I recently received an email from the Illinois Coalition for Immigrant and Refugee Rights, in which Josh Hoyt shared the story of David, an undocumented student, and then proceeded to ask for funds to support the upcoming March in DC for comprehensive migrant reform. As one of the many song of migrants with papers I understand the privilege that this entails: a drivers license, financial aid, a sense of permanence, and the ability to travel south at will. Yet, I was troubled by David’s message, detailed below:
My name is David, and I am undocumented; I came to the United States at the age of three. I only remember a few things from where we came. I remember our red brick house. I remember being in my parents’ bedroom lying down in bed with the sunlight coming through the doorway. But these memories do not feel like they are mine. They don’t feel like mine because they are from a place that is completely strange to me.
“A place completely strange to me” struck me as extremely odd. Politically, it makes much sense to me. David was raised here, he belongs here, his place is here, he should not be send “back.” Yet, the idea of Mexico or Central America as being strange to David-or us, song/daughters of migrants, is this right? Raised in working class neighborhood by migrants, are we not some how connected to our parents country of origin? Futbol and tortas at Simons Jr High, the same ten banda songs playing at las quince de una amiga, speaking Spanish on a regular basis (or at least hearing it). A narrative that makes the land of our parents “strange” to us seems to bolster the idea of us and them: to fortify the border (cultural/physical). At least that’s my reading. Que piensan? And more importantly, how do we advocate a politics that both provides our neighbors/families with access and not reify citizenship-the nation-states definition of community.
