BIRMINGHAM, Alabama (AP) – Hispanic students have started vanishing from Alabama public schools in the wake of a court ruling that upheld the state’s tough new law cracking down on illegal immigration.
Education officials say scores of immigrant families have withdrawn their children from…
For one summer when I was in college I worked in the maintenance department of my town’s Park District. I learned a lot that summer, about myself, about how I perceive others, and about social and linguistic divisions. I’ve grown up in between worlds in a sense. As I got older I became increasingly aware of my Chilean heritage, and what it means both politically and socially to be bilingual. I had the opportunity to be with a lot of Latin American immigrants, but most of my life was spent with white Americans, speaking English, in a largely middle class upbringing. In a way I never felt completely at home with either side of my selves, and it wasn’t until later that I could really claim my self, based on something more transcendent than language and socio-economic level. All of this came into somewhat sharper focus that summer. The majority of the workers were Mexican, while the majority of the management were White. There were a couple exceptions on either side, but largely each group kept to themselves. I clearly remember one morning…In the morning there was about 20 minutes before we started work where people gathered, drank coffee, and talked before everyone got their assignments. I’d made friends on both sides, being one of the few that could speak to both groups. Not wanting to choose a group that morning I stood in between them. The whole time. Waiting for someone from either group to come over. And I remember that moment encapsulated how I’d felt the latter part of my life. Standing in between, waiting for others to come over, not knowing how to make the two meet in the middle. It’s a question I’m still asking, and am increasingly realizing that it starts with me. One day at lunch I was sitting with my co-workers at a picnic table. I’d felt somewhat self-conscious whenever I was around my Mexican colleagues. For me this was a summer job, something to raise some extra money for school in the Fall. For many of them this was their career. They’d be doing it, and even now when I go back to Wheaton in the summers I see some of the same people, up to 12 years later. I strained against this perception that I thought they had of me, as a rich boy. I think some of them didn’t really know what to make of me. I looked White, was born in Chile, could speak Spanish, but lived in one of the homes we drove by everyday. I thought that they had no respect for my world. At lunch someone asked me what I was going to do. Voy a ser maestro, I told them. I’m going to be a teacher. De que? Of what? Historia. Then one of the workers said something in a way that I’ll never forget. I’d been trying to get to know him but he was pretty quiet and kept to himself. And interestingly while everyone was teased and teased others, no one really teased him. It felt like there was something special about him. When I said history, no one really said anything. But this man smiled, looked past us, and said, Seria bonito saber de todo… It would be beautiful to know about everything…. That’s the rough translation. And he said it just like that, like the sentence wasn’t complete, like there was something more. And I couldn’t say anything. I just agreed. That sentence completely recast everything I thought about my studies. Yes, it would be beautiful to know about everything. And, in a sense, I had to do it for him. He came from Mexico with little skills, without even legal papers, and couldn’t speak English. I don’t know where he is now. I imagine he’s happy because he seemed like that kind of person. I still find myself coming back to that statement. Wish. Pronouncement. It always amazes me where you’ll find beauty.
Perspective is a funny thing really. I was thinking about this the other day: what is the difference between an Expat (ex patriot) and an immigrant. It seems that no one in Hanoi refers to themselves as an immigrant, but they all use the word Expat, or resident expat.
I feel it is either two things:
1) It is a racial thing: white people could never, ever think of themselves as an immigrant, because that word carries too negative and heavy a connotation. It seems that in North America there is a backlash against immigration, and so there is a negative attitude towards even using that word. However, I don’t think it has to do with race…
2) Location. There is a manner of pretension amongst the expat crowd here, and I think it boils down to this: they feel that Hanoi, or Vietnam, is a step-down from their own country, ergo they are expatriating themselves into another, lesser, culture. Whereas, if someone was to come from Vietnam to their culture, they would be an immigrant.
Do I agree with either of these? no. I think there is a misunderstanding of the words. But, here, expat is used not as a synonym with immigrant, but in place of. I have yet to here of someone saying they are an immigrant in Vietnam- they always say they are an expat.
This is just some food for thought, and something that has been on my mind lately. This will lead nicely into my criticism of expats/immigrants in Vietnam.
Such is the story of Lena Baker, an African-American mother of three, who was electrocuted at the Georgia State Prison in Reidsville.
She was convicted for the fatal shooting of E. B. Knight, a white Cuthbert, Georgia mill operator she was hired to care for after he broke his leg. She was 44 and the only woman ever executed in Georgia’s electric chair. For Baker, a Black maid in the segregated south in the 1940’s, her story was a tough sell to a jury of 12 white men. And rumors that she was romantically involved with victim E. B. Knight did not help.
Her murder trial lasted just a day, without a single witness called by her court-appointed lawyer. She was convicted and sentenced to death. John Cole Vodicka, director of an Americus-based inmate advocacy program known as the Prison and Jail Project, said Knight had kept Ms. Baker as his “virtual sex slave.” She was his paramour, she was his mistress, and, among other things, his drinking partner. If you read the transcript and have any understanding of black-white relations, Black women were often subjected to the sexual whims of their white masters, their white bosses, or some white man who had control over their lives or the lives of their families. “Here is one who resisted and paid the price.”
The undertaker who brought her body back to Cuthbert buried her in a grave that went unmarked for five decades, until the congregation of Mount Vernon Baptist Church raised $250 for a concrete slab and marker. Relatives are still trying to clear her name with the Georgia Board of Pardons and Parole.
Lena Baker, who had a sixth-grade education, stated publicly her innocence to the very end. “What I done, I did in self-defense,” she said in her final statement. “I have nothing against anyone. I am ready to meet my God.”
A novel, The Lena Baker Story, authored by Lela Bond Phillips, chronicles her life. This book was the basis for a screenplay by actor/director Ralph Wilcox filmed in 2007 in Southwest Georgia. The film, also entitled “The Lena Baker Story,” stars Tichina Arnold in the title role, Peter Coyote, Beverly Todd and Michael Rooker and is due for theatrical release in Spring 2009.
‘The Lena Baker Story,’ by Lela Bond Phillips
check it people…1940s. 70 yrs ago. Not ancient times, not during slavery, someone who is alive an well today might remember hearing about this. 0_o. smh sighs
“Not bad for a guy who knew next to nothing about football when he moved from Korea to attend high school in the United States in 2004. The only English words he apparently knew upon his arrival were “yes” and “no.” After one fateful encounter with a substitute teacher, nearly six years later, he found himself in the Huskers’ starting lineup against Washington…"—angryasianman
“I AM NOT RACIST JUST SPEAK F*CKING ENGLISH IN MY COUNTRY YOU IMERGRANT F*CK”
yeaaah of course your not racist, why would anyone think that… p.s. you spelt immigrant wrong, you ignorant fuck. you can’t complain about them not speaking it when you cant even fucking spell the language you daft twat.
My name is Ericka and I Am Undocumented, Unafraid, and Unapologetic.
Since I was a kid my mother has taught me values that will help me succeed in life. In 2001, with a small bag in hand, my mother left her children, her house, and thousand of memories in Ecuador to cross the border…
“When I was in bed, I was begging the sheriff, ‘Please let me free— at least one hand,’ and he said, no, he didn’t want to,” Juana Villegas said in an interview with a local Nashville television station. She was describing the experience of being shackled to her hospital bed as she went into labor. Villegas gave birth in the sheriff’s custody, after she was stopped by local police while driving without a valid license.
“Woke up to this… This is America now. The illusion for those who still held onto it is gone. The empire is fragmenting and some parts of it are treating our people like and still some of you clowns are out there acting like this isn’t happening.” - Immortal Technique (Sept. 22. 11)
“There’s nothing I like more than hearing someone from England complain about immigration. You started the trend, you cheeky bastards. You wander ‘round the Empire, making everybody speak English, then whine when they follow you home.”—Steve Hughes (via cocknbull)
“I feel that I now know what Jewish women went through before the Nazi roundups in France. When they went out in the street they were identified, singled out, they were vilified. Now that’s happening to us.”—
Kenza Drider, a 32-year-old mother of three, was famously bold enough to appear on French television to oppose the law before it came into force. She refuses to take off her niqab – “My husband doesn’t dictate what I do, much less the government” – but she says she now lives in fear of attack. “I still go out in my car, on foot, to the shops, to collect my kids. I’m insulted about three to four times a day,” she says. Most say, “Go home”; some say, “We’ll kill you.” One said: “We’ll do to you what we did to the Jews.” In the worst attack, before the law came in, a man tried to run her down in his car.
Since France introduced its burqa ban in April there have been violent attacks on women wearing the niqab and, this week, the first fines could be handed down. But a legal challenge to this hard line may yet expose the French state as a laughing stock.(source)
I am dirty gypsy pikey scum. I am a thief. I am a prostitute. I am aggressive and abusive. I hate everyone, everywhere. I am rich. I pay no taxes and no rent. I disobey the law. I should learn to be just like everyone else. I am lazy. I am a bully. I am a stereotype.