23 Edward D. wrote from San Diego:
Greetings to all,
It has been a heck of a day.
I’ve just returned from the big Minuteman protest rally in National City.
The mayor of that city, Nick Inzunza, had recently announced that he wanted to make National City another sanctuary city for illegal aliens.
The mayor did this without the support or even the consultation of the city council. This action was particularly egregious because National City, which lies just south of downtown San Diego, abuts the 32nd Street Naval Base, the largest US Navy base on the west coast. You can easily see our amphibious and helicopter assault carriers and numerous other naval vessels tied up nearby.
I rose this morning less than refreshed. My Mexican neighbors had another noisy party last night that lasted until dawn. The decibel levels of their parties easily exceed the city noise ordinance. Finally, around 1:30 A.M., with young women squealing and cars parked in the middle of the street with their stereos thumping, I notified the police. I put on a pair of ear protectors like the guys wear on aircraft carrier flightdecks and tried to get a few hours of sleep. I finally drifted off, thinking of the Mexican flag next door that flutters not a dozen feet from my pillow.
After a quick shower this morning I went outside and picked up the alcoholic beveridge bottles and cigarette butts that always seem to land on my property after a party next door. Nice folks, these neighbors. At least they’re not tossing used condoms and paper towels full of feces over the fence anymore.
Before heading to the rally, many of the Minuteman units in San Diego County went as usual to various day labor sites where we try to discourage potential employers from hiring the illegal aliens who gather there. I went to our usual location, a Home Depot about 15 minutes east of downtown San Diego. The Julios were in a foul mood today.
I was standing in my usual spot this morning, sign in hand, when a Mexican in one of those long, extended pickup trucks veered from the exit driveway and steered toward me. He went over the curb so close to me that I didn’t even have to fully extend my arm to touch his truck. He nearly ran over my foot, missing me by about eightteen inches. A nice day to you too, buddy.
Not fifteen minutes later, another big truck on its way out of the parking lot veered toward one of my colleagues, nearly sideswiping him. The police officers who were on watch didn’t see either event. So we had to let it go. The camera crews from the ACLU and other local subversive organizations were filming us at the time but one can be sure they wouldn’t lift a finger to help us. After ninety minutes of this we all drove down to the rally site.
The event in National City was intense. About 150 patriots from San Diego, Orange, Los Angeles and Riverside counties came together at the City Hall to denounce the rogue mayor and support immigration law enforcement.
A large crowd of adversaries faced off against us across the street, with the police station at their rear. What a motley crew. There were among them various open borders types, professional agitators, Aztec dancers, Raza thugs and a column of painted circus clowns, all chanting and gesturing, hurling insults and dancing like fools. There must have been about 250 of them.
The National City Police Department was fully deployed, with reinforcements on duty from the California Highway Patrol, San Diego County Sheriff Department and the La Mesa Police Department. I would say there about 150-200 police officers deployed and they were ready for action. Horse mounted officers sat at the ready while the main body of officers kept the two sides apart, their batons and pellet cartridge-filled shotguns in hand. Some of our number felt that some among the police were a bit hard-edged, but all of the officers that I encountered were polite and professional.
We must have shouted at each other for three hours. The refrains of the opposition are so boring in their repetition. They can never seem to come up with anything more original than “KKK, go home,” “We didn’t cross the border, the border crossed us,” yada, yada, yada.
A few infiltrators got in among us and one of my comrades, a woman who served in the Army, moved to defend herself. She fired her pepper spray while trying to push me aside, but I still got a good stream in the face. This was the first time I had been hit. The effects of the spray don’t get all at once. You first feel the burning sensation, then your eyes involuntarily squeeze shut so that you’re left temporarily blind. I flushed my eyes with bottled water, but it took a few minutes before I could resume my post. My eyes still ache as I type this.
What impresses me, every time, is the intensity of the hatred on the faces of the Mesos. One can’t help but be struck by how determined they are to do as they wish, claiming this land as theirs, waving their giant Mexican flags, our laws and customs be damned.
The most memorable moment of the day came when I was standing next to a young and powerfully built black American, a Marine still on active duty. He was in a rage, both at the protestors and at the police. He turned to me and said, “ F—k this s—t. I’ve done three tours in Iraq and this is what I come home to. I can’t believe this crap.” I replied to him, “Be thankful that the Marine Corps trained you, because you’re going to need those skills here.” We both agreed, and many others affirmed as well, that we are in the last days of peace.
Farewell from the ruined paradise of San Diego.