MEXICO CITY — The small Central American nation of Belize has signed a “safe third country” agreement with the United States, the two sides said on Monday, as the Trump administration seeks to ramp up deportations and dissuade migration north.
What the agreement entails wasn’t immediately clear, but it comes as President Trump has increasingly pressured countries in Latin America and Africa to help him carry out his immigration agenda.
The deal appears to be similar to one with Paraguay announced by the U.S. State Department in August that included a “safe third country” agreement in which asylum seekers currently in the U.S. could pursue protections in the South American nation.
In Trump’s first term, the U.S. signed several such agreements that would instead have asylum seekers request protections in other nations, like Guatemala, before proceeding north. The policy was criticized as a roundabout way to make it harder for migrants to seek asylum in the U.S. and was later rolled back by the Biden administration.
Earlier this year, Panama and Costa Rica also accepted U.S. flights of hundreds of deportees from Asian countries – without calling the deals “safe third country” agreements – and thrusting the migrants into a sort of international limbo. The U.S. has also signed agreements, such as deportation agreements, with war-torn South Sudan, Eswatini and Rwanda.
The Belize government said in a statement on Monday that it “retains an absolute veto over transfers, with restrictions on nationalities, a cap on transferees, and comprehensive security screenings.”
The government of the largely rural nation wedged between Mexico and Guatemala reiterated its “commitment to international law and humanitarian principles while ensuring strong national safeguards.” No one deemed to be a public safety threat would be allowed to enter the country, it said.
On Monday, the State Department’s Bureau of Western Hemisphere Affairs thanked Belize in a post on X, calling the agreement “an important milestone in ending illegal immigration, shutting down abuse of our nation’s asylum system, and reinforcing our shared commitment to tackling challenges in our hemisphere together.”
The decision prompted fierce criticism from politicians in Belize, who railed against the agreement, calling it a “decision of profound national consequence” announced with little government transparency. The agreement must be ratified by Belize’s Senate to take effect.
“This agreement, by its very nature, could reshape Belize’s immigration and asylum systems, impose new financial burdens on taxpayers, and raise serious questions about national sovereignty and security,” Tracy Taegar Panton, an opposition leader in Belize’s parliament, wrote on social media.
She noted fierce criticisms of human rights violations resulting from similar policies carried out by both the U.S. and Europe.
“Belize is a compassionate and law-abiding nation. We believe in humanitarian principles. But compassion must never be confused with compliance at any cost. Belize cannot and must not be used as a dumping ground for individuals other countries refuse to accept,” she wrote.
The accordionist commands the stage, his eyes staring off as if in a trance, his fingers trilling out the opening notes of a tune. It’s a long, sinuous riff, one so intoxicating that the audience in front of him can’t help but to two-step across the crowded dance floor.
He and his singing partner unfurl a sad story that seemingly clashes with the rhythms that back it. An undocumented immigrant has arrived in San Antonio from Laredo to marry his girlfriend, Chencha. But the lights on his car aren’t working and he has no driver’s license, so the cops throw him in jail. Upon being released, the song’s protagonist finds a fate worse than deportation: His beloved is now dating the white guy who issues driver’s licenses.
“Those gabachos are abusive,” the singer-accordionist sighs in Spanish in his closing line. “I lost my car, and they took away my Chencha.”
The above scene is from “Chulas Fronteras,” a 1976 documentary about life on the United States-Mexico border and the accordion-driven conjuntos that served as the soundtrack to the region. The song is “Un Mojado Sin Licencia” — “A Wetback Without a License.” The musician is Tex-Mex legend Flaco Jiménez, who died last week at 86.
Born in San Antonio, the son and grandson of accordionists became famous as the face of Tex-Mex music and as a favorite session player whenever rock and country gods needed some borderlands flair. He appeared alongside everyone from the Rolling Stones to Bob Dylan, Buck Owens and Dwight Yoakam on “The Streets of Bakersfield” to Willie Nelson for a rousing version of “Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain.” With Doug Sahm, Augie Meyers and fellow Tejano chingón Freddy Fender, Jiménez formed the Texas Tornadoes, whose oeuvre blasts at every third-rate barbecue joint from the Texas Hill Country to Southern California.
Jiménez was a titan of American music, something his obits understood. One important thing they missed, however, was his politics.
He unleashed his Hohner accordion not just at concerts but for benefits ranging from student scholarships to the successful campaign of L.A. County Superior Court Judge David B. Finkel to Lawyers’ Committee, a nonprofit formed during the civil rights era to combat structural racism in the American legal system. Jiménez and the Texas Tornadoes performed at Bill Clinton’s 1992 inauguration ball; “Chulas Fronteras,” captured Jiménez as the headliner at a fundraiser for John Treviño Jr., who would go on to become Austin’s first Mexican American council member.
It’s a testament to Jiménez’s heart and humor that the song he performed for it was “Un Mojado Sin Licencia,” which remains one of my favorite film concert appearances, an ideal all Latino musicians should aspire to during this long deportation summer.
The title is impolite but reflected the times: Some undocumented immigrants in the 1970s wore mojado not as a slur but a badge of honor (to this day, that’s what my dad proudly calls himself even though he became a U.S. citizen decades ago). Jiménez’s mastery of the squeezebox, his fingers speeding up and down the rows of button notes for each solo like a reporter on deadline, is as complex and gripping as any Clapton or Prince guitar showcase.
What was most thrilling about Jiménez’s performance, however, was how he refused to lose himself to the pathos of illegal immigration, something too many people understandably do. “Un Mojado Sin Licencia,” which Jiménez originally recorded in 1964, is no dirge but rather a rollicking revolt against American xenophobia.
The cameraman captures his gold teeth gleaming as Jiménez grins throughout his thrilling three minutes. He’s happy because he has to be: the American government can rob Mexicans of a better life, “Un Mojado Sin Licencia” implicitly argues, but it’s truly over when they take away our joy.
“Un Mojado Sin Licencia” is in the same jaunty vein as other Mexican classics about illegal immigration such as Vicente Fernández’s “Los Mandados,” “El Corrido de Los Mojados” by Los Alegres de Terán and “El Muro” by rock en español dinosaurs El Tri. There is no pity for undocumented immigrants in any of those tracks, only pride at their resilience and glee in how la migra can never truly defeat them. In “Los Mandados,” Fernández sings of how la migra beats up an immigrant who summarily sues them; “El Corrido de Los Mojados” plainly asks Americans, “If the mojados were to disappear/Who would you depend on?”
Even more defiant is “El Muro,” which starts as an overwrought metal anthem but reveals that its hero not only came into the United States, he used the titular border wall as a toilet (trust me, it sounds far funnier in the Mexico City lingo of gravelly lead singer Alex Lora). These songs tap into the bottomless well that Mexicans have for gallows humor. And their authors knew what satirists from Charlie Chaplin to Stephen Colbert knew: When life throws tyranny at you, you have to scoff and push back.
There are great somber songs about illegal immigration, from La Santa Cecilia’s haunting bossa nova “El Hielo (ICE)” to Woody Guthrie’s “Deportee (Plane Wreck at Los Gatos),” which has been recorded by everyone from the Byrds to Dolly Parton to Jiménez when he was a member of Los Super Seven. But the ones people hum are the funny ones, the ones you can polka or waltz or mosh to, the ones that pep you up. In the face of terror, you need to sway and smile to take a break from the weeping and the gnashing of teeth that’s the rest of the day.
I saw “Chulas Fronteras” as a college student fighting anti-immigrant goons in Orange County and immediately loved the film but especially “Un Mojado Sin Licencia.” Too many of my fellow travelers back then felt that to party even for a song was to betray the revolution. Thankfully, that’s not the thinking among pro-immigrant activists these days, who have incorporated music and dancing into their strategy as much as lawsuits and neighborhood patrols.
The sidewalks outside the Metropolitan Detention Center in downtown L.A., where hundreds of immigrants are detained in conditions better suited for a decrepit dog pound, have transformed into a makeshift concert hall that has hosted classical Arabic musicians and Los Jornaleros del Norte, the house band of the National Day Laborer Organizing Network. Down the 5 Freeway, the OC Rapid Response Network holds regular fundraisers in bars around downtown Santa Ana featuring everything from rockabilly quartets to female DJs spinning cumbias. While some music festivals have been canceled or postponed for fear of migra raids, others have gone on as planned lest ICE win.
Musicians like Pepe Aguilar, who dropped a treacly cover of Calibre 50’s “Corrido de Juanito” a few weeks ago, are rushing to meet the moment with benefit concerts and pledges to support nonprofits. That’s great, but I urge them to keep “Un Mojado Sin Licencia” on a loop as they’re jotting down lyrics or laying down beats. There’s enough sadness in the fight against la migra. Be like Flaco: Make us laugh. Make us dance. Keep us from slipping into the abyss. Give us hope.
He inveighs against illegal immigration in terms more appropriate for a vermin infestation. He wants all people without papers deported immediately, damn the cost. He thinks Los Angeles is a cesspool and that flying the Mexican flag in the United States is an act of insurrection. He uses the internet mostly to share crude videos and photos depicting Latinos as subhuman.
But every time I hear the chief architect of Donald Trump’s scorched earth immigration policies rail in uglier and uglier terms, I recall another xenophobe I hadn’t thought of in awhile.
For nearly 30 years, Glenn Spencer fought illegal immigration in Los Angeles and beyond with a singular obsession. The former Sherman Oaks resident kicked off his campaign, he told The Times in a 2001 profile, after seeing Latinos looting during the 1992 L.A. riots and thinking, “Oh, my God, there are so many of them and they are so out of control.”
Spencer was a key volunteer who pushed for the passage of Prop. 187, the 1994 California ballot initiative that sought to make life miserable for undocumented immigrants and was so punitive that a federal judge later ruled it unconstitutional. A multiplatform influencer before that became commonplace, Spencer hosted a local radio show, produced videos that he mailed to all members of Congress warning about an “invasion” and turned his vitriolic newsletter into a website, American Patrol, that helped connect nativist groups across the country.
American Patrol’s home page was a collection of links to newspaper articles about suspected undocumented immigrants alleged to have committed crimes. While Spencer regularly trashed Muslims and other immigrants, he directed most of his bile at Mexicans.
A “Family Values” button on the website, in the colors of the Mexican flag, highlighted sex crimes allegedly committed by undocumented immigrants. Editorial cartoons featured a Mexican flag piercing a hole in California with the caption “Sink-hole de Mayo.”
Long before conservative activists recorded themselves infiltrating the conferences of political enemies, Spencer was doing it. He provoked physical fights at protests and published reams of digital nonsense against Latino politicians, once superimposing a giant sombrero on an image of Antonio Villaraigosa with the epithet, “Viva Mexico!”
On the morning Villaraigosa, the future L.A. mayor, was to be sworn in as speaker of the assembly in 1998, every seat in the legislative chamber was topped by a flier labeling him a communist and leader of the supposed Mexican takeover of California.
“I don’t remember if his name was on it, but it was all his terminology,” said Villaraigosa, who recalled how Spencer helped make his college membership in the Chicano student group MEChA an issue in his 2001 mayoral loss to Jim Hahn. “But he never had the balls to talk to me in person.”
Spencer became the Johnny Appleseed of the modern-day Know Nothing movement, lecturing to groups of middle-aged gringos about his work — first across the San Fernando Valley, then in small towns where Latinos were migrating in large numbers for the first time.
“California [it] has often been said is America’s future. Let me tell you about your future,” he told the Council of Conservative Citizens in Virginia in 1999.
White House Deputy Chief of Staff Stephen Miller speaks with the media outside the White House in Washington, DC, on May 9, 2025.
(Saul Loeb/ AFP via Getty Images)
Spencer is the person most responsible for mainstreaming the lie of Reconquista, the wacko idea that Mexicans came to the U.S. not for economic reasons but because of a plot concocted by the Mexican government to take back the lands lost in the 1848 Mexican-American War. He wrote screeds like “Is Jew-Controlled Hollywood Brainwashing Americans?” and threatened libel lawsuits against anyone — myself included — who dared point out that he was a racist.
He was a favorite punching bag of the mainstream media, a slovenly suburban Ahab doomed to fail. The Times wrote in 2001 that Spencer “foresaw millions of converts” to his anti-immigrant campaign, “only to see his temple founder.”
Moving to southern Arizona in 2002, the better to monitor the U.S.-Mexico border, Spencer spent the rest of his life trying to sell state and federal authorities on border-monitoring technology he developed that involved planes, drones and motion-detection sensors. His move inspired other conservatives to monitor the U.S.-Mexico border on their own.
By the Obama era, he was isolated even from other anti-immigrant activists for extremist views like banning foreign-language media and insisting that every person who came to this country illegally was a drug smuggler. Even the rise of Trump didn’t bring Spencer and his work back into the limelight.
He was so forgotten that I didn’t even realize he was dead until Googling his name recently, after enduring another Miller rant. Spencer’s hometown Sierra Vista’s Herald Review was the only publication I found that made any note of his death from cancer in 2022 at age 85, describing his life’s work as bringing “the crisis of illegal immigration to the forefront of the American public’s consciousness.”
That’s a whitewash worthy of Tom Sawyer’s picket fence.
We live in Glenn Spencer’s world, a place where the nastier the rhetoric against illegal immigration and the crueler the government’s efforts against all migrants, the better. Every time a xenophobe makes Latinos out to be an invading force, every time someone posts a racist message on social media or Miller throws another tantrum on Fox News, Glenn Spencer gets his evil wings.
Spencer “stood out among a vile swamp of racists and crackpots like a tornado supercell on radar,” said Brian Levin, chair of the California Civil Rights Department’s Commission on the State of Hate and founder of the Center for the Study of Hate and Extremism at Cal State San Bernardino, who monitored American Patrol for years. “What’s frightening now is that hate like his used to be well-segregated from the mainstream. Now, the guardrails are off, and what Spencer advocated for is federal policy.”
I first found out about Spencer in 1999 as a student activist at Chapman University. Spencer applauded the Anaheim Union High School District’s decision to sue Mexico for the cost of educating undocumented immigrants’ children, describing those of us who opposed it as communists — when he was being nice. His American Patrol described MEChA, which I, like Villaraigosa, belonged to, as a “scourge” and a “sickness.”
His website was disgusting, but it became a must-read of mine. I knew even then that ignoring hate allows it to fester, and I wanted to figure out why people like Spencer despised people like me, my family and my friends. So I regularly covered him and his allies in my early years as a reporter with an obsession that was a reverse mirror of his. Colleagues and even activists said my work was a waste of time — that people like Spencer were wheezing artifacts who would eventually disappear as the U.S. embraced Latinos and immigrants.
And here we are.
Spencer usually sent me legal threats whenever I wrote about his ugly ways — threats that went nowhere. That’s why I was surprised at how relatively polite he was the last time we communicated, in 2019.
I reached out via email asking for an interview for a Times podcast I hosted about the 25th anniversary of Prop. 187. By then, Spencer was openly criticizing Trump’s planned border wall, which he found a waste of money and not nearly as efficient as his own system. Spencer initially said he would consider my request, while sending me an article he wrote that blamed Prop. 187’s demise on then-California Gov. Gray Davis and Mexico’s president at the time, Ernesto Zedillo.
When I followed up a few months later, Spencer bragged about the legacy of his website, which he hadn’t regularly updated since 2013 due to declining health. The American Patrol archives “would convince the casual observer that The Times did what it could do [to] defeat my efforts and advance the cause of illegal immigration,” Spencer wrote. “Do I think The Times has changed its spots? No. Will I agree to an interview? No.”
Levin hadn’t heard about Spencer’s death until we talked.
“I thought he went into irrelevance,” he admitted with a chuckle that he quickly cut off, realizing he had forgotten about Spencer’s legacy in the era of Trump.
“We ignored that cough, that speck in the X-ray,” Levin concluded, now somber. “And now, we have cancer.”
A coalition of groups including environmental activists and Native Americans advocating for their ancestral homelands converged outside an airstrip in the Florida Everglades on Saturday to protest the imminent construction of an immigrant detention center.
Hundreds of protesters lined part of U.S. Highway 41 that slices through the marshy Everglades — also known as Tamiami Trail — as dump trucks hauling materials lumbered into the airfield. Cars passing by honked in support as protesters waved signs calling for the protection of the expansive preserve that is home to a few Native tribes and several endangered animal species.
Christopher McVoy, an ecologist, said he saw a steady stream of trucks entering the site while he protested for hours. Environmental degradation was a big reason why he came out Saturday. But as a south Florida city commissioner, he said concerns over immigration raids in his city also fueled his opposition.
“People I know are in tears, and I wasn’t far from it,” he said.
Florida officials have forged ahead over the last week in constructing the compound dubbed “Alligator Alcatraz” within the Everglades’ humid swamplands.
The government fast-tracked the project under emergency powers from an executive order issued by Gov. Ron DeSantis that addresses what he casts as a crisis of illegal immigration. That order lets the state sidestep certain purchasing laws and is why construction has continued despite objections from Miami-Dade County Mayor Daniella Levine Cava and local activists.
The facility will have temporary structures such as heavy-duty tents and trailers to house detained immigrants. The state estimates that by early July, it will have 5,000 immigration detention beds in operation.
The compound’s proponents have said its location in the Florida wetlands — teeming with alligators, invasive Burmese pythons and other reptiles — makes it an ideal spot for immigration detention.
“Clearly, from a security perspective, if someone escapes, you know, there’s a lot of alligators,” DeSantis said Wednesday. “No one’s going anywhere.”
Under DeSantis, Florida has made an aggressive push for immigration enforcement and has been supportive of the federal government’s broader crackdown on illegal immigration. The U.S. Department of Homeland Security has backed Alligator Alcatraz, which Secretary Kristi Noem said will be partly funded by the Federal Emergency Management Agency.
Native American leaders in the region have seen the construction as an encroachment onto their sacred homelands, which prompted Saturday’s protest. In Big Cypress National Preserve, where the Dade-Collier Training and Transition Airport is located, 15 traditional Miccosukee and Seminole villages remain, as well as ceremonial and burial grounds and other gathering sites.
Others have raised human rights concerns over what they condemn as the inhumane housing of immigrants. Worries about environmental effects have also been at the forefront, as groups such as the Center for Biological Diversity and the Friends of the Everglades filed a lawsuit Friday to halt the detention center plans.
“The Everglades is a vast, interconnected system of waterways and wetlands, and what happens in one area can have damaging impacts downstream,” Friends of the Everglades executive director Eve Samples said. “So it’s really important that we have a clear sense of any wetland impacts happening in the site.”
Bryan Griffin, a DeSantis spokesperson, said Friday in response to the litigation that the facility was a “necessary staging operation for mass deportations located at a preexisting airport that will have no impact on the surrounding environment.”
Until the site undergoes a comprehensive environmental review and public comment is sought, the environmental groups say construction should pause. The facility’s speedy establishment is “damning evidence” that state and federal agencies hope it will be “too late” to reverse their actions if they are ordered by a court to do so, said Elise Bennett, a Center for Biological Diversity senior attorney working on the case.
The potential environmental hazards also bleed into other aspects of Everglades life, including a robust tourism industry where hikers walk trails and explore the marshes on airboats, said Floridians for Public Lands founder Jessica Namath, who attended the protest. To place an immigration detention center there makes the area unwelcoming to visitors and feeds into the misconception that the space is in “the middle of nowhere,” she said.
“Everybody out here sees the exhaust fumes, sees the oil slicks on the road, you know, they hear the sound and the noise pollution. You can imagine what it looks like at nighttime, and we’re in an international dark sky area,” Namath said. “It’s very frustrating because, again, there’s such disconnect for politicians.”
Donald Trump campaigned on a promise to wage war on illegal immigration the likes of which the United States has never seen. His first big campaign — launched against Los Angeles and its surrounding communities, of course — has proceeded with predictably disastrous results.
On social media Sunday, Trump cawed that he has “directed my entire Administration” to concentrate on identifying and removing as many illegal immigrants as possible as quickly as possible. He vowed especially to crack down on sanctuary cities across the country to supposedly “reverse the tide of Mass Destruction Migration that has turned once Idyllic Towns into scenes of Third World Dystopia.” (His Restoration-era capitalization, not mine).
Yet in the president’s social media blathering last week came something shocking: an admission that deportations don’t really work.
For decades, study after study across the political spectrum have shown that illegal immigrants not only don’t take jobs away from native-born U.S. citizens or depress their wages, but that removing them usually makes the economy worse.
There’s the liberal-leaning American Immigration Council, which predicted last year that a decadelong campaign to achieve Trump’s goal of booting 1 million illegal immigrants a year would shave off at least 4.2% from the U.S. gross domestic product. That number is on par with the Great Recession of 2008.
There’s the 618-page tome released in 2017 by the National Academies of Sciences, Engineering and Medicine and overseen by 14 professors. It concluded that “immigration has an overall positive impact on long-run economic growth in the U.S.” and also noted that “the rate of unemployment for native workers decline” with “larger immigration flows.”
The nonpartisan Congressional Budget Office projected last year that the surge in migration during the Biden administration would at first depress wages of native-born workers and legal immigrants but eventually help them increase over a decade.
Center for Immigration Studies director of research Steven Camarota — a man whose whole public persona is arguing that too much immigration of any kind is detrimental to the U.S. — claimed in prepared remarks before Congress last year that his group had “good evidence that immigration reduces wages and employment for some U.S.-born workers.” But he also admitted that parsing out how illegal immigration impacts the job market “is difficult.”
Meanwhile, a 2024 Brookings Institute paper found that three of the five professions with the highest number of illegal immigrants were in the hospitality, agricultural and restaurant industry and that U.S. citizens don’t work in those fields at the rate undocumented people do.
No wonder that later in the day after Trump’s social media about-face, the New York Times reported that a memo went out to ICE regional leaders urging them to “hold on all work site enforcement investigations/operations on agriculture (including aquaculture and meat packing plants), restaurants and operating hotels.”
So why pursue mass deportations at all if there’s mucho evidence that they negatively effect American-born workers, a group Trump claims he wants to restore to greatness?
There’s really only one explanation: terror.
White House Deputy Chief of Staff Stephen Miller speaks with the media outside the White House.
(Saul Loeb / AFP via Getty Images)
Trump’s main adviser on all things immigration is Deputy Chief of Staff Stephen Miller, who has long advocated for a scorched-earth campaign and dressed down ICE agents just last month for not nabbing and deporting people faster, damn the cost.
The Santa Monica native absorbed this apocalyptic vision from conservative activists in California, who cast the fight against illegal immigration while he was growing up in the 1990s and 2000s not just in economic terms but cultural ones. Xenophobia has always colored this nation’s past crackdowns on immigration legal and not, but the Golden State became a noxious cauldron whose anti-immigrant fumes have infested Americans in a way not seen in a century.
That’s what makes Trump’s campaign so dangerous. His seeming softening against farmers, restaurateurs and hoteliers shows that he knows the country can’t weather the disruptions that deportations cause to important sectors of our economy. If he just took a dollars-and-cents approach to illegal immigration and stopped the language about “Migrant Invasion” destroying big cities, Trump wouldn’t get such righteous pushback from so many.
But that’s not who he is. He inveighs the way he does because he wants undocumented people and the people who care for them to live in fear, to see him as a potentate who can deport people or leave them alone at his mercy and whim.
The historical precedent that Trump wants la migra to follow is Operation Wetback, an Eisenhower administration program the immigration authorities claimed back then deported 1.3 million illegal immigrants in 1954 alone and improved the economic conditions of Americans. Then and now, authorities said people without papers were ruining it for citizens, were causing too much crime and that our southern border was out of control.
The only book-length study of the campaign remains Juan Ramón García’s 1980 “Operation Wetback: The Mass Deportation of Mexican Undocumented Workers in 1954.” The professor went through newspaper clippings, congressional testimony and government reports to paint a picture of a government hell-bent on splashy headlines to scare Mexican migrants into returning to their homeland and deterring others from making the trek to el Norte.
Garcia found that government officials had exaggerated their claims because “they realized that the more impressive the figures, the better congressional response might be to requests for increased budgetary support.”
A 1954 photograph of undocumented Mexican workers (identified as “wetbacks” in a handwritten notation on the negative) awaiting deportation by U.S. authorities to Mexico.
(Los Angeles Times)
Operation Wetback didn’t usher in a new era of American worker prosperity but rather emboldened employers to exploit legal immigrants and citizens who filled in the jobs that illegal immigrants once occupied, Garcia found. It also “helped to strengthen feelings of alienation from U.S. society and to cause further mistrust of the government” for Mexican Americans. You’re seeing that play out right now, as young Latinos wave the flags of Mexico and other Latin American countries and U.S. citizens are being detained by la migra.
Most damningly, the book concluded that Operation Wetback didn’t stop illegal immigration at all — a fact borne out by the fact that here we are arguing about the subject 71 years later. The mass deportations were just a “stopgap measure, doomed to go the way of most stopgap measures,” Garcia wrote, because this country can never quit “the seemingly insatiable appetite for cheap labor” that it’s always had.
Someone tell that to Trump so he stops this madness once and for all.
