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How Swede It Is

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       Is there not a single Catholic, not a single Mexican who has the will, the spunk, the moral fibre, to utter even a feather-light rebuke of Mayor Wrong and Cardinal Wrong?
       Since the dispute over disposition of blatantly illegal immigrants broke into the public right-of-way last month, both Mayor Wrong and Cardinal Wrong have equated illegal aliens with the finest men ever born. What criminals?
       Sounds as if they are saying that standards are old-fashioned. As I suggested yesterday, the United States should build the proposed wall at along the Mexican border, seven hundred miles long.
While they are at it, how about emptying out all of the jails in Los Angeles?  Line up the guys side-by-side. Count off, fellows, one-two, one-two. The Ones go live with Mayor Wrong. The Twos move in with Cardinal Wrong. 
       Since fifty-five percent of the County Jail inmates are illegals — the big brothers of those they have been encouraging to breach the border — camaraderie should be the order of the day.
 
Standing in Line
 
       And now to our story, immigration, sunny side up.
       In 1964, Swedish-born Gerhard Nyquist and his Danish-born wife Kirsten decided to set sail for America.
       Young and adventurous, they had met in college, at dental tech school. They did not plan to live in America, much less set up a business and raise a family in Culver City.
       They would try it out for a year, find it not quite comfortable, return home and resume their former lives.
       Without a naked border to cross, the Nyquists, like the overwhelming proportion of immigrants throughout American history, never considered any route but obeying the rules.
       Mr. Nyquist picks up the story. “My wife’s uncle lived in Fresno,” he said. “Before we could come, he had to put $10,000 in a bank account — $5,000 for each of us — and the money had to sit there for a year. Ten thousand dollars back in 1964 was a lot of money.
       “We were told this was the reason for depositing that sum: If we were not able to take care of ourselves, enough money would be available to ship us back home.
       “That was totally fair, we thought,” Mr. Nyquist said yesterday morning before departing for his offices on Washington Boulevard near the Sepulveda intersection.
       “As for Swedes today, actually for all Northern Europeans, I would say it is impossible to emigrate. Very, very difficult. You can come here on an extended visa. The reason I don’t know. I would have to speculate.  Back in 1968, Lyndon Johnson changed the law. My understanding is that his move was political. He was trying to make it easier for people from South America to come here.”
It must have worked.
       Mr. Nyquist said that by 1970, his twelve-person laboratory staff was so diverse that it seemed as if nearly everyone were from a different land.
       “In our case, when we emigrated, it was very easy,” Mr. Nyquist said. “We got a green card quickly from the American Embassy in Sweden.
       “Now, though, it is a different story. What is going on is that in Europe a lot of scientists, engineers and other professionals would like to come to America. But they can’t. It is not possible for them to emigrate.”
       Instead of attempting permanent residency, Mr. Nyquist said some Northern Europeans participate in a little-known green card lottery that allows them to remain in the U.S. longer than they might have planned.
 
How Swede It Still Is
 
       Having served three terms with the Swedish-American Chamber of Commerce — which you may not have known existed — Mr. Nyquist is more intimately acquainted than many with the thorny rose bush of immigration.
       A close, much more than disinterested, follower of the current stunts and hijinks of the pro-illegal immigration crowd, Mr. Nyquist wrinkles his narrow Scandinavian countenance into a frown.
       “A slap in the face,” he said glumly. “That’s what is going on.”
       He thought about it for a moment. When you and your family fastidiously have adhered to the rules governing immigration, and then you watch instantly beknighted illegals scampering around you, your temper tends to stand up and shout.
       “This is horrendous,” said the normally easy-going businessman. “You walk across the border, you break the laws. Nothing happens. Why not just remove the laws? They are meaningless.
       “I am totally in favor of building the wall along the border. It won’t keep everybody out, but it is going to help.
       “As a Republican and as a conservative,” Mr. Nyquist said, “I am extremely disappointed in my party. Extremely disappointed. I have not contributed anything. I have written letters telling them, ‘Get your act together before I will get back on board.’ I think a lot of us are doing that. What we have is a lack of leadership in both parties.”
       Remember the Nyquists only were going to stay for a year and then return home. With his work going discouragingly, Mr. Nyquist was primed to make a U-turn when the year was up.
       “Fortunately,” he says today, “my wife said, ‘Let’s try it for just six more months.’ I am forever grateful to her. Everything has worked out beautifully.”
       He didn’t know any English when he came here, but within six months, his difficulties were history. He was on his way to speaking like a native.
       Mr. Nyquist has become so Americanized that when he and his wife visit Scandinavia, he is ready to come home to America after a fortnight. His native culture feels chillingly remote.

       You see, dear reader, when an honest immigrant such as Mr. Nyquist is committed to obeying the rules, assimilation comes naturally.