Secret Police

 Back in the 80's, I was friendly with a coworker, a cook named, "Sami". He was a happy, friendly guy which is fairly unusual amongst line cooks and chefs. All that heat back there really does something to their social skills. But not Sami. He was from Romania. His English was good. His thinning, black hair, pleasant demeanor and his eastern European accent reminded me of the comedian, Yakoff Smirnoff who was fairly popular at the time. Sami was a pretty good cook too. If I had to work Sunday mornings, the best part of that was the excellent scrambled eggs they served, which were free to me. I asked Sami how he and the guys created such delicious eggs. Did they add milk, water- anything special to make them so delightfully soft?

Nope. Add nothing, he told me. Really? Yes. Just cook them, low heat. No problem. I can manage a soft scramble at home, but I've never been able to make them as good as him. 

One night I was out for drinks with Sami and his Mexican wife, Daniela. She was super sweet. I enjoyed both of them so much. We were having a nice time. I might have asked him what he had done for work back in Romania. Forty years later, I can't fully recall the conversation. Sami got very serious. He told me he had been a policeman. A secret policeman. Seemed incongruous that such a personable man would have been any kind of a cop, let alone a secret one. If I asked how a nice guy like him got into that line of work, I've forgotten over the decades that have passed. How he got out was more important. See, whatever the circumstances were, he one night had to execute two men he and his partner were investigating. 

Of course, I was shocked. Daniela looked at me and nodded a frown. The story was not new to her. Sami looked at his beer. The killing had sickened him. That was painfully obvious. He was ashamed and would be for the rest of his life. 

People tell me things. My father-in-law Nick had told me many people had viewed him as a "father confessor" over his lifetime, and I would get that from time to time in mine. Like Nick, I listen to people. I at least, don't get immediately judgey towards them. I didn't think for a second that Sami was lying to me. People lie for a myriad of reasons. They want to fluff the resume of their life or perhaps intimidate. Well, that wasn't Sami. He was contrite. No doubt in my mind.

Secret police. Did we ever think that would happen here? We've had bad cops for forever but never purposeful, state-sanctioned killers. That was some Eastern bloc, South American shit- not the US. Well, until now. 

Our ICEholes aren't dark, swarthy killers in plainclothes like you might think of in third world countries. Ours dress up like weekend militia shits, that dress up like Special Forces real military. At the moment they aren't official death squads, but you can see it from there as Trump's poll numbers plummet. This regime refuses to tell us who they are (to protect them from US!) and encourages them to mask their faces. Their murders are more incidental rather than premediated. But like Secret Police everywhere, they have the protection of state sanctioned anonymity with NO repercussions for their kills. 

Again- I don't know why Sami got into that business, but I know why he got out and came to America. He had a soul and a conscience that would not let him go on in life killing people. Maybe some of our ICEholes will read the writing on the wall and quit. I fear that too many of them signed up to kill without consequence. It sure sounds like it was a feature, likely heavily hinted at during orientation. The pay and bonuses highlight that. It encourages that. I've read that a large number of recruits join the Army and Marines simply for the opportunity to 'legally' kill other humans. The military, real cops and government agencies have ways of weeding those people out. ICE apparently does not. That is who they seem to be looking for in an employee. 

This third world country we live in now will get worse before it gets better. That's a goddamn shame we have to live- and die- like this.