During the Nazi Occupation of Europe you needed identification papers on you at all times. You couldn’t just walk around without your papers. A cop demands your papers, for any reason, you better damned sure have those papers and they better damned sure be in order. Or else they’d drag you off. Possibly to line you up against a wall. Having your papers up to date and on you at all times was a big deal. That’s where the phrase “your papers, please” comes from…

The phrase has also been used by the U.S. press in relation to a February 2017 incident in which U.S. Customs and Border Protection agents searching for a suspect demanded identification from passengers exiting a domestic flight.^[15][16] In January 2018, bus passengers allege that Border Patrol agents boarded a Greyhound bus in Florida and demanded U.S. identification or a passport from all of those on board. It has also been used to refer to interactions with civilians during police stops^[11][12] and immigration enforcement.^[13] Arizona’s controversial SB 1070 law requiring people to carry identification was dubbed the “Papers, Please” law. Wikipedia, et.al. in red.

We hear the phrase in the Humphrey Bogart movie, Casablanca.

The first line of the film is spoken by a police officer to a civilian he stopped on the street: “May we see your papers?” The civilian produces a document, but a second police officer declares that it “expired three weeks ago” and begins to tell the civilian he is under arrest. The civilian attempts to flee the police but a gunshot is heard and the civilian falls to the ground.

The movie ends okay. Bogie shoots the evil Major Strasser. Gives up the girl. (She was a pain in the ass, anyway.) Goes off to fight the Nazi’s. Everything works out in the end. That’s a Hollywood movie. Maybe the same happens in the age of Trump. Maybe everything works out in the end. But maybe not. Could be, we all need to get our papers in order, just in case…

Who’s gonna bother an old fart like me?

I’m a seventy two year old Vet. Shit! I was born at the Vet’s Hospital in San Diego. I’m about as Vet and you can get. Shit. I don’t need no stinking papers. But what if I do? If Trump has his way it’ll certainly come to that. And now I’m thinking about it, Trump always has his way!

Okay. Alright. Settle down. If it comes to that. I’m a Vet! Who’s gonna hassle a Vet?

I got this here Vet card proving I’m a Vet. Sure, it’s expired. Just like me. I’m a couple years past my use-by date. They gonna haul me off to a detention center just cuz my papers done got expired?

Maybe. Maybe I’ll end up like that poor dude at the beginning of Casablanca.

In the age of Trump, maybe for sure.

Well, not to worry.

I got a back-up! My Driver’s License. Which I renewed just last August. It’s brand spanking new with a fresh picture of me and everything. It’ll certainly prove I’m a legal kinda legitimate Citizen of the good old U.S.A. Damned sure it will!!!!

(I aint gonna show you the entire license cuz it’s got some personal info on there like my current address which I’d like to keep secret although I’m sure A.I. got me listed with all the particulars including my gender and pronoun preferences, Etcetera….)

Well…okay…but is a single damned drivers license enough? Perhaps in the age of Trump I’ll need more. OF COURSE I’LL NEED MORE. WE GOT A MILLION ICE AGENTS RUNNING AROUND DEMANDING PAPERS!

Not to worry! I got my Birth Certificate handy.

A micro-filmed copy, that is…

It’s called a certificate of live birth. It lists where I was born. When I was born. MY mother’s maiden name. my father’s name. All the evidence necessary to prove to this body-armored I.C.E. Thug aiming a Glock 19 at my head that I am who I say I am. Rather than some knife-wielding Illegal Alien Murderer Terrorist….

Or even a thing with two heads!

In which case I’ll need two birth certificates. I don’t know. Maybe one will do. But certainly from now on I’ll need to have a valid Birth Certificate on me at all times. Included among my official Papers.

Now I’m thinking about it…

A Social Security Card will definitely bolster the argument I give to my local ICE Thug.

Uh Oh! It’s not signed. 13 years I’ve had this card on me or stuck in a drawer and yet I never bothered to sign it. That’s enough to get my ass hauled off to a penal colony. Not signing my social security card is a serious offense. I better hurry up and sign it. This is my official social security card, by the way. You know how you tell? It’s got the Corinthian columns. I don’t know if the new cards display Corinthian columns. Doubtless the ICE Thug eager to kick my ass will notice the difference.

Alright. What else?

Better safe than sorry. Here’s my college degree:

And my Paralegal Certificate Of Completion:

That’s right. I’m a registered Paralegal. Does that protect me from arrest? Absolutely not. Nothing protects me from arrest in the age of Trump Thugs. But the more papers you got on you the better, I think. Could be I’m wrong. But it’s better to be safe than sorry.

This is my diploma from Massage Table Building School. Presented to me by this New Zealand couple living like a pair of Gypsies in their RV parked at Gas House Cove, S.F., and building massage tables while they squatted on the parking lot of the marina during the summer of 93. I happened along and noticed how they were selling the tables right there on the lot for like 400 bucks a table. And not doing much for money at the time, I asked them how they built them, right there in the parking lot. And the dude, he took me on as a student. Taught me how to build the tables (for a fee of course). And I actually learned how to build a massage table! Right there on the parking lot. I graduated!!!

Took me a full week.

I even built a few dozen tables. Before moving on to a real job selling windows.

I don’t know if presenting this particular diploma to an ICE Thug will help my case any. Now I’m thinking about it, those Kiwi’s had over stayed their Visas. I could get in a lot of trouble for having been associated with undocumented individuals. Don’t matter it was thirty years ago. In the age of Trump Thugs you are guilty by association, no matter who long ago it was.

Okay, let’s round this off

My DD 213…proving I was discharged from the Military under honorable conditions!

This could be the tipper that sways an I.C.E. Thug…

Still not enough?

My Marriage Certificate, proving I was married.

Wait a minute! I was married to an Alien. A German. And this German woman I married came with me back to my country of origin whereupon I helped obtain for this woman a green card. The marriage didn’t last. We spit up and she subsequently returned to Germany. Overjoyed to be rid of my ass. The feeling was mutual. She only returned once on a vacation and borrowed my car for a week. Then she returned to Germany again, never to return. But did she really go back to Germany forever? Could be she sneaked back here and is now hiding in the bushes.

This scenario is plausible.

I.C.E. Thugs have no evidence to the contrary. I could very well be moving droves of German Aliens into this country. I could be one of those border mules. At the very least, I could be one of those dudes who marries a woman just so she can live in this country and sponge off all us upstanding folks busting our assess and paying taxes while she lives off welfare and food stamps and free medical insurance.

The Thug will certainly ask me my ex-wife’s location.

I have no idea where she is living. I have not spoken to my muddy ex-wife in 38 years.

I better include my certificate of divorce with my growing trove of Identification papers…

A copy of my divorce. Stamped by a Judge. Totally legitimate. I filed the divorce myself. Which I managed to complete successfully thanks to the knowledge I obtained as a Paralegal.

Whew! I was worried there for a minute. Thank god I kept my divorce papers.

The more papers you got the better off you are!

That’s my philosophy.

Pity I don’t have a death certificate

That would be perfect. Having my own death certificate. Proving to the I.C.E. officer aiming the Glock 19 at my head that I am in fact officially dead.

That way, he would have no reason to blow my head off. Like he did to that poor woman in Minneapolis.

I’m gonna look into figuring out how to forge my own death certificate. Add it to my trove of papers. Equipped with a certificate of my Death I’ll have the perfect alibi. “Look, “officer”. I’m dead. Aiming your weapon at me is not necessary. I’m officially dead and I have the document to prove it. Right here, among my papers. You wanna shoot me go ahead but I think you’re wasting a bullet.”

Anyway, this is what I’ve been doing lately.

Forging a Death Certificate.

Assembling my Papers.

Meanwhile, I got a pretty good hide-out

I’m just kicking back on the Double Lotus, watching the sun set. Awaiting a potential I.C.E. raid. Don’t know exactly what the Thugs expect to find down here.

Just me and the seagulls.

I’m pretty sure the gulls got their papers in order.

Oh, and let me not forget a few of my more respectable neighbors.

A pack of Harbor Seals. They like that particular dock over there. Seals don’t need papers. They don’t need nothing. Just themselves, the sea, and each other. For them having nothing is easy. They like to lay on that dock doing absolutely nothing. Drying out. Snoozing. They can’t get up and walk around. So they just lay there. This is the extent of my Seal knowledge. As much as I know about Seals is about as much as I know about anything. I’m an expert at nothing. Does this make me sad?

But having my papers in order. That makes me feel pretty good.

I’m not worth arresting.

Being ignored ain’t so bad now I’m thinking about it.

Unlike Seals, Human Beings are expected to offer alibi’s. You gotta produce a story. A justification. If you can’t come up with something you’d better watch out.

Trouble awaits you.

Once upon a time. In safer times, you’d be shunned. Vilified. Abandoned. Then…simply ignored. Left to live your life as a bum. The worst that could happen to you, back in those halcyon days, was to be left to yourself. Which is a blessing in a way.

Are most people really worth knowing? I wonder.

But that was then. The times have changed.

Many hapless Human Beings are hiding-out, creeping here, creeping there, afraid they’ll get picked up and shipped off to a bad place. What I’m saying is, a lot of people better equipped than me, and especially those eager to fit into society…ain’t got no papers!

While there is no single, exact global tally of every individual living in fear of arrest or deportation, data indicates that tens of millions of people worldwide live under this daily anxiety due to their status as forcibly displaced people, undocumented immigrants, or targets of political/religious persecution…. compliments of A.I.

Life aint easy for a lot of people.

What about the simply down-and-out? The human beings without a roof. Living on the street. How many of those we got? A.I. sez ….

Estimates of people living on the street or in “absolute homelessness” globally range from roughly 150 million to over 300 million. When including those in inadequate, unsafe, or temporary housing, the figure rises to over 1.6 billion people—about 20% of the world’s population—who are affected by housing insecurity. 

20 percent of the population. Whew!

Best to kick back on my sled and not think about it.

am I suffering housing insecurity?

Like I just said. Best not to think about it.

Well…Nothing’s easy but I’m doing okay.

Least I got my papers in order!

Think I’ll play a little rock and roll from back in the good old days. Back when you could be a bum and not worry about I.C.E. Thugs showing up at your door….or your dock.

That’s the ticket. Kick back and watch the sun go down.