We are not ok... And we will keep resisting
By: Dr. Conchita Hernandez Legorreta
Edited by: Malena Hernandez
I felt the need to write something based on what has been happening with ICE raids and protests. I have been very open about being disabled and previously undocumented, and now in a mix-status family, and what that has meant for me. I have been hearing a lot of rhetoric about how protestors should and should not react to police and ICE. Many of the comments come from people who live in communities where the police are their safest allies and where the law has been to their benefit. Believing that the police keep people safe is a very privileged idea, and one deeply void of a historic and political analysis of policing and state repression within and outside the US empire. The ways in which folks experience “the police”/ state violence and the state is asymmetrical based on racial capitalism. I, like many in my community, have seen this reality firsthand, where we are constantly harassed, intimidated and racially profiled by the police. That is a reality that many people of color, disabled, queer, and poor communities in this country experience.
My family of seven came to the United States through tourist visas when I was very young. For the first year and a half, we lived with visas, every six months having to go through the lengthy process of renewing them. When we first arrived, my father worked as a ranch hand and his employers provided us with a place to live. That family expected my mother to clean, cook, and babysit their children without any pay. They kept my siblings and I from attending school and isolated all of us from friends and family. They had our sleeping quarters separate from those of our parents. They attempted to take our personal documents away. They held onto my father’s wages, telling him it was for “safe keeping” since he couldn’t get a bank account. Yet, when he asked for his wages one day, they came up with excuses as to why they would not give him his pay and never paid him. Like many immigrants, my father was a victim of wage theft, the highest form of theft in the United States. This was our first experience in the United States, as de facto indentured servants for this family. With the help of family, we were able to leave this exploitative situation, and then constantly moved around looking for housing and work. During this time, we overstayed our visas. In our last visa appointment, my parents were told that if we planned on staying in the US, to not return to renew our visa again or we would be denied and deported. There were many reasons my parents decided to stay in the United States but one of the major factors was that my parents realized that my brother and I, as children with disabilities, would have educational and medical opportunities here that we would be denied in Mexico. From one day to another, we “became” undocumented, and this came at a huge price for all our family involved. The educational opportunities that we gained came at the cost of deep trauma, family separation, and state violence, to name a few. I grew up cleaning houses with my sister and my mom on the weekends, one of many odd jobs we worked to make ends meet. Other family members worked in the fields picking vegetables, cleaning stables, working at factories, in construction and so on. I remember playing by the fields while airplanes sprayed pesticides over our heads, the effect of which we may not know for years to come. Those experiences were woven with ones of exploitation, work injuries, undignified working conditions, low-wages, wage theft, you name it. On top of that my family had to navigate the potential that at any moment we could be arrested and deported. We constantly held on to this fear for our survival, hyper-aware when driving down the road, seeing a police car and praying they did not stop us, as we could have been deported for a simple traffic stop. Hearing the stories of family members who crossed the border on foot. Knowing you are being taken advantage of in situations, but not having a way to speak up, due to lack of documentation, or not believed, due to racism. As we grew up the experiences didn’t improve. My father, who was a victim of a crime, was investigated by the police as they believed he was involved in criminal activity simply for the way he looked. During this ordeal the police were brazen and unprovoked in sharing their racist opinions about Mexican men and why they didn’t believe my father. Many of my family members have been constantly stopped by police, weapons drawn on them, thrown on the ground, detained and arrested for looking brown, and they have been some of the luckier ones. The constant threat of the police state, with its hypervigilance, detention, arrests, deportation, family separation, and murder, was the real American Dream/Nightmare my family was and is living day-to-day.
Over a decade ago, one of my siblings and their spouse made one of the toughest decisions of their life and decided that the crushing weight of racism and xenophobia they were experiencing was no longer something they would accept. With their small children they crossed the border back to Mexico. They left knowing that they would never get to see or hug many of us ever again; knowing they would never meet their nieces and nephews, they would miss countless weddings, births, graduations, and deaths. That when my sister hugged my mother goodbye, that could very well be the last time they saw each other.
There is an unquantifiable pain that runs deep in our emotional psyche, one that history has shown us causes deep intergenerational trauma, and it is that of family separation by the hands of the state. Many Mexicans call the US, “la jaula de oro” this golden cage keeping us from being truly free. We grew up in the 90s, which meant we didn’t see our family in Mexico via video phone call. Instead, we communicated through sending letters and pictures, and phone calls paid using expensive calling cards that half of the time scammed you of your minutes to talk with loved ones. Days turned into months, months into years, years into decades, and we had not had the chance to hug our family. I was away in college when my mother received the phone call that her mother had passed, and 3 months later when her father passed. My mother was not able to go and say her goodbye’s, a pain that sadly too many immigrants know. Due to racialized capitalism enforced by the state repression of the border, police, and the migra (ICE), my family has been separated for over 35 years and some of my siblings have never met. This is what we mean when we say, “borders keep families apart”. This is the type of state violence that folks believe is an unintended consequence of borders and immigration policies. But the more I pay attention, the more I realize this is very much an intended consequence in the warfare the state wages and historically has waged against brown, black, indigenous, disabled, queer people.
I do not share my personal story for people who do not want to understand. Instead, I share my story because I have a deep responsibility to my community to provide my truth, in the face of so many lies told about undocumented immigrants. Many people who have never experienced state terror at the hands of its enforcers such as the police or ICE are being the loudest voices, creating the narratives, chastising how people are resisting state violence, telling us what “appropriate” language to use and actions to take.
I share this because my family is not unique. This is a reality that millions of other people living in the United States are experiencing. Working in education, I see the fear and anxiety in Latino students and their families. Students are worried for themselves and for their parents. Yet they are showing up to school and doing their best to continue to live the life they came here for. I will never forget the story of one family with a blind child. They have gone through a lot and moved to get the services they need in education. Someone asked them if the moves have been hard, to which they answered, “No, I walked here with my children all the way from Central America, everything else in comparison to that is easy.” Parents will do the unimaginable for their children, especially children with disabilities.
Immigration, as all issues, is a disability justice one. Immigrants with disabilities will always be the most vulnerable. Many immigrants gained their disabilities in route to getting here, including at the hands of border officials and ICE officers in detention facilities. We are mobilizing and protesting because we will continue to fight for what is right, and also because we have no other choice. I am part of the first generation of college students that are unapologetic and will never forget the sacrifice our parents made for us to be where we are today. And because of this, my duty is to resist. To not only make a better life for myself and my family, but to build a world in which parents don’t have to make such sacrifices, where we’re not measuring our level of resiliency to the level of trauma the state has forced us and our parents to experience.
Despite the pain we have endured, we have likewise experienced great joy. Quoting Yosimar Reyes, and disabled activists UndocuJoy, and Disabled Joy respectively. Our family has created deep, lasting relationships that have spanned nations and continents. I have a huge focus on community in all my work, as community is and has been the only thing that sustains us. We know we have each other, in a way that the state will never. Though my story is filled with trauma and state terror, it is also one of joy, community support, and resistance. The protests and actions against ICE are part of the work we’ve been doing, we have been protecting our communities and loving all immigrants as our own. These protests are an extension of that.
When people ask me, “do you feel lucky and honored that you are in the United States and you have gotten to where you are, that you have these opportunities?” In the words of the iconic W.E.B. Du Bois, when he was asked if he felt lucky to be the first Black person to earn a doctorate from Harvard: “The honor, I assure you, was Harvard’s”. So, I assure you, the honor of having us here is yours.
Una historia de valentía, sabiduría y fe (Cómo una familia puertorriqueña pobre abrazó la riqueza de la vida)
por Eileen Rivera Ley
Nota editorial: Esta entrada de blog fue escrita por Eileen Rivera Ley para el Braille Monitor del National Federation of the Blind (NFB) en 2008. Fue originalmente escrita en inglés y traducida al español por Ana Portnoy Brimmer. Pueden acceder a la versión en inglés a través del Braille Monitor del NFB.
En 1967, días después del Día de las Madres, mis padres, Edwin y Magdalena Rivera, nos reunieron amorosamente en nuestra humilde sala en 26 Siebert Place en Rochester, Nueva York, para nuestra primera reunión familiar. Éramos cinco hijes en ese entonces. Edwin casi llegaba a los seis años. Yo tenía cuatro, Sandra tres, Mildred dos y Caroline, con sus pelos rizos, solo tenía 16 meses de nacida.
“Tenemos algo muy importante que decirles”, les recuerdo pronunciar. “Dios ama mucho a nuestra familia. Somos muy especiales para Él”. Mamá continuó, “es por eso que, de todas las familias del mundo, escogió a la nuestra para esta bendición especial. Nos ha enviado un obsequio muy especial--un angelito nuestro. Su nombre es Suzanne”.
Les niñes Rivera permanecimos sentades con asombro ante este increíble decreto. Nunca nos percatamos de la enormidad de dicha responsabilidad. Tampoco sentimos la tremenda preocupación que nuestros padres seguramente llevaban en el corazón.
Iban contra todos los consejos médicos, trayendo a Suzanne a casa en vez de institucionalizarla. Después de todo, solo se esperaba que esta niña médicamente frágil viviera unos cuantos meses.
Por otro lado, nosotres, les hijes, nos sentíamos como si nos hubiésemos ganado un millón de dólares. Dios nos había escogido. ¡Nos escogió para este trabajo increíblemente importante de cuidar de esta hermana muy especial! Nos juntamos con reverencia mientras nuestra madre colocaba a este delicado y frágil bebé de cinco libras en la desgastada y enorme cuna.
En los días y años que siguieron, le dimos la bienvenida a la bebé Suzie a nuestro hogar y nuestros corazones. La arrullamos, le cantamos, hicimos todo lo posible para hacerla reír.
El hecho de que Suzanne nació en una familia que ya contaba con dos hermanas ciegas, Mildred y yo, nunca fue lamentado. Según nuestres padres, no era gran cosa. La ceguera era nuestra única contienda y, ¿qué era la ceguera en comparación con las graves condiciones incapacitantes que enfrentaba Suzie?
Mientras nos enseñaban a atesorar a Suzanne, nuestros sabios padres nos sostuvieron a Mildred y a mi a los mismos estándares que a nuestres hermanes videntes. Teníamos que desempeñarnos bien en la escuela, aunque no pudiésemos ver nuestros libros o leer la pizarra. Insistieron en que probáramos patinar sobre ruedas, montarnos en un trineo y correr bicicleta (nunca logré aprender a correr bicicleta, pero Mildred sí).
Siempre nos dieron una buena cantidad de tareas del hogar, como se esperaba que hiciera cualquier otre niñe puertorriqueñe en aquel entonces. Quienes visitaran la casa de les Rivera seguramente nos encontrarían limpiando la cocina, rastrillando hojas, cuidando de les niñes, horneando galletas, entregando periódicos, aspirando escaleras o lavando ropa. No había tiempo para la pena ni las excusas mezquinas en este hogar feliz y frenético.
Lo mejor de todo es que nuestres padres nos instaban a apoyar en el cuidado de nuestra especial y pequeña Suzie, que a los diez años solo pesaba dieciocho libras. La mecimos, le dimos biberón, la bañamos y le cambiamos sus pequeños pañales amorosamente. La vestimos con su ropa encantadora, tamaño muñeca. Nunca aprendió a hablar o caminar. Nunca se pronunciaron en nuestro hogar palabras como “retraso mental profundo”, “severamente deforme” o “ciega”. Para nosotres, era simplemente el obsequio angelical más adorable que mamá, papá y Dios querían que fuera.
Al darle la bienvenida a nuestra delicada hermanita a nuestras vidas, nuestres padres sabies nos enseñaron determinación, trabajo en equipo, gentileza, iniciativa, sacrificio personal y amor incondicional. Nos enseñaron a Mildred y a mi a mantener nuestra ceguera en perspectiva. A Suzanne (que por cierto celebra su cuadragésimo primer cumpleaños esta primavera), pero más aún a nuestres padres increíblemente valientes, sabies y llenes de fe, les agradecemos eternamente.
"Navigating Together: Empowering Blind Leaders to Lead the Way"
Can the blind really lead the blind? One of my recent experiences confirmed that not only should we, but it is the only way!
I was asked by the Institute of International Education if I would serve as a support to a blind participant that was taking part in a program they were running. She would be pursuing a masters program at a university, which would be holding an orientation week in DC. Many organizations and government agencies run programs inviting international participants for cultural exchanges and experiences in the United States. While some programs are focused on individuals with disabilities, many are not, and people with disabilities should be able to participate in any and all programs.
The Institute of International Education explained that the blind participant was coming from abroad and it would be their first time in the United States. I don’t think they initially realized that I was also blind. I wrote to them that I would actually be a great fit because of my blindness. The point I made to them was that as a blind person living in DC, I could do a great job of showing another blind person how to navigate the city, share tips and pointers, as well as networks and resources. I was not sure if this was going to fly with them, as oftentimes organizations prefer “sighted professionals” who will keep the blind person “safe”. (I once interviewed virtually for a teaching job that told me I was the perfect fit. When I mentioned that I would be the perfect fit as I am blind, just like the students, I was immediately told that they do not hire blind people. Yes, it was against the law. And, yes, it still happens.)
To my excitement (and surprise), The Institute of International Education agreed that I would be great for this role and we moved forward with our DC day visit.
I met the participant, whom we will call Mia, at her hotel. She had planned where she wanted to go and what she wanted to do. However, she did not know the area at all or how to navigate it. The reality of blindness is that there is so much learning of blindness skills that is required to do basic things, such as navigating and finding new places, and it is difficult to come by such training. Likewise, many infrastructural and accessibility components may not exist in other countries, such as Accessible Pedestrian Signals (APS), whereas they do in the United States. You may have seen these around, they are the buttons that you press to cross the street and they make a sound for blind people.
One of the things we worked on was how to cross streets as we walked from her hotel to the metro station to get to all of our destinations. We talked about how the buttons work to cross the street, the different types of canes that exist, and how to cross using parallel traffic when no button is available. Our first stop was Target! There were several things that she needed in order to start her masters program. I asked her if she had ever asked for assistance in a store. She had not, she had always relied on others to do shopping for her. I explained to her that in the United States, you can go to the Customer Service section in a store and ask for a person working there to assist you in shopping. I told her I would be with her but would not speak at all. After some guidance from me on how to approach Customer Service and how it worked, she asked for assistance and learned to ask follow-up questions. In the beginning, Mia was not getting the exact item she wanted, but once we practiced how to ask more precise questions, she found exactly what worked for her. For Mia, it was a huge milestone to do this task for the first time ever and it will continue to serve her as she completes her program. We celebrated her achievement with a large lemonade!
We also talked about how to access books, what people she might want to connect with while in D.C., and what resources are available to her. We visited the White House, did touristy things, and shared with each other how we do things as blind people. By the end of the day, we were exhausted and decided to take a cab back to the hotel, as we had been using the metro all day!
This experience reaffirmed my belief that the best people to support blind people are other blind people. That is not to take away from sighted professionals who serve a purpose and can be amazing. But nothing will ever surpass the experience of seeing yourself reflected in someone else and to learn from each other. This reminds me of interdependence.
One of the tenets of Disability Justice is interdependence. The idea that we are not independent isolated beings, but rather, rely on each other to be a part of a community. People with disabilities have needs, as does everyone else, and we all give and take. For many blindness professionals, independence tends to be the main goal, and sometimes to the detriment of the individual. By being interdependent, we build community, trust, and strong social networks. What does interdependence look like in the real world? Interdependence in the real world looks like spending a day in D.C. hanging out, taking the metro, trying new things, and exchanging ideas!