We were both headed to Bogotá from JFK in a massive, empty airplane. No older than 10 years old, the boy sitting across the aisle from me was flying alone, proudly clutching his American passport in one hand while he gripped an iPhone in the other. Together, we flew over oceans, seas, and borders. I didn’t know if he was coming home or leaving; all I knew was that he was able to look forward and backward. It’s a subtle point that often gets lost in the tumultuous political debate these days: Undocumented immigrants don’t get to look back. The American dream is a one-way ticket that offers captivity in the land that always promised mobility.
This little boy reminded me of myself. As the daughter of separated parents who lived lives separated by the Atlantic Ocean, I spent my entire childhood ping-ponging between Miami and Madrid. Even though I wouldn’t see my dad for months, I always knew I could eventually come back to the United States for Christmas or spring break. Likewise, I knew my mom would be waiting for me at Madrid’s Barajas Airport upon my return. I remember there being nothing more soothing than hearing the flight attendant announcing our descent; the ability to return—to a loved one or a meaningful place—is one of the most comforting feelings we experience. On that international flight towards Bogotá, it dawned on me: When was the last time an undocumented immigrant felt that?
I know. It seems like such an ordinary, superfluous question—especially during such trying times—but that’s exactly the point: We’ve deprived immigrants of the gift of being ordinary, the most human trait.
I actually recently asked Javier, an old family friend, that question while we were in the car in California. At this point, he’s been in the United States for so long that he goes by Jimmy. Jimmy fled the poverty and violence of Guatemala’s western highlands more than 30 years ago, at the age of 16. He’s almost 50 now, has two U.S.-born children, and is a proud Uber driver in Los Angeles. With his eyes set on the highway ahead of us, Jimmy unexpectedly cracked when his mind traveled back to Guatemala, where he left his mother, Dominga, behind. As he talked, his voice suddenly felt younger. “The idea was always to come back and see her, to hug her,” he tells me, “but unfortunately, it didn’t happen.” After all these years, Jimmy is still undocumented—going back means possibly never being able to reenter the United States. “My children are here. I don’t want to abandon them the same way I abandoned my parents.”
The Link LonkFebruary 19, 2021 at 07:45PM
https://www.vogue.com/article/immigration-reform-personal-perspective
What We Shouldn’t Forget About Immigration Reform - Vogue
https://news.google.com/search?q=forget&hl=en-US&gl=US&ceid=US:en
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