A Reflection on Birthdays
October 12th, 1492. Five hundred years before my inception, the one true illegal immigrant set foot in the Americas, kickstarting a chain of events that would unleash disease, famine, and a genocide spanning centuries. I was taught in school history classes that this man was honorable and brave—that he sailed the ocean blue out of the spirit of adventure, not out of his own greed and depravity. We even have a federal holiday dedicated to this champion of brutality.
October 12th, 1992. I enter this world begrudgingly, my poor mother having endured three days of labor before I would relent. I put up a good fight. Born into a country that is the product of colonialism started half a millennium earlier. A country whose veins flow with the blood of both the conquered and the conqueror. I would reside in this country for only a short three years before my mother would make that fateful journey north, with her sons in tow.
October 12th, 2024. I enter my 32nd year. I reside in the country that is the largest benefactor of colonialism. Here, perhaps by the majority of the population, my mother’s and my journey is not viewed through the same lens as those who arrived hundreds of years prior. Here, our journey is portrayed as one of criminality and deceit. Which is strange, because I don’t recall my family ever eradicating and enslaving entire populations. As I sit here, a few weeks before the most consequential election of my lifetime, I’m reminded of how little has changed since I first stepped foot in this country almost 30 years ago. Two politicians, who would not survive a week in my mother’s shoes, champion anti-immigrant agendas and policies to sway voters. One of them has stated he wants to put people like me and my family in camps and then ship us far away. This current rhetoric surrounding immigration is the most dangerous and nonsensical I’ve experienced in my lifetime. America has convinced itself that I, the “foreigner,” am the threat. I am the root of all its problems and heartache. This nation, founded through slavery and exploitation, has thoroughly convinced itself that it is some beacon of morality. I consider myself a young man, but I’ve lived long enough to recognize when someone is lying to themselves. I am no fool. And you are very much lying to yourself, America. You have not atoned for those original sins, and your perpetuation of them is ripping you apart. It’s a shame you may never realize this. You will continue to point the finger at me; of this, I’m sure. You may try to strip away the few rights that I have been afforded. But I promise you it won’t be easy—I put up a good fight.
