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Come for the politics, stay for the snark.

I like political parties that aren’t owned by foreign adversaries.

Nancy smash is sick of your bullshit.

There are consequences to being an arrogant, sullen prick.

… riddled with inexplicable and elementary errors of law and fact

Mediocre white men think RFK Jr’s pathetic midlife crisis is inspirational. The bar is set so low for them, it’s subterranean.

fuckem (in honor of the late great efgoldman)

Black Jesus loves a paper trail.

Bark louder, little dog.

The rest of the comments were smacking Boebert like she was a piñata.

Giving in to doom is how we fail to fight for ourselves & one another.

Too often we hand the biggest microphones to the cynics and the critics who delight in declaring failure.

Fuck these fucking interesting times.

Washington Post Catch and Kill, not noticeably better than the Enquirer’s.

You passed on an opportunity to be offended? What are you even doing here?

Dear elected officials: Trump is temporary, dishonor is forever.

We are aware of all internet traditions.

We will not go quietly into the night; we will not vanish without a fight.

Fight for a just cause, love your fellow man, live a good life.

Dear media: perhaps we ought to let Donald Trump speak for himself!

Books are my comfort food!

Hey hey, RFK, how many kids did you kill today?

There are no moderate republicans – only extremists and cowards.

A norm that restrains only one side really is not a norm – it is a trap.

Following reporting rules is only for the little people, apparently.

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You are here: Home / Archives for Little Red Rising

Little Red Rising wrote a few posts at Balloon Juice over a period of 3 years from 2014-17.

Little Red Rising

Book Review – Land Of Open Graves by Jason De Leόn

by Little Red Rising|  June 3, 20179:36 pm| 8 Comments

This post is in: Immigration, Open Threads

Hey All,

Just wanted to share a review of a book I recently finished. If you like my writing, please come visit my blog.  Its become a lot of (road and trail) running (you can see what I have been doing in the state of Kentucky) and migration.  I thought this was BJ worthy given what is going on. I really tried to write to you guys sooner but I was battling post election blues and threw myself into running, mom stuff and my new job. I don’t take it lightly that I have access to this audience so I am selective about what I share on here.

I am ok and my kitty is doing okay.

XO,
LRR

Photo from Undocumented Migration Project website

I finished The Land of Open Graves: Living and Dying on the Migrant Trail.  It was a gift from my friend Carolina, creator of My (un)Documented Life blog.  It was written by Jason De Leόn, an anthropologist of Mexican descent, who spent 5 years in the field, in his journey to complete this project.  At its heart, his work depicts the violence faced by border crossers “as they attempt to enter the US without authorization by walking across the vast Sonoran desert of Arizona”. Its focus is on the Prevention through Deterrence (PTD) policy enacted in 1993.

The author explained that when the North America Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA) was passed in 1994, the U.S. promised economic prosperity for Mexico if it would open up its ports of entry for inexpensive goods. Shortly thereafter, Mexico was abundant with U.S. subsidized corn that put millions of Mexican farmers out of work

Google gave me some background on NAFTA. Its purpose was to expand the flow of goods between Canada, US and Mexico. It eliminated import tariffs and eliminated or reduced non-tariff trade barriers like import quotas, licensing schemes and technical barriers to change. Lastly, it created protections for intellectual property.

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Book Review – Land Of Open Graves by Jason De LeόnPost + Comments (8)

I harken back to my reading of In our Image by Stanley Karnow.  In the late 1800’s, William Taft advocated for lower tariffs for Philippine sugar, hemp, tobacco and coconut oil. In exchange, duties were imposed on non US products going into the Philippines, so they were more expensive than US products. These decisions during the long term relationship between the US and the Philippines, created the economic landscape. I understood my family’s migration. I appreciated how Mr. De Leόn created the backdrop between US and Mexico.  I am reminded that people wouldn’t risk such a journey if there were other economic options.

I learned too with NAFTA that Mexico’s wages increased 2.3% between 1994 and 2012.  Unemployment rates were high. Between 1991 and 2007, almost 2 million jobs were lost in the agriculture industry. Also in that time period, the price of tortillas, a staple in Mexican increased 279%. Coupled with the falling price of corn paid to Mexican farmers, it was a blow to the Mexican economy. The displacement of farmers created a surge in Mexican emigration to the U.S. Upon arriving, they lived incognito and competed for low wage jobs.

I learned approximately 11.7 million people were apprehended by the US border patrol in the Tucson area. It is “a craggy, depopulated and mountainous patch” from New Mexico to Arizona, south of Tucson between the Baboquivaro and Tumacácori mountains. The border patrol counts on the terrain. It’s the agency’s not-so-secret weapon in moving more border patrol to populated cities so migrants have to cross in depopulated areas.

The PTD strategy was and is effective. Death was the unintended consequence but the Government accountability office (GAO) identified death as a measurement of PTD’s success.

Mr. De León initiated the Undocumented Migration Project (UMP) in 2009 with a goal that anthropology and its 4 fields: ethnography, archeology, forensic science and linguistics could be used to understand migration and the economics behind it. He thought in humanizing the undocumented masses, serious conversations about America’s broken immigration system could take place.

The author refers to the “hybrid collectif”, which are actants that create a hybrid system that is equal parts human, plant, object and geography. This complex relationship, at different moments in time and space, creates a wall of deterrence. The border patrol has used the PTD to do the dirty work while absolving itself of blame connected with migrant death or injury. The author calls it a “moral alibi”.

The author then talks about necroviolence, hostility towards the dead that humans have perpetuated for a millennia. He gave examples of Achilles dragging Hector’s body around Troy, the Aztec’s mounting the heads of conquistadors and their horses on Tzumpantilli as a message to Cortez to evacuate Tenochtitlan and the Catholics feeding bodies of Protestants to crows and dogs during the French Wars. Such acts were “glories” to the perpetrators because torture extended beyond the moment of death.

While in the field, the author experimented with the bodies of pigs. He paid for 5 of them to be shot. Each was dressed in clothing typically worn my migrants. Each body was then placed in different contexts (sunlight v. shade) while the author and his team could observe the rapid decomposition of the body in the desert.

After the pigs were killed, they were dressed in clothing one might expect on a migrant. “Someone put a wallet in each of the pockets along with other personal effects, including several coins and slip of paper with a phone number written on it. A black backpack with a bottle of water are placed next to the body”.

After 120 hours turkey vultures are attracted by the stench. They feasted. In about 6 hours the bones are de-fleshed. By day 3, the pig body is a shell of what it used to be. The clothes were torn. The shoes and pants were nowhere to be seen. Maggots worked on the remaining tissue between the vertebrae. When he body was light enough, the birds picked up and moved it around to access whatever meat was left. Skeletal elements and personal effects were recovered over 50 meters from the original location. The turkey vultures fed on what remained. The experiment stopped after 14 days. The author and his team collected what bones they could find.

Photo from Undocumented Migration Project

The mutilation and eventual erasure of bodies in the dessert as a result of PTD is intended to send a message to others who consider the journey.  At times the author wondered about the act of using pigs in migrant clothes for his work. The animals served their purpose of showing him, his audience, us, that the terrain traversed by migrants was chosen with the intent of their demise. It is a warning against other crossers that they should not enter our borders. Death awaits them.  Horrors will come to pass beyond death. Given the amount of bodies recovered in Arizona and the technology used by border patrol (drones, night vision goggles) “suggests that a war on non-citizens is in fact taking place on US soil”.
My Google search on ethnography has informed me that ethnographers observing a culture, within the setting as both participant and observer form lasting bonds with the people they observe.

The latter half of this book is about the author’s contact with two gentlemen, Memo and Lucho that were aids at a migrant station. They were also border crossers. He refers to them as his friends and his brothers. He writes of their time helping other migrants, their own preparations for their crossing and what their lives were like after the journey. Never mind the near death experience of traversing the dessert. Their lives in the US had also taken its toll. With the author’s background and intimacy with the language, he talks of their individual hardships, detectable within the dialogue.

The author then talks about finding Maricela. Maricela, who loved to sing and dance, had a husband and children. She crossed having seen what her brother in law was able to provide his family through remittances. She wanted the same for her children.

She was found lying face down in the dirt. She wore generic white and brown running shoes, black leggings and a long sleeved camouflage shirt. She collapsed mid hike. Her fingers had curled with rigor mortis. Her pants were stained with excrement and were bubbling with copper colored fluids expelled from her body upon death. When her body was loaded onto a plane, she became a documented Ecuadorian citizen with rights and privileges. Never mind that she had no face and hands. The author explained to her family that the authorities probably needed her finger prints. Her hands had stiffened with rigor mortis. “The fingers curl and they had to soak the skin to get the finger prints”. Mr. De Leόn told her family that animals had not mutilated her.  Maricela was one of the exceptions since her family had the opportunity to bury her.

Photo by Michael Wells

This book was a difficult read. I am reminded of my privilege. My journey to America was via airplane. We had meals and a suitcase of personal items. When we arrived in the spring, our family had coats for us. My migration had its trauma but none of it reduced us to bare life, the way the nameless undocumented endure. The author has focused on the PTD policy but there are so many systems at play that would have the U.S. government enact such a strategy.  It is evident that the economic data is a priority.

I am grateful of the author’s reminder that the lives taken by the dessert are not statistics. They are individuals that just like Maricela deserve the rights and privileges afforded to any human.

I made contact with the author. He was kind enough to provide the image of the pigs (photo courtesy of the Undocumented Migration Project) and Maricela (photo by Michael Wells). 

Youth Refugee Adventure – Highland Presbyterian Louisville

by Little Red Rising|  September 14, 201612:48 pm| 20 Comments

This post is in: Open Threads

Hey Balloon Juice-ers (sounds like a new diet fad). I am sorry for the long absence. I am apparently not able to manage too big of an audience. It’s like some kind of perverse introversion for the already semi-anonymous blogger. 2016 has been a whirlwind.  My family and I have moved out of the Philadelphia area to Louisville, Kentucky. It was a combination of my departed friend, a mid-life crisis and some lifestyle choices that favored family. It’s almost the end of a 5 month journey. As much as I love my 9.5 lb. Sir Kitty Poop-a-lot, we can no longer share a bathroom.

We are two and a half months into our life in Kentucky. It’s been wonderful. I have found mom’s with whom to run, more time to devote to writing and a network of close friends and family. This past weekend, I was invited to my friend’s church for a workshop called Youth Refugee Adventure. I attended given my own “adventures”.

The program started at 3pm in the Highland Presbyterian Fellowship hall. We were instructed to write our names on a slip of paper. Children and teens were instructed to write their names on different colored slips of paper.  Afterwards, we went to a different station write down on index one precious item we would take with us if we were forced to flee our homelands.

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The program commenced with a poem written by a ten year old refugee. The hostess explained that when refugees flee, it is usually preceded by an act of violence. The poem spoke of bombs in their midst. The child also questioned when she would feel safe again. The hostess then drew our names and we were grouped into families of 5 and instructed not to speak. In my mind, I thought of the qualities that made me and my husband different. I am a writer that often connects things that don’t really seem to be connected. I am sometimes impulsive and need to learn things as I experience them. My husband is careful, calculating and processes situations as they arise.  The qualities that make my husband different from me, I thought, were what might save me in such a situation. At some point, I assumed hyper vigilance as our names were drawn. We were grouped into families, ensuring there were children and adults.

We were lead down into a room where we were given a poster.  On this poster we were to write the identities we assumed as a refugee. My name was Aug Wah. I was the oldest son from a Burmese family. I had some schooling and my skill was farming. There were workshop participants all around us given the same instruction.  Actually, the only instruction we were given was “name” and it was given to us by a woman who’s head was wrapped in a scarf and eyes covered with dark glasses. She was also pointing at us with a blunt object.  As we proceeded into the corridors of the church, there was a man with a cigar that instructed us to walk over a string with bells attached. We were instructed not to let our bodies touch the string. This was a simulation of the border. Upon reaching the other side, we were told to go down the elevator where the camp was simulated.  One of my “family members” informed me as we walked down the corridor that our poster was taken by the “guard”.

Prior to this all, our hostess reminded us that as refugees we were grateful to be in a country with borders. Despite its difficulty, it was better than the violence in the homelands we departed.

When we arrived at the first checkpoint, it was a problem that our poster was gone. One of the moms had brought her phone and had taken a photo of the symbols that represented letters. Being a youth workshop, she assigned the kids to work on decoding the instructions written in gibberish. It was a form that asked for our names, ages and country of origin. We were given a paper that identified us and assigned “primary applicant alien numbers”. There were blanks next to Health Clinic, Food and Water Distribution, School and UNHCR (United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees) Office. We were shuffled to the first stop, which had a sign for W.H.O., World Health Organization. We waited with other families for our “health screening”. It was a brief medical history of our illnesses, our appearance and any recommendations. We were screened for the lice, obvious health concerns and given a vaccine. The health screening form and our identification forms had to be signed by the doctor. In real time the mother and daughter in our group had an emergency and had to leave. I am normally a person that steps back when a stronger personality emerges. When the mother and her daughter left, I assumed the senior role.

It was a mistake for us not to sit and be screened together since one of our group members did not get a signature on the health screening form. I had to tell the doctor that he was my brother and offer him my item on the index card, which was a passport. Having been undocumented, I had never had a valid travel document until the year 2009 and a US passport until 2012. When I wrote “passport” on my index card, I thought I would obtain food and water on the trail. I also think the documents that have legalized me are among my most valuable possessions.

When we finally did get this signature, we moved on to the tent labeled “school”. There was a blond blue eyed boy speaking to us in an unintelligible language. The boy that was supposed to be my younger brother said he was teaching Mandarin. He would go through the numbers 1 through 10. We would repeat him and then he would point to a symbol. If we knew it as a family, we passed. If not we were jailed. The jail was between stations managed by a woman that wielded a water bottle as if it were gun. Our paper for “school” required a signature. After it was signed, the teacher shooed us out of his presence.

There were bathrooms were on a balcony on the floor above us. Every time the doors opened and shut, the way it echoed sounded a little bit like a boom. It was probably not intentional but gave me the feeling of being in a bomb shelter.

The path forward was a food distribution tent where they handed out water in little cups and Cheerios. Our paper was signed as we were given such items.

The last top was the UNHCR office. We were asked our names, our educations levels and how we might support ourselves if relocated. We all said farming. The official noted that my little brother’s identification form was not signed by the WHO physician. We had to return to the back of the line with the other families waiting.

At some point in our journey, I switched the papers of my “little brother” so it would appear as if he had collected the correct documentation. Despite that, it was frustrating to find out we weren’t done. We waited in line with the other families waiting to get screened. While on line, we witnessed one of the guards take away a baby. That doll was given to someone ahead of us in line. Also, one of the boys/actors with a physician’s mask was requesting a donut from the food distribution center. One of the words that was intelligible to us was “security!” The food worker screamed at the boy who tried to get a donut and the guards appeared to search for him in our ranks.

When we arrived at the front of the line with the “doctor” who had seen us, he signed the paper. It looked like he was searching for something more. I offered him my index card with “passport” written on it. He didn’t seem that interested. Other participants had written money, food, water, jewelry, photos and cell phones. This seemed to be items of interest for the guards or doctors in such scenarios. Such items were pocketed by the camp facilitators.  My friend commented if that were indeed a prized possession by a refugee, they were gone.

We waited until the woman that had seen us first was available again. She checked over our documents once more. Finally, she said that given our level of education that she felt we did not have enough to leave the camp. She wrote denied on our paperwork.

At that point we were escorted up the stairs and asked to fill out a questionnaire or journal. Questions included:

  • What is pushing you to leave your country?
  • What are you hoping to find on the other side of the border?
  • What are you afraid of finding across the border?
  • What was it like trying to communicate to border guards and camp officials?
  • How did you feel about the process?
  • What was the most frustrating part of your refugee experience?
  • What would you do if you lived in a camp for several years?
  • How does this experience change the way you understand “refugees?”
  • What similarities do you share with “refugees”?
  • What import qualities do refugees bring to our communities?

As we made our way back to the fellowship hall, we were debriefed by the facilitators. In order to stay true to the refugee statistic of 1% acceptance, only one of the families was approved entry into a free country. At this point I asked what the refugees did that were not approved to leave the camp.  I was told the tenure at the camp was undefined, that some were born and died there.

We were shown a video from United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR) or UN Refugee Agency. We were also shown a photo of the Yum center at its fullest during a University of Louisville basketball game, which holds about 20,000 people.

yum

 

From regions like Syria, Africa, Asia there were 16.1 million refugees. We were also shown different borders and refugee camps in these areas. Our facilitator felt that these were the kinds of photos that could be shown at our venue.

camp
Images courtesy of Google

camp

camp 3

 

After the debriefing, we were invited to have dinner. We were served rice (with tomato, vegetables or sausage), sweet potatoes, fruit, humus and vegetables. The runner in me thought it was a clean meal. Others commented its modesty seemed intentional given the workshop. We said grace prior to our meal and then we were introduced to Sevraine, a refugee from Burundi. The Pastor told Sevraine that we were lucky to be a part of the journey. Sevraine told us the story of his family. He fled his country because he did not want to be involved with the political party that sought his alliance. Defiance meant death. He was a chemistry teacher that became a member of parliament. Upon leaving, he had to go through the process of bringing his family here. When he was reunited with his daughters, the youngest of them had no memory of him. Despite his family’s forced migration, he did not wear the scars of violence in his demeanor. He told us he was starting to teach in the public school system and he was grateful to be supported by the community.  The dinner was concluded by two of Sevraine’s daughters performing a traditional dance. It was hard to imagine those vibrant beautiful girls not in the setting of a free country that I have come to take for granted.

It is hard to admit how much of it all I have taken for granted railing against an imperfect system. Yes I have been undocumented and yes we “lose time” aging out of processes. As I have aged out of such benefits, I had experiences; I started a family, earned 2 degrees and was lucky enough to be able to adjust my status. I have no concept of “losing time” at a refugee camp. I have no concept of not having food, shelter, healthcare and my family. Privilege has many shades. I have lived in its shadows, imperfections and even in this workshop, privilege showed me the world beyond my own.

I honestly don’t even know how to conclude this essay. I write about my undocumented brothers and sisters who fight for systematic change to legalize. There are specific things our government can do to affect change in the 11 million without legal status.

In the case of refugees, there are so many governing bodies that need to come together to affect change. The size of this crisis is incomprehensible to me in bodies, borders and the vastness of such lands that contain refugee camps. What I hope for now is the ability to comprehend a solution and if the opportunity presents itself, be a part of it.

Happy New Year

by Little Red Rising|  January 2, 20152:09 pm| 20 Comments

This post is in: Open Threads

Hi All,

Thinking of you guys.  My absence has been largely due to me starting a new job in October. I’m now on the finance end of my previous operations role. What that means is that I frequently stare at an Excel sheet with a “what the heck” sort of look. Its been 3 months and things have calmed a bit. I found the ground underfoot and my days working from home look like this….

 

.Rockadoo at work

He should be on the payroll.

Happy New Year!

 

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Jose Antonio Vargas at Rutgers University

by Little Red Rising|  September 18, 20149:19 pm| 20 Comments

This post is in: Immigration

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Last Friday I had the opportunity to go the Newark campus of Rutgers University to see Jose Antonio Vargas speak. Prior to showing his movie Documented, the moderator asked us to keep our cell phones on since the purpose of the movie was to encourage conversation on Twitter or Facebook. Quite honestly, I didn’t think anyone was on social media since there were so many of us brought to tears by the film. Although I have seen this film I cried at the point in the narrative when Jose realizes that he does not quality for Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals or DACA (which allows those that were brought here as children to legally work) because of his age. I also cried seeing his mother react to him not acknowledging her as his mother on FB. He did this to ensure that nobody would ask too many questions and delve into his history. I have employed such tactics before and understand where he was coming from.  If we are not “out”, we undocumenteds (or formerly undocumenteds) don’t want to talk about the life we had prior to arriving here. Please note that Jose and his mother have not seen each other in approximately 2 decades due to wait times in getting her a visa although she is being sponsored by her mother. Also there is difficulty in obtaining a tourist visa since she is not working in the Philippines (opportunities are far and few over there). She might be viewed as a prime candidate for overstaying her visa without a job to keep her in the Philippines.

During the film Jose was not among us yet. One of his staff was charged with picking him up. Rutgers served some finger foods prior to starting. I had the pleasure of meeting Rev. Ryan M. Eller, Define American’s campaign director over tortilla chips as the room darkened. I told him I was a blogger. Rev. Eller said he would ensure that I could meet Jose later on.

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At the close of the film the audience had grown noticeably larger and on the other side of the room I saw a familiar face. Jose received a warm welcome as he made his way to the stage. Among the panel with Jose was Marisol Conde Hernandez (Co-founder of NJ Dream Act Coalition and Rutgers Newark Law Student) and Giancarlo Tello (Campaign Chair for NJ United Tuition Equity for DREAMers campaign and Rutgers FASN student).

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They answered questions from the audience that formed a line behind microphone. I took some hand written notes during the Q& A. Here are the parts that are clear to me after the fact:

Q – With marriage equality, can you obtain administrative relief?

A – Jose – admission disbars one from any admin relief.

Q – The text under the title of the film “illegal immigrant” is crossed with “undocumented American” underneath. Why?

A – Language matters, it determines the conversation we have. (He might have said he was conscious of this as a writer)

Q – Has it benefited your career as a journalist to be “out”?

A – Yes, the work is richer now than before, it is more honest.

The long line of students waiting to speak to him was awe inspiring. I did not have such an experience being an undocumented undergrad. I was happy that in their respective situations that they could have each other and also someone like Jose as an advocate. I was also happy that the immigration debate was at a point where the language is more widely used and the climate was such that it was okay to utter the words, “I am undocumented.” Some of them just wanted to tell their stories and express that his work spoke to their hearts. One petite woman tilted the mic to her and told Jose that her English was not so good but said that she was a legal resident. Despite this she has had many experiences where people seemed to question her rights because she was Hispanic. Jose commented that he found it pernicious that the words Mexican and illegal were often synonymous.

An African-American woman also told Jose that she recently visited Great Britain. She said that whenever she told anyone where she was from, she was regarded with a certain kind of awe being an American. She told Jose that part of her felt like a fraud because she was “looked up to” by the people outside of the country yet “this” (our immigration issues) was going on in the United States. Jose had a pained and also humbled look on his face. He said that he could not imagine what an African-American woman experienced in our country but was grateful that she could make the connection with him.

Another woman told the panel that time was an issue for her. She was currently undocumented and waiting for her father to sponsor her so she could become legal. She was going to be 21 soon. The process could not happen fast enough as she will no longer be eligible after she turns 21. The panel member Marisol told her that she must work through her anxiety and live her life. Marisol is an undocumented law student and said she has to work through similar issues of one day starting a life with a family. Honestly, this was one of my issues having been undocumented. The anxiety of it all is paralyzing. Forget waiting for the fateful day ICE comes to your door. Working through the anxiety means having to function beyond the fear to hold down a job, be a student or navigate through young adulthood.  It took the entire decade of my 20s to “work through” the anxiety. I might have made better decisions without it but as it is, there is no getting back lost time. This woman and I connected briefly since we were sitting in the same row and were both from Pennsylvania.

The panel urged us to do the work towards immigration reform in a grass roots fashion. They said in 1986, the amnesty bill was passed as a result of Irish immigrants that lobbied hard for change. We were in this together and would only succeed together. There was also some mention of the “othering” of immigrants post 9/11 when organizations like the Immigration Naturalization Service (INS) became the Department of Homeland Security and the US Immigration Customs Enforcement (ICE) was created.

There was strong disappointment towards the President in his delay of an immigration reform announcement until after the November elections. The disappointment was echoed by the audience. The panel urged us not to be used as a democratic pawn because the issue transcended both parties.

Close to 3pm the Q&A session had to be stopped since Jose had another engagement. I also had to leave since I had to pick up my son at daycare 2 hours away. We were told that Define American was recording videos of the audience if they wanted to share their stories with Define American. When Jose walked towards Rev. Eller, I was introduced to him after several members of the audience got up to shake his hand. In my mind, I wanted to greet him in Tagalog and express my reverence, excitement and respect. In reality, I responded like a 12 year old responds to her favorite activist. I must be honest, nothing intelligible came out of my mouth. I believe I said the words “Filipino history”, “blog” and “stalker”. I don’t even remember telling him my name. There is a reason why I am not in the field or marketing or the “front man” when engaging a conference room full of colleagues. I did exchange information with Jose’s team so perhaps it won’t be the last time we meet.

In the end, it is my shared history with Jose as Filipinos and our respective work towards the same end that keeps our fates intertwined. Apart from politics, this issue is about keeping families together. As much as Jose said “language mattered”, I wish for the day he and his mother are reunited. Like my son and I do every day, they’d hug each other and wouldn’t say a thing.

 

Some interesting information I learned about Rutgers and NJ while I was there:

  • Governor Chris Christie approved the Dream Act in Jan 2014.
  • Undocumented students are qualified for instate tuition under the premise that they attend a New Jersey high school for at least 3 years and earn a high school diploma or equivalent. They must also sign an affidavit saying that they will adjust their immigration status as soon as they are able to do so.
  • Rutgers University is the second institution to provide financial assistance to undocumented youth. Financial aid was not part of the bill that Chris Christie signed.

Ghost of Jose Rizal

by Little Red Rising|  September 5, 20143:19 pm| 16 Comments

This post is in: Books, Immigration

Hi Everyone – saying I am a “little” obsessive is probably generous. Ever since my last post about Jose Rizal, I honestly never got off the topic. Since I am writing in a couple of locations, I think I am at a point where the narratives in both blogs are the same, so no more double posting. The essay below would be “part deux” since I had last written here.

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The reclamation of my Filipino identity has naturally led me to Jose Rizal and his works. I have completed his two novels, Noli Me Tangere (Touch Me Not) and El Filibusterismo. The words Noli Me Tangere (Touch Me Not) comes from the Latin version of words spoken, according to John 20:17 (King James Version), by Jesus to Mary Magdalene when she recognized him after his resurrection. He said “Touch me not; for I am not yet ascended to my Father.” Historians have also noted that the title is a reference to cancer of the eyelids as Jose Rizal was also an ophthalmologist.

The novel opens with a letter of a patriot to his country. It is an awareness that something has gone wrong with the health of the nation. The patriot viewed it as a cancer and that in his writing, he would attempt to “lift the veil hiding your ills, and sacrifice everything to truth, even my own pride, since, as your son, I, too, suffer your defects and shortcomings.”

The main character, Crisóstomo Ibarra is much like its author having spent some time in Europe to be educated and then returns home to the Philippines. His hope is to reunite with his childhood sweetheart María Clara and get to know his country again. The first chapter is a dinner party thrown by a family friend Captain Tiago, Maria Clara’s father, attended by the upper echelons of the town which includes Dominican and Franciscan friars described by Dr. Rizal as “…the parasites, spongers, and freeloaders that God, in his infinite goodness, has so lovingly multiplied in Manila.” The party reads as if acted on stage where each character is posturing as something other than the truth.

The novel progresses with what seems like the veil lifting from Ibarra’s eyes as his idealism is corrupted by loss. First it was finding out the circumstances of his father, Don Rafael’s death. Ibarra’s father was accused of heresy and then after a series of other events is imprisoned. Don Rafael dies in prison and his body is eventually exhumed and then thrown in a lake. While Ibarra performs extraordinary acts of beneficence, like building a school, his intent grows darker with vengeance towards the priest that rendered Don Rafael’s fate.

In addition to this story, Dr. Rizal includes snippets of the lives surrounding Ibarra where the absurdity and abuses of the clergy and those in power are evident. The most important vignette is the intersection of Ibarra and a man named Elias. At some point Elias forebodes that “Without freedom there is no light…You don’t see the preparations for struggle, you don’t see the cloud on the horizon. Combat begins in the sphere of ideas, to descend into the arena, which will be colored with blood”.  In the end, their fates are intertwined and the reader becomes uncertain which man is the fugitive and which is the patriot.

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Ghost of Jose RizalPost + Comments (16)

fili cover

The story is continued in El Filibusterismo but 13 years into the future. Dr. Rizal himself in writing to a friend described the word and any person named a Filibustero (or subversive) as a “dangerous patriot who will soon be on the gallows…” The word is often used through the novel when characters were overheard maligning the clergy.  Unlike the “Noli”, there is a darkness that has fallen on the author. He is no longer hopeful that his country might be cleansed of its sickness. The “Fili” opens with marked anger at the injustice committed to 3 priests, none of European decent, to whom Dr. Rizal dedicates the novel. Here the ills of the Philippines are no longer perceived as “cancer” but an all pervasive evil that one must struggle against, even if blood is shed. This notion is carried forward by a Simoun, the most enigmatic character in the Fili. He is a “tall, lean, wiry man, very brown, who dressed like an Englishman and wore a tinsin hat. His long, pure – white hair attracted one’s attention, especially in contrast to his thin, black beard, which marked him as a mestizo. To avoid sunlight, he wore enormous blue sunglasses made of wicker, which completely hid his eyes and part of his cheeks and that made him look a bit blind or even ill”.  This seems to  me that the once patriot, Ibarra that described  the country’s ills as a cancer now appears hiding his eyes,  like he himself  is the unsuspecting cell that will wreak havoc on the body politic into which he is introduced. Simoun’s plot is somewhat revealed in conversation with Basilio, also a character in the Noli. In the Fili, Basilio is a medical student and the only one who recognizes Simoun‘s true identity when he can finally see his eyes.

The other plot that Rizal outlines is the plight of Filipino college students. Rizal writes scenes in which the students in a college physics class are made to recite text from a book in Castilian. The students are then ridiculed by the instructor because the recitation in Castilian is less than perfect. Here the Filipino students sought to have a Castilian academy so they could learn the language and be truly educated rather than regurgitate from a book in a foreign tongue.  The friars, of course, are against the students learning Castilian in order to maintain their power. The students are ultimately labeled as filibusteros and arrested. The charges against them do not hold except against Basilio who had no advocates. He is eventually released with the help of Simoun but not after the darkness has taken hold and he is pulled into Simoun’s plot.

In the end, it is a friend of Basilio that saves everyone.  While wounded and waiting for capture, Simoun accepts that his fate was not the act of a God that had forsaken him but of a God that favored a greater good. Simoun’s friend also talked of justice achieved by a revolution out of a love for country and not a revolution started under false pretenses, which Simoun also accepts.

In reading the introduction of El Filibisterismo the translator describes being a being affected the ghost of José Rizal. He discovered Rizal by accident and then sought out his works and his life story. The reader should note that Rizal had an affluent family that was able to afford him an education and the means to travel the world.  This opportunity gave him access to literature, knowledge of Castilian, in which the two novels were written, and lastly a medical degree that allowed him to practice ophthalmology when he returned to the Philippines.

In reading both novels as a whole, Rizal’s ghost has affected me in ways I did not expect. I thought the text was stained with the blood of Indios. These innocents could barely fight their European oppressors because of their poverty, level of education and color of their skin.  In dialogue between a friar and his man servant, it was the servant that articulated the need for those that were men before Spaniards to favor justice over the hypocrisy that has plagued the Philippines. He said that he preferred “to be overwhelmed by the crushed rights of humanity than to allow the triumph of the selfish interests of a nation, even though it might be, or is, Spain.”

I feel compelled more than ever to partake in something that I have sat and watched for a few years now, comfortable in my anonymity. It seems unfair that the burden of injustice should continue to fall on the less privileged and those whom President Obama refers to as the “DREAM Act Kids” with no country.  I thought that maybe learning about Philippine history and literature would serve to fill the gaps in my identity. I was hoping after all this time that I would finally have a country. I am honestly not there yet. What I did get out of it was an awareness that even in a different time and space that I have always descended from those that were persecuted for their brown skin. Actually, I am a mixture of Indio and Chinese, still a bastard among Filipinos.  My grandfather’s family emigrated China in the early 1900s. He changed his name so that he and my grandmother could own a business in Manila. In those days, Chinese were not allowed to operate businesses if they were “too” Chinese. What my bastard middle name gets me is the inability to trace my grandfather’s line. Our migration from the Philippines to the United States turned us into English speaking Indios onto whom economic violence was rendered by a different kind of coloniality.  Alas, as much as I lay claim to the blood of the Indios, I can also lay claim to the blood of the revolutionaries that came after Dr. Rizal.  I must admit that Rizal’s imprint on these novels is urging me to “come out” and be truly among the undocumented freedom fighters. He also warned me, in his execution by the colonial powers, what the risk any filibustero takes in speaking out against injustice. I’d be risking my professional career. I’m not sure what they would do knowing they have employed someone un-employable. Not to mention the stigma. I’d also be making the jump from blogger to activist at the chagrin of my husband, private in nature. The one benefit is maybe I’d stop ranting to friends (or anyone that might listen) about immigration policy or the lack thereof. Instead, I’d be a target. As a filibustero, ICE might come for me in the dead of night as they have for the more outspoken members of my community. They might take me away from my American son, just a toddler. I’m not sure having legalized would help me. Just today I signed another petition in an attempt to delay a deportation of an already legalized individual for a minor offense. My fate would be as unknown as the future of our nation.

“I live my life in hiding. My survival depends on it.” – Dexter

by Little Red Rising|  August 4, 201410:40 pm| 19 Comments

This post is in: Immigration

My Facebook feed tells me that the film Documented has been honored at the Cinemalaya Film Festival in Manila. I watched it on CNN the Sunday night we arrived at our Outer Banks vacation last month. I watched it alone while the rest of the family was either playing Monopoly with one dice or grocery shopping for the week. I would normally opt to go grocery shopping since I am selective about my diet but stayed in knowing the film was premiering.  It was 2 hours long and I found myself mesmerized by the images of Manila streets. It looked like a modern day Wild West with its dusty streets and a lone rickshaw pulled by a motor bike.

http://www.cnn.com/SPECIALS/us/cnn-films-documented

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“I live my life in hiding. My survival depends on it.” – DexterPost + Comments (19)

I identify with Mr. Vargas for many reasons. We are both Filipino, similar in age. We are both writers. He is a Pulitzer Prize winning journalist that has covered Presidential elections. I am newly minted on the Balloon-Juice front page having graduated from my audience of 10 with the other other (a little bit neglected) blog. He is “out” about the most intimate details of his life and at some point I might also consider disclosing details about myself. He is friends with the likes of Mark Zuckerburg and I am a stalker of professors. All and all pretty close right? It remains to be seen if he has a luxurious, tumbleweed generator of a cat but I think not with his hectic travel schedule. This may be where I have Mr. Vargas beat.  My immigrant cat says, “eat your heart out Jose!”

So anyway, there are a couple parts of his story on my mind. On the forefront is him being a child when he made the journey here. My mom and I arrived here in April of 1987, I was 7 going on 8. With us for the trip was a girl named Joy. I did not know her to be a member of my family nor have I seen or heard from her in the 3 decades of my residence here in America. Looking back on it, although I was not an unaccompanied minor, my mother and I accompanied a minor.  I guess as a mom, I would NEVER send my child anywhere without me, unless of course I thought elsewhere without me might be better. In addition to the physical distance, I would not risk destroying the relationship with my child not being there during his most formative years. This is the reality of many of the children that come to the U.S. and many people do take that risk.  For some of us the journey was via Japan Airlines. For someone else I know, it was through the unforgiving southwest dessert via a coyote. At some point I do want to talk about the unaccompanied minors flooding our borders but I need to do some serious homework. For now, I’d like to keep the topic on the 11 million undocumented immigrants already within our borders.

On Jun 15, 2012, President Obama made an announcement that his Administration would no longer deport immigrants that were brought to the U.S. as children. This was the inception of what is known among us as “DACA” or Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals.  USCIS or United States Citizenship and Immigration Services began accepting applicants for DACA in August and approvals were granted in September of that year. Keep in mind that within the same family, some are eligible for this while others are not. The criteria to be DACA eligible are as follows:

  • Under age 31 on June 15, 2012
  • U.S. resident since Jun 15, 2007 up until the President’s announcement
  • Physically present in the US on Jun 15, 2012 and have had no lawful status or any lawful status you had expired on June 15, 2012
  • Applicants should be in school, have graduated from school or have been honorably discharged from the Coast Guard or the U.S. armed forces
  • No criminal record or be deemed as a threat to national security or public safety.

USCIS.gov provides explicit instructions on filling out the I-821 (Application for Temporary Protected Status) DACA form as well as the I-765 (Application for Employment Authorization) form. The filing fee for I-821 is 50 dollars. The biometrics fee, where you schlep yourself to a USCIS building or non-descript processing building, after driving around it a few times because you didn’t recognize it, to get your fingerprints taken is 85 dollars. The fee for the I-765 form is 380 dollars.  Please trust me when I say that this is “cheap” compared to the other USCIS forms and having to fill out only 2 forms is not so bad.

Seems like a paradox to provide documentation to a government for a life that by its very nature isn’t recognized as ever having existed.  Yet the DREAMers march on because it is one obstacle of many. Those that have been granted DACA approvals obtained social security numbers and have gone on with their lives with their semi protected status.  DACA recipients must renew in two years. Some have been able to obtain driver’s licenses based on the state in which they live. Unfortunately other have not. For example, you can be a DACA recipient, be legally allowed to work in the state of Arizona and not eligible for a driver’s license.

Like Mr. Vargas, I would not have qualified for DACA because of my age. It was a heartbreaking point in the film when the announcement was made by the President but someone like Mr. Vargas didn’t “fit” the criteria.

This past Friday the House voted to end DACA as well as approve $694 million towards the border crisis. What the two have to do with each other, I am not sure. I know the $694 million is not what the President requested. I am also not sure what ending DACA would do since the people it has already impacted are not going to self-deport. I await the President’s next move.

Anonymous Book Review

by Little Red Rising|  July 24, 201410:06 pm| 76 Comments

This post is in: Immigration

I just finished the novel Noli Me Tangere (Touch Me Not) written by Jose Rizal, a Philippine national hero. The title comes from the Latin version of words spoken, according to John: 20:17 (King James Version), by Jesus to Mary Magdalene when she recognized him after his resurrection. He said “Touch me not; for I am not yet ascended to my Father.” It is also a reference to cancer of the eyelids used by ophthalmologists, as Jose Rizal was also a physician.

 noli cover

The original text was written in Spanish. I believe my parents read it that way during their respective secondary school educations. I was happy to find the English translation on Amazon. It took me a long time to finish given my responsibilities as a working mom. Also, like all classical books, it was a technical read and I suspect a lot of it was lost in translation and on me being out of context. There were many references throughout the book, much like reading the Dante’s Inferno where it is almost impossible to get through a page without having to flip back and read the references (1). I wish someone would teach me more of this book. Unfortunately, I am all out of Asian history professors to stalk.

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Anonymous Book ReviewPost + Comments (76)

In April of last year, I started reading a lot about Philippine history. I would call it a binge except it’s been slow. It’s more like permanent residence at a nice restaurant where the each course is very small. At the end, you’re not that full and the bill is an arm and leg, not to mention it was a BYOB.

I started my education on Wikipedia about the People Power Revolution I had lived through as a child prior to our departure. Then I moved on to a book written by a reporter that had a series of interviews with the Marcos’ and the Aquinos (2). This reporter eventually accompanied Aquino on his journey home prior to his assassination. Then I read a general history book that middle school kids might read if they needed to write a book report (3) (yes I went there, sometimes you just want it to be easy, especially after the previous book. If I could have read it in a pop up picture version, I would have). It went through the tribal history of the archipelago prior to the Spanish landing, the brief American rule of the nation and the nation ruling itself. There is a Muslim region towards the south so I understood why CNN has reports of an Al Queda presence in the region. For the record, I skipped the chapter on Marcos and Aquino. I also read a really good book by a professor (4) at Mercer University that spent his formative years in the Philippines. The book was about the Japanese occupation in the region. This occurred after the Americans lost control during World War II. I read this because I wondered why certain regions were destroyed during the War. The book was about American families trapped in the Philippines during the Japanese occupation and what they had to do to survive waiting for the U.S. military to return (5). I liked that the book discussed why those families were there (6).   I had no idea the Philippines was a U.S. colony.  I mean, I had inklings since the U.S. influence was so strong when we lived there but I did not know the reason. Oddly enough, my peers (30-somethings and 50-somethings) were also unaware of this history. Interesting that this is not covered in our US history or world history curriculums (I was a teen then so very possible I just missed it). I can’t speak for other states but it wasn’t a question I recall in the New York State Global Studies Reagents.

Anyway, I read “the Noli” because I couldn’t bear to read another book about the Philippines during World War II although I have lots of other titles on this topic on my queue. The Japanese were particularly brutal to the Filipinos. It bothered me to know my countrymen were treated like dogs. For example, the Japanese were slightly more humane to the Ally soldiers while beheading Filipinos as an example to the locals in case they felt like rebelling (…again).

I asked my mother if she recalled these times.  She was born two years before the Japanese took over in 1942. They did not leave until 1945. She said she didn’t remember much although she did recall alarm bells sounding and she and the family would have to move closer to the main square of her town and hide out. These incidents were called “penetrations” where the Japanese were in reconnaissance of Philippine islands, the more remote areas, not in their control. Given the dense and unforgiving terrain and the locals that were willing to help (at the risk of their own lives) some American civilian families survived. My mother told me that the inhabitants of her town had an intense hatred for the Japanese. After reading Edge of Terror, I understood why. It’s similar to my mother in law’s dislike of Germany. She said as a child she once watched a German soldier point a pistol at her little brother’s head, also during WWII.  She does a little cheer when German athletes or teams lose in sporting events. When Germany wins, she maybe utters a string of Italian curses.

I went back about 50 years in the history of the Philippines around the execution of Jose Rizal in the late 1800’s. I had a sense that other than the U.S. dominating the country, I needed to understand how Spanish colonial rule lasting for three hundred years has shaped the people, culture and economy. The Noli supposedly sparked the Philippine revolution against Spain. I wanted to know what it was that caused the “spark”. I suspect that it wasn’t just the Noli but the man behind it that incited the revolt.

 WP_20140723_001

(This bill came from my neighbor’s brother. She found his things after his passing. He was stationed in a military base on the Philippines.)

Much of the Noli is a 17th century love story. For the record, I do not like “chick flicks”. I actually have a strong aversion to it. It really wasn’t towards the end of the book in the dialogue between the main characters does it occur to me why Filipinos might have revolted. I would too (7). Here’s a taste, “For three centuries we have held our hand to them, asked them for love, eager to call them brothers, and how do they answer us? With insults and mocking, denying us even the status of human beings”.

Having been undocumented, I have spent much effort assimilating into American culture to the point of denying my connection to the Philippines. Once legalized it has been a slow process but the connections with my family still living there has been re-defined. My knowledge of the country’s history is also coming into focus. Unlike most of the DREAM act “kids” as President Obama calls them, I’m at a different point in my life. For one thing, I am about 10 years older. I envy the bravery of the DREAMers, these putting their statuses out there while undocumented, still trying to navigate their lives in these uncertain times with their uncertain statuses. For me right now, it’s about putting the pieces together about the past living in my DNA so I can understand the path forward.

I had a conversation with one of the attorney’s at my job. Part of our duties in the business of clinical trials is ensuring that each site, worldwide, is covered by a contract to protect both parties and also to maintain confidentiality. One of the things he mentioned as a source of difficulty with some of the Eastern European countries that haven’t been countries for very long after having been ruled by Russia, was the rampant forgery. He said those areas really preferred handwritten signatures, which is obsolete compared to the U.S. with our validated (8) electronic signature systems.

This made me think of the Philippines and some of the ridiculous requirements for handwritten signatures. It made me realize how young it was as a nation, not quite a hundred years old since being colonized a few times. Of course a 40 year old economy in the 1980’s, when we left, was unstable and uncertain! Most of the country has been scrambling for scraps from the imperialist table!  We came here because a life as second class citizens, being undocumented, was better than what our lives would have been had we stayed! It seemed like a natural course of events that many Filipinos emigrated to the U.S. since the two countries had such close ties. At one point, the colony was even ruled under the U.S. Bill of Rights.

WP_20140723_002

(Look familiar?)

I can’t speak about the economic or political reasons other immigrants had for leaving their countries of origin. I do know my family and I didn’t come to America to be a burden. To quote Jose Antonio Vargas (9), “we are not who you think we are.” We pick your produce, bus your tables and in my case, make sure the medications you put into your bodies (or the bodies of your pets) to manage chronic or acute medical conditions are safe and effective. Also, as much as it is not discussed in our school curriculums or the media, the reasons people emigrate their countries is not entirely unrelated to the decisions made by governments. It’s not the fault of immigrants that their lives become the aftermath of colonial vision or policy. It’s also not the fault of Americans already living here for being critical.  They might only be seeing the immediate outcomes of such policies, not taking into account decisions made decades ago by the Administration that may have caused such a migration.

 

 

Anyhow, you guys asked so here he is, my immigrant cat, unafraid, unenthused and uninterested (10).

 

r

 

_________________________________________

(1)This is a pain in the ass isn’t it? Welcome to my Noli experience.

(2)Title: Impossible Dream: The Marcoses, The Aquinos and the Unfinished Revolution by Sandra Burton

(3)History of the Philippines by Kathleen Nadau

(4)Yep, I found him. Exchanged some emails. He is a really cool dude, inspiring actually.

(5)Turns out the terrain in the island of Panay will just kick your ass if in appropriately equipped.

(6) Shameless yet subtle plug for the other other blog….http://redrising123.blogspot.com/2014/01/book-review-edge-of-terror-scott-walker.html. I won’t mention this often, so if you miss this, it’s on you.

(7)Well, maybe not. Given my track record I might write an anonymous book report on it.

(8) Rigorous testing to ensure electronic signatures are as viable as a handwritten signature. Here is the Code of Federal Regulations – 21 CFR Part 11 – The regulations in this part set forth the criteria under which the agency considers electronic records, electronic signatures, and handwritten signatures executed to electronic records to be trustworthy, reliable, and generally equivalent to paper records and handwritten signatures executed on paper.

(9) Who does not return my emails hopefully because he is busy.

(10) “Undocumented, Unafraid, Unapologetic” was a slogan first used by undocumented DREAMers in 2011 across America to proclaim their status.

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