Jose Antonio Vargas

“Bout time that POS got arrested”

“Attention whore line jumpers like @joseiswriting are a disgrace in comparison to those that choose to come here legally.”

“One down — 20,000,000 illegals to go!”

Reading these hateful words being said about a fellow activist, scholar, and contributing member of society, or anyone for that matter, is disturbing and perplexing.  Call me compassionate, but I could never utter, much less conceive such bigoted rhetoric.  I applaud Vargas for the endless work he has done for immigrants.  To these mean people he is just an “illegal,” but to myself and many others he is a hero…

[I realize that “mean,” sounds a bit elementary, but I have no other word in mind that could possible portray the reflection of these comments more accurately.]

My Mama

Growing up, my mother was a busy woman.  She traveled a great deal and left me in the hands of Carmen– an undocumented Mexican immigrant.  Often times Carmen was my only company, but she didn’t speak English.  I adapted and soon enough Spanish would be my first language.  Being that Carmen was from Tampico, I learned proper Spanish.  I spoke it with a heavy accent, zeal, and pride.  This immigrant woman, whom people saw as illegal, lazy, and dirty, I saw as amazing. So much so that I even called her “mama” and she called me “mijita.”  More than a language, she taught me to respect the struggle of undocumented citizens.  Like many others, Carmen didn’t have a say in the matter of where she would be born.  She was born with chains weighing her down; and became an economic refugee of Mexico.  After having three children she decided to free herself and her family from her Native country that did not welcome opportunity.  She went on a journey in search of a place that her children would be proud to call home; America. To be more specific, the Rio Grande Valley– my home.  Carmen courageously swam across the Rio Grande River and arrived here with nothing but the clothes on her back and the will to work.  Over the course of eleven years, I observed the difficulties she endured while not having papers in America.  What took one citizen a day to do, took Carmen a month.  This includes finding basic necessities such as housing, transportation, having electricity, and finding a job.  I came to the realization that America is not an immigrant friendly place and it broke my heart.  The country that I respected and held up so high, hated my mama. But my god, my mama loved it.  Carmen loved a country that treated her like a criminal; one that would deport her family if given the opportunity.  Carmen would lay down her life for this country, but this country saw her as the enemy.  Carmen had more pride in America than many of us have collectively.  What is citizenship anyway?  What makes an American?  A social security number is only that– a number. A birth certificate is just a piece of laminated card stock.  These things don’t make an American.  But Carmen, she makes an American.