In late December, I requested an Uber ride up to the store. A handsome, middle-aged gentleman named Moises picked me up. I began a conversation with him, because I loved his accent, but couldn't quite pinpoint the origin. He told me that he was from Iran and that he was a movie director who made a film that that government did not like. For his trouble, he spent a year in jail and, afterward, it was hard to make a living doing anything.
So he legally immigrated to America and is now essentially a taxi driver, after being a creator and visionary. He told me he missed his family and that most of his money goes to them and to save enough to bring them over to him, hopefully next year.
I advised him to go to Mexico or Canada before it was too late. His optimism and faith in the way the United States is supposed to work was heartbreaking.
Ever since I heard the news on the Muslim ban, I can't stop thinking of Moises. It's much more personal when you see the soul-rending results of the decision of an extremist mad man sitting pretty in the White House, ruining lives with the flick of a pen.
