to tell how much of what’s happening here has penetrated media outside of our local bubble at all. My feed is full of it. Signal has been a constant hyperactive Pachinko-machine rattle of speculation, ideation, planning, paranoia, and actual news. But my feed would be full of these stories. Maine is my home. Many people I follow also live here. The engagement algorithm that, bizarrely, may well be most singularly responsible for the rapid unspooling of just about everything, makes sure I see it. But yours may well make sure you don’t, just as it makes sure I don’t see over the garden wall of my own pre-existing interests.

Now, ICE has been in Maine before. They have taken people before. But over the last two-ish weeks, they’ve surged into the state and ramped up operations here while everyone’s been paying attention to Minnesota. Hundreds of people have been arrested. According to the governor, there are many more arrests being kept secret. People have been removed from running cars, beaten on the street, taken in front of their children, or their children taken from them. And they do not give a fuck and aren’t checking anything—one of the people “detained” was a correctional officer.

And I’m pretty sure (but would love to hear otherwise from your experience—I don’t expect it, but it would be nice) we’re not the only city getting hit while the media is focused elsewhere. Well. Maybe not so much focused as begrudgingly being forced to look because the people are already looking, then comfortably repeating whatever the government says without question, commentary, investigation, or concern until the designated Mildly Criticize a Minor Official programming bloc from 1-1:06 am EST.

I say two weeks ish, because we’ve been hearing about them coming for quite a few weeks longer than that, and it’s fairly unclear when, on that timeline, they actually arrived and began the state violence they’ve given the nastily cutesy yuk-yuk name of Operation Catch of the Day. GET IT? BECAUSE WE DO SEAFOOD HERE IN MAINE HA HA PEOPLE ARE MEAT WE ARE GOING TO EAT IMMIGRANTS HA HA GET IT GOLLY GEE KEVIN YOU AND ME ARE SUCH GREAT GUYS! Or if it even matters when ICE got here.

After all, the desired effects of their presence took hold long before they did.

I’m not sure how to express the level of fear that took hold of my state in the days and weeks after it was announced that ICE intended to begin significant operations here. Everywhere I knew that Mainers talked online was a frantic mess of rumor, speculation, paranoia, and occasional fact. People announced ICE agents were staying in this hotel or that, only to have employees of those hotels insist it wasn’t them. Sightings were frequent but doubted even by those who posted them. They’re in Portland, no, Lewiston, no Wiscasset, no the Target in Scarborough, this car in this parking lot has government plates, that guy in mirror glasses was staring at everyone who walked past. Everyone trying to figure out what the MO would be, what kind of cars they would drive, where they would go to try to find targets, what could be done, what businesses were or were not supporting their presence so they could be shunned or supported. It reached this fever pitch of Crucible-like posts every minute and more. I saw them on Congress St, I saw them in Riverside, I saw them at Hannafords.

Which is what happens when they don’t wear uniforms, drive government cars, or show ID. Everyone jumps at their shadows before their bodies even catch up. Which, in turn, is precisely why that shit is fucking illegal.

So for a long time, it was pretty unclear whether or not ICE was actually here in new numbers at all—until they definitely were, and are now. And in that strange, unreal little window between coming and here, I saw my city pre-emptively change. Contract, look around every corner, change where they shopped, ate, how often they went out and where, businesses unable to operate because so many employees are afraid they’ll be ambushed. People changed the routes they drove, how they got their kids to school, or didn’t, as taking parents and children at public schools’ pick-up and drop-off has been going on for several months already, so people are fucking terrified of school and their own jobs now.

Oh, but don’t worry, anyone right wing and white hasn’t changed a thing. They sail happily along through public life as they always have. I can’t help but think that’s the point, really, and it happened before the new operation even began. That anyone brown or liberal/leftist or gender non-conforming or otherwise vulnerable retreats from public life and public view so that MAGA can believe we’re all just vaguely, unaccountably, finally, miraculously, gone.

If they can’t see us, we don’t exist, which is the goal. Just like the masks and their raging, apoplectic insistence that not only would they not wear them, no one else could either—if they didn’t have to see other people wearing masks, they could pretend there was no pandemic. No world-shattering event changing everything in unknown and frightening ways that their perfect idol, Mr. Only I Can Fix It, couldn’t handle even a little. Not just pretend, believe. Not just believe, know. And just gone is perfect for them. Most conservatives still feel a little twinge at the idea of full-on death camps for 49.7% of the country (and counting!). Not a large twinge. But a twinge. Alligator Alcatraz was a threat of death if you tried to escape, but they could tell themselves it was only a regular prison in Florida; then they made it a joke because it had to be a joke for them to cope with not actually believing it was only a regular prison in Florida.

But if they just don’t ever see us again they don’t have to think about it, they can just enjoy the New Recipe America: Oops All Whites edition and imagine that it all happened naturally so they’re still awesome people being awesome awesomely.

There’s too many of us Wrong Sorts to full-on snatch us one by one off the streets just yet. But if fear can take back the streets for white assholes, then they get what they want anyway.

They can pretend we’re gone. Not just pretend, believe. Not just believe, know. Snakes their shit-smeared saint drove into the sea.

And yes, with the fear and the contraction there was and is organization, too. Protests even in subzero temperatures. A local strike Friday. I barely remember the last time anything else was posted on any of the local sites, forums, subreddits, servers, etc I follow. There have been rallies and events and food delivery volunteers and spotters. There have been businesses refusing to serve ICE agents. There have been helpers, helping, and trying to do more. The laser-focus of it, even before that poor fucking man tried to help a lady up, both gives me hope and makes me indescribably sad. I wish this focus and putting aside of all other differences could happen at any time other than the direst hours. I wish I didn’t know it’s going to vanish as soon as people feel like it’s over, which is why Bovino got punted and Noem might have to sit in the naughty chair or whatever the fuck Trump is doing instead of firing everyone on Twitter this time, so that people can feel like it’s over and stop making conservatives uncomfy by not wanting to be murdered.

And for the record, absolutely none of this in Maine is about immigration. We’re 46/50 for immigrant population numbers, the literal lowest-crime state in the union, the most elderly, 9th least populous. We share a border with Canada and way more of us are native French speakers than anyone realizes. We’re a blue state that almost always gives an electoral vote to Republicans—and one they often need to make their bloodmath work. It’s not even about white supremacy primarily, except in the sense that this is all about white supremacy: except for sometimes when it’s Vermont, Maine is the whitest state in America. Portland itself has a somewhat sizable Somali community and a fair number of asylum seekers, but Portland Maine is a tiny fucking place. Even if you include all the outlying towns. Hell, even if you include Lewiston. “Somewhat sizable” means a blip on an even medium-sized city’s fact-sheet. And it’s January, this city is quiet and frozen and half-closed down even on the weekends.

This is about terrorizing people under the assumption that such a small city will not stand up for its own folk—and pathetically, about how much Donald Trump hates our governor, a lady named Janet Mills most of the state doesn’t even seem to like all that much. But Janet said no when President Trunchbull told her to ban all two trans athletes from playing high school sports, then tried to remove funding for lunches and education generally, and she still said no, so he hates this state he knows nothing about.

It’s started to get weird in recent days. ICE agents have gone a step further than “uniforms are a liberal plot” to trying to “blend in” with the most laughably stereotyped idea of what a Mainer wears you’ve ever seen in your life. Yes, indeed, it is a state of 1.3 million Brawny Paper Towel Mascots. With Arkansas accents. Bro is that beard even real? I’ve seen better beards on Drag Race.

And since this is all very depressing, please take a break to feel a deep sense of cheer watching two of these fuck-ass bubs get drummed out of a bar in the Old Port because when the massive storm came, ICE agents went out on the town to kick up their heels and enjoy the Portland nightlife.

@uselesscops

useless cops on Instagram: "No response, they didn't grab his p…

It’s been quieter since two feet of snow blanketed everything. I guess ICE takes snow days, too. Poor babies need rest from all that Call of Duty cosplay id-fluffing. But I do think it’s intentional, that this is all being done in the extreme cold, even if the Walmart SS can’t handle it. In the off-season when there is emptiness to work with. When people are easy to corner without the tourist crowds. To control the response. To limit the number of people able to protest. Minnesota and Maine are two frigid states. And I think smaller places like mine are being raided very deliberately, stress-tested, chest-checked, while attention is focused on Minneapolis because other ICE news can’t break through the roar. So here, and I assume elsewhere, ICE feels it still has impunity.

Minnesota casts a long shadow, and in such shadows devils will play.

No one’s been murdered here yet, that we know of, but I shouldn’t fucking have to write that sentence at all, should I? Just like Mainers shouldn’t have to volunteer to deliver food to people of color because they’re afraid to leave their fucking homes.

But they do. And I do. And one of these days I probably won’t be able to write that sentence anymore because people here will be dead, too. Please don’t be fooled by Trump backpedalling or punting a Greg for the masses. It means nothing and he doesn’t care. At this point, I shouldn’t have to type that sentence, either. But I do. Trump backpedals when and only when he feels his personal popularity wobble. But none of this is going to stop, not in Minnesota or Maine or anywhere else. If there was even the most wavering diaphanous gleam of a chance this was a real breaking point with change in tow, you’d know the names of Alex Pretti’s killers by now.

I haven’t known what to say because I don’t know how to make it sound like this is all going to be okay, and I really do try very hard to find a way to say that about most things, even if I don’t believe it. Especially if I don’t.

I can say vote in the midterms, but they’re a lifetime away. I can say be a helper, protest, strike if you can. And it’s true. But if I have to dig deep for something to make it better I don’t have a lot in the tank. “State actors in masks abducting and murdering citizens of that state in public with impunity and explicit cheerleading from all corners of leadership” is one of the few things everyone can point to and say fascism, but Trump’s approval rating is still 36%. And it’s not like Good or Pretti were the first, they’re just graphically on video, then graphically lied about instantly by a government that’s supposed to know you can’t just announce guilt and innocence from the White House Press Room, and in Alex Pretti, these ghouls finally managed to stumble on the legendary “perfect victim” that even GOP Joe can’t quite find a way to laugh about—but they’re working on it.

I have two bits of optimism. Maybe.

The first is that Trump does backpedal when he feels his personal popularity wobble. Always. And it wobbles when people are angry enough, loud enough, often enough, and in enough numbers to break through the algorithmic silo and start rolling up critical mass. As much as I Grandma on about how posting on the internet feels like making a difference but doesn’t…it can when the President is a fragile little fucking makeup-caked engagement-farming influencer who can’t psychologically bear his follower count going down by even one digit. This administration does outrageous things to find out where the boundaries are, like kids pushing against the pieces to find the soft one that will give. So there has to be push-back, or they’ll just light the boundary on fire. And here in the FUCKING UPSIDE DOWN, Trump actually seems to care more about online fury than real-world protests. This specific dictator is uniquely vulnerable to internet bullying tactics, which might be his only silver lining.

So say something. You have to say something. Even if it’s not very different than what everyone else is saying. Say it often. Say it everywhere. Say it loud.

If you stay loud, you don’t have to get loud.

The other one is just the pool of lava I dissociate into regularly. I find myself drifting off and thinking more and more about The Oklo Reactor these days, all the things the fact of its existence made me feel, all its majesty and strangeness and the messy weird burning garbage we all are because of it. I think about it all the time now. Maybe I keep trying to think big, to think in terms of historical eras and massive currents of time and energy, because if you think big enough, this too will pass. Into a molten inferno of agony, maybe, but pass.

But still, I just haven’t known what to say. I’m tired. I feel like I’ve been having the same that’s fascism, they’re fascists, they want fascism/shut up stupid lib it’s not like they’re disappearing people on the streets you’re crazy the only fascism is if I have to be nice to people who aren’t me conversation my entire adult life. Seeing the same disingenuous smirk on the same satisfied, untroubled faces as they raise their opera glasses and/or Oakleys to view pain they believe will never touch them as entertainment and personal validation. In some morally corkscrewed sense, as their own salvation. Oh, now it’s bad? Cool. Still won’t vote for anyone but these exact people who love doing this and love telling you how much more of it they’ll do. Great. So no change, then.

Do you know what the word fascism means? I don’t mean the political system, I don’t mean the endless bad-faith internet arguments over whether this or that act of insane clown political malevolence is technically fascistic or not when it didn’t take place in Germany in the 30s. I mean where the word itself comes from. Stop me if you’ve heard this one.

It comes from the word fasces. That’s Latin for this:

It’s a bundle of rods that either did or did not have an axe stuck through the middle of it. It was carried before magistrates to symbolize the unity of the state (the bundle), the ability of the state to punish its citizens (rods), and the presence of the axe was meant to wordlessly that the state has invested this particular magistrate with the authority to execute you with no cause but the passing judgment of their own whims.

It’s not a technicality. It’s not a warning. It’s not a neat little political science definition. We are here. They are here. And the fear they bring does half their job before you ever see them. Which doesn’t mean they don’t love the other half. That fasces is what ICE carries before them into your city and mine.

You might not be able to see it, but they feel it in their hands, and oh, how they exult in its weight.