2013

President Obama's words as he discussed principles for immigration reform struck a deep chord. Some of us at the Latin America Working Group office decided to reflect on our families' paths to the United States.

Here's what he said:

When we talk about that in the abstract, it’s easy sometimes for the discussion to take on a feeling of “us” versus “them.”  And when that happens, a lot of folks forget that most of “us” used to be “them.”  We forget that.

It’s really important for us to remember our history.  Unless you’re one of the first Americans, a Native American, you came from someplace else.  Somebody brought you...

As a first generation Cuban American, I have grown up hearing a wide variety of stories and opinions about this mysterious island that my family originated from. Some from my grandmother, who would talk about the farm that she was raised on called “La Juanita.” She always told me how she loved to ride horses. My mother, who grew up in Havana, would recount stories about her childhood. One story that stuck with me was about how my grandfather made a makeshift window that looked out onto the street so that my grandmother, who was a nervous Nellie, could watch my mother and her sister play outside. None of these stories was particularly negative or positive, pushing my opinion to one side or another. Then there was a flurry of stories about a young boy named Elian Gonzalez, who was about my age. Kids in my elementary school would say, “Oh you’re Cuban like that Elian Gonzalez boy.” And, people were talking about a man named Fidel Castro, and how he was an evil dictator. All of this coming at me from peers, family, friends, and media outlets left me very confused. As a child, it made me feel like I was weird because my family came from this country that “everyone” said negative things regarding it. I knew I was Cuban, but I had no idea how that played into my identity. At that point, I did not really know what to think or believe about Cuba or being Cuban American... 

“Una tristeza infinita agobia mi corazón…tu ausencia. Triste realidad que el llanto nos arranca, mas tengo en mi tristeza una alegría ¡Que algún día te voy a encontrar!” “Hija, solo vivo para encontrarte.”

“An infinite sadness overwhelms my heart..your absence. This sad reality moves us to weep, but within my sadness is a happiness that someday I will find you! Daughter, I only live to find you.”

This was one of many homemade signs hung by victims on the walls of the high school auditorium where victims of violence and human rights activists from Mexico, Canada, and the U.S. gathered in Mexico City last month to take stock and chart next steps for Mexico’s Movement for Peace with Justice and Dignity (MPJD).  Before discussions started, Father Solalinde, a Catholic priest well-known for his valiant efforts to protect migrants at a shelter in Oaxaca, reminded us all of the urgency of this effort, calling us to “ponernos las pilas,” to buckle down and focus on moving the effort for peace and justice forward...

To read the MPJD's next steps, outlined at the press conference on Monday, January 28, 2013, click here. 
Para leer la declaracion del MPJD, haga clic aqui.

To read The Pain Caused by Guns Has No Borders, click here. (In Spanish and English)

To read the salute to the Congreso Nacional Indigena, click here. (In Spanish only)

 To read the Platform for Memory and Documentation, click here. (In Spanish only)

To read the Drug Regulation Platform, click here. (In Spanish only)

To read the Solidarity Statement by Asamblea Popular de Familias Migrantes, click here. (In Spanish only)