I was born on this side of the border, across the river, past the mile-long lines of wooden crosses. My parents migrated for my sake, enrolled me in school to become educated and learn the language - the dominant language, the language which would provide me with a stable life; financially and emotionally. I would be their white daughter, light-skinned, intelligent, and modern, all the while, retaining tradition.
On our way back from the brown country into the white one, we sit for hours in our small van. Cramped, either too hot, or too cold, we wait to be questioned, searched, and let go. I may be light-skinned, but I lack the qualities of the whites.
A German-shepherd leads a Latino, sometimes Latina. We do not carry contraband, no one hides under the seats of the van. If the metal were to be peeled back, emptiness would be exposed. We are legal, we say, so why have we been detained? An hour later, our clothes unpacked, our food thrown out, we are allowed to enter into the Land of Opportunity.
My father is angry. One of our own questioned our sincerity. Latinos look out for other Latinos, he says, but not the ones in uniform and badge; they believe themselves pure Americans, and us simple browns are unworthy of their courteous behavior. Racistas, he murmurs.
I was born on this side of the border, I say, but where do I belong?
On our way back from the brown country into the white one, we sit for hours in our small van. Cramped, either too hot, or too cold, we wait to be questioned, searched, and let go. I may be light-skinned, but I lack the qualities of the whites.
A German-shepherd leads a Latino, sometimes Latina. We do not carry contraband, no one hides under the seats of the van. If the metal were to be peeled back, emptiness would be exposed. We are legal, we say, so why have we been detained? An hour later, our clothes unpacked, our food thrown out, we are allowed to enter into the Land of Opportunity.
My father is angry. One of our own questioned our sincerity. Latinos look out for other Latinos, he says, but not the ones in uniform and badge; they believe themselves pure Americans, and us simple browns are unworthy of their courteous behavior. Racistas, he murmurs.
I was born on this side of the border, I say, but where do I belong?
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