I Love "Lucy," My Immigrant Friend

So just yesterday I learned about the mass exodus of many Hispanic families in Alabama last week.  Judge Sharon Lovelace Blackburn upheld all provisions of a state law which even the governor of Alabama is calling "the strongest immigration law in this country."  The law allows police officers to ask for immigration papers of drivers they pull over and requires schools to ask for legal documentation of registering students.  After the ruling, many undocumented immigrant families fled their homes and communities, obviously fearing the repercussions of this passed law.  It was reported that almost 2,000 Hispanic children were absent from school two days after the ruling which constitutes 5% of the entire Hispanic student population in Alabama. Now the ruling is being appealed by many civil rights groups and by the Justice Department. Some think the law is a no-brainer; others feel it is unconstitutional.

As a glo-burbanite living in Reading, PA, I of course am also aware of the recent Times article that announced the fact that Reading is now the "poorest" city in the country.  This city is where my "neighbors" live.  It's where I substitute taught last school year and where I taught English as a Second Language for two years before that. It's where many Hispanic people have learned to call "home." And of course I realize that some of these are undocumented immigrants.  In fact, the ESL student I became closest friends with while teaching is an undocumented immigrant from Mexico.

Aside from the debate of whether or not this Alabama law is unconstitutional or not, it is a fact that some laws are just down right unethical. I cannot help but notice the irony that Alabama (one of the most racist states in the US with some of the most extreme Jim Crow laws in the early 1900's) is now one of the harshest states regarding immigration.  I know that many would disagree with me that this law is unethical, arguing that crossing our national border without the proper papers (something that is extremely difficult and expensive to ascertain) is unlawful and downright criminal.  But I believe this argument is short-sighted.

See, I am sometimes just amazed that any American could say "Go home!" to another human being who has fled poverty or violence in their home country and has come here looking for work to provide for their family. Because isn't that how most of the United States has become populated? Did not most of our ancestry flee poverty or violence from their home countries, looking to this "great country" for new opportunities?  And I wonder how it is possible to still celebrate Columbus Day, remembering that Christopher Columbus (and other explorers like him) never asked any Native American for permission to inhabit their land, much less to steal their natural resources or rape their women or kill their leaders.  Why is he exonerated and made to be a hero while those stealing across the border for safety and survival are made to be criminals?

Another fact that we many of us are unaware of is that the United States is partly responsible for Mexico's economic condition.  Not fully, of course, but partly.  If you have not yet seen the documentary Food Inc., you certainly must.  The film reveals a little bit of the story of how US corn subsidies to American farmers have put many small corn farmers in Mexico out of business. This article explains more of that conversation.  The film goes on to show how major chicken processing plants advertise work for Mexicans, urging them to cross the border and work low-paying jobs in American chicken factories in order to keep the price of chicken at a low price for consumers.  And sometimes these very chicken industries rat out their undocumented workers, deflecting the blame onto their employees and away from their own greed. (That information alone was enough to turn my stomach away from Perdue and Tyson and instead on to nutritious, farm-raised, free-range chicken!)

Of course the more I learn about our immigration problems, the more I see how complex they are.  I certainly do not have the answers, but one thing I refuse to compromise on is that children of undocumented immigrants deserve to have the same rights as documented children.  And my heart will continually grieve when I hear stories of families being discriminated against because of where they come from or children being denied access to education or other benefits because of their lack of papers.  Getting to know my friend Lucy from Mexico (I have changed her name) has helped to solidify this belief for me.  And I will end with her story:

Lucy was born the oldest of six children to Mexican parents.  When she was still a girl, Lucy's father left the family to find work but never returned, abandoning them to worse poverty.  Lucy tells me that there are very few economic opportunities for single women in Mexico. Her mother was unable to provide for her children's needs. So at the age of twelve, Lucy and her mother made the difficult journey across the border into the US and settled in Reading, PA.  Her mother found work and sent for the rest of her children to join them.  My friend married another Mexican-American at the age of sixteen; they now have three children of their own.  They work hard, they save their money, they demand much from their children in school, and they live simply. They are anything but lazy, and I admire them.  Lucy's husband has obtained his papers, and their children are American citizens.  But my friend lives with the fear that her status could send her back to a country she barely knows anymore, a country that has become even more unstable due to the violence of drug-lords.  I only pray that she is granted the amnesty that I believe any human being is due.

I Watched the News Today…

I watched the news today

and wondered if God had gone to play

I saw the bully win

and asked God if he was out or in

I heard my neighbors scream

and wondered if God turned mean

I read about the starving child

and wondered why war waged wild

I saw a man die of AIDS

and asked God if he had gone away

Then on my knees I fell and wept

and God whispered into my depths…

I hear the hungry children weep

Go and feed them; be my feet

I know the bullied girls and boys

Go seek justice; be my voice

I see the sick across the land

Go and help them; be my hands

I listen to the poor one’s prayers

Go and answer; be my ears

Then to my feet I rose again,

rolled up my sleeves, dirtied my hands

~Annette L Garber, 2005