by Ed Zack Lee
I probably should’ve started to write these blogs years ago. I thought about it many times. On numerous occasions, I forced myself in front of my computer to type out my thoughts, experiences, and frustrations. But… for some reason, something inside of me wouldn’t allow my fingers to outline my concerns coherently. Something kept psyching me out, trapping these incidents deep inside of me.
I felt caged by fear…
Fear of running into the no-man’s land of this entire immigration debate and stepping on a landmine. Fear of attracting the spotlight onto my own personal plight and having to become an advocate for the millions of folks who lead lives like mine. Fear of being uncovered and crucified. Fear of opening my life to outsiders and closing myself to those dearest to me, endangering them by speaking up and out. Fear of losing control of my words and message.
I’ve lost many nights to insomniac whispers in my head that sustain my eyes open to dreams and possibilities, and closed to the reality and gravity of this entire situation*. Every so often the constraints in my life overwhelm me, so I drift into fantasies of simpler situations. But I’m not concerned over losing sleep during those long dark nights of prayer and meditation. I am more enveloped by the frustration that I feel over the many days that I’ve lost waiting for my life to continue.
You see, as an undocumented individual living in this country during these crazy times, my life has been on pause. For many years. The clock has been ticking, I’ve been getting older, and the situation hasn’t changed. According to popular American sentiment, I’m still the same criminal that I was when I crossed the U.S./Mexican border 22 years ago – I was not yet 3 years of age- and only a few politicians have been brave enough to dare inconvenience the American order by speaking up on behalf of individuals in my situation. It’s understood that the U.S. is in trouble right now, and scapegoats are necessary to uphold American confidence. As a result, millions of folks like me are forced to build their lives in the shadows of failed bureaucratic policy, entangled in an American nightmare.
But no more. No longer will I bear this cross alone. No longer will I endure in silence, afraid of recounting the reality of my situation. This experience is not one to be swept under the rug any longer. Being “illegal” won’t stir any shameful thoughts in my identity anymore.
I am one of millions of golden eagles who flew from the valley of the Aztecs, uprooted by relentless drafts of economic uncertainty. Once perched proudly on a cactus with roots that stretch deep into Mexican past, I now brave gusts of political turbulence with my wings spread, my talons ready, eyes focused and sharp. I soar over borderlines, peering into a frontier of hate and anxiety, navigating through memories of devastation that my forefathers attempted to leave behind or exonerate, flying blindly toward mirages of prosperity.
Every passing day is a possibility lost. The list of negative stereotypes attached to the wrap sheet of undocumented immigrants grows daily, the walls between Mexico and the United States rise higher and bulge thicker at the end of every work day, the American national debt skyrockets with every proposed media threat, the Arizona deserts grow hotter with every passing summer and the border-crossing body count multiplies with every treaty signed. Days merge into nights, nights merge into daydreams, and opportunities continue to pass us over like jet planes heading home.
And I wait. We all wait.
Don’t get me wrong, though. I’m not putting these words out there in an effort to stir pity, instill guilt, or inspire sympathy. These writings are simply testaments of our lives, episodes of struggle, perseverance, growth, and injustice that individuals like myself undergo on a daily basis. This nation is no longer who she used to be, and to ignore the major transformation that the American population has undergone in the past three decades takes a whole lot of self deception. The Bush administration did very little to address the huge tubby brown elephant standing in the middle of the Oval office. This immigration issue is a very pressing matter that must be dealt with and we're simply asking for a just resolution.
All that I want is change. Kind of cliché, I know… but it’s true. I wait for a change that transforms each and every one of us so that we no longer hold each other back from attaining our dreams. We all have them.
Some may say that such a hope is idealistic and that human beings are naturally territorial, along with all those other primitive animalistic characteristics of life-forms that survive solely on instinct. But I disagree. I believe that we’re all capable of communicating and understanding.
That’s my D.R.E.A.M. anyway.
This blog is dedicated to the tens of thousands of undocumented high school students who graduate from high school every year, to the hundreds of these students who proceed into institutions of higher education, and to the few who graduate into THE ultimate dead-end of American irony. To the millions of exhausted hopes of tireless parents who dream alongside their children and to the many sleepless nights those parents sacrificed so that their children might dream.
To those who made it, those who fell through the cracks, and to those who were pushed into the cracks.
To anyone who dares dream and aspire in times of widespread fear, misunderstanding, hopelessness, and silence.
SÃ se puede.
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* "Situation" is the single stand-in word used by many undocumented folks I know to refer to their non-legal immigration status in the United States.
