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America's Crazies

Major Street between State and Main has a lot of minority traffic. It's Thursday around 8:15 a.m. Somali women wearing brightly colored headscarves and dresses gather on the sidewalk. They greet each other with slapping hands, loud chatter and toothy and toothless smiles.
Less than one hundred yards away a billboard greets the northbound traffic of State Street. It reads: “The National Alliance Securing the Future for European Americans.”
The women, new to this country, don't understand the billboard. Not yet. They’re waiting to attend an English class at the Utah Refugee Employment & Community Center. After months of language training they’ll be placed in low-skill, low-pay jobs.
After a year, many of the refugees may understand the billboard. Many, perhaps, understand the essence of it already.
Inside the center up three flights of stairs, a woman with a green and gold headscarf looks at her dirty finger nails and mumbles, “American crazy. America’s crazies.”
It’s impossible to grasp what the woman is trying to say. At the same time, it is easy to understand her emotion.

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