“The story of my journey to the United States across the Mexican desert parallels the experiences of many migrants, yet each one of us comes to this country with our own unique stories that do not always get the chance to be told. What we do share in common, however, are the experiences of having lived through systems that pushed us out of our homelands.”
“Being of Pech descent in the diaspora is not easy, especially considering that we are taught our colonizers “saved us.” This narrative has created generational trauma for my family, who feels constantly unheard and alienated from our land. However, I know we are seeds of resistance and our spirits cannot be taken away. On November 28, Xiomara Castro and the Libre Party won the presidential elections in Honduras—a victory that represents hope and trust for a better country and for our people.”
“My family and I did not simply “choose” to migrate, we did so out of necessity. The uneven nature of the global capitalist economy increases forced migration, disrupting familial and social relationships in countless ways, not only at the US-Mexico border, but also when family members are pushed to leave their communities and are unable to take their children with them. I am determined to continue working on addressing the root causes that created the conditions we were forced to flee, such as US interventionism in Central America and in many other regions around the world.”
“The process of remitting is more than just an economic transaction, it is also associated with the emotional and social processes that allow immigrants to stay connected to the ancestral homeland. For Central Americans, migrating North has not been an easy journey. Central Americans have been fleeing the economic, social, and political unrest caused by U.S-fueled civil wars and genocide, multinational corporate plundering, and corrupt governments. Once they establish themselves in the U.S, remitting becomes a way to show love, care, commitment, sacrifice, and to reassure family members that they are not forgotten. Providing financial assistance is also viewed as a sign of “making it,” and, unfortunately, many may even think that the long-term family separation and the psychological trauma is worth it.”
“I am a Black international student from Kenya at Duke University, one of the many students in this settler-colonial, imperialist nation who are forced to leave their countries because of the need for an education. COVID-19, the Black Lives Matter (#BLM) movement, and ICE’s continued terrorization, including its new directive, are showing us that all Black diaspora students in solidarity with their Black African counterparts must unite to resist this imperial system that subjects them alike, though in different ways.”
“Me llamo Alina Duarte y soy una periodista xochimilca, feminista, socialista, antiimperialista, anticapitalista y antifascista. Claramente no nací así, me hice, en defensa propia y de las y los míos.
No recuerdo cuándo fue la primera vez que enuncié todos esos adjetivos juntos por primera vez, pero estoy orgullosa de hacerlo hoy en día y diariamente trabajar en ser lo más congruente posible con cada una de esas palabras que son mi motor.”
“La Mara Salvatrucha (MS-13) and Barrio 18, two of Latin America’s most infamous street gangs, originated in Los Angeles in the 1980s and were exported to Central America via the U.S. deportation machine. The gangs’ origins coincide with the start of the Salvadoran Civil War (1980-1992), whose primary actors were the Marxist-Leninist guerilla group known as the Farabundo Martí National Liberation Front (FMLN) and the heavily U.S.-supported, repressive military government of El Salvador. Waves of Salvadorans were forcibly displaced from their communities throughout the course of the war, many fled to Los Angeles to escape violence, poverty, and instability.”
“Guatemala suffered a 36-year U.S.-supported Civil War (1960-1996), in which 200,000 people died, 83% of these victims were indigenous, and 1.5 million were displaced. The Guatemalan military, which collaborated closely with the U.S. military and government, was responsible for 93% percent of these deaths. The remnants of the war in Guatemala continue to be characterized by structural racism and violence, impunity, corruption, and poverty which has continued to force people to flee. During the 1970s and 1980s, thousands of Guatemalans were displaced to cities such as Los Angeles, Houston, New York, and Miami.”
Umbrella terms like “Hispanic,” “Latino,” and “Latinx” attempt to label an immensely varied group of people living in the United States, homogenizing differences in countries of origin, reasons for migrating, and historical experiences. This ethnic label, while sometimes a tool for unity, can also serve as a reductive ethnic category that overlooks unique cultures, experiences, and various levels of oppression and privilege (such as obscuring the experiences of Afro-Latinxs).
For many Central Americans, Westlake became their first home after having to cross multiple international borders due to U.S.-fueled wars and genocide, military-controlled governments, natural disasters, and economic upheavals in their countries of origin. Families were separated and driven from their homes, including indigenous peoples in Guatemala who continue to be forcibly displaced from their lands to make way for large-scale farming, mining, and hydroelectric projects.
“Our story of migration is like that of many working-class Latin American immigrants: motivated by the search for better opportunities and, ultimately, for survival in countries where U.S. intervention and global asymmetrical power dynamics dating back to colonization have left limited options for people. Direct U.S. involvement in Panamá, where I lived from ages 3-11, can be traced back to the nineteenth century when what is now Panamá was a province of Colombia.“
“Another thread, and the one that I feel most acutely: U.S. cultural imperialism has robbed us both of our cultural identities. The visceral awareness of lacking, the presence of absence (a phrase borrowed from the Palestinian poet Mahmoud Darwish) which transcends time and space, spans across peoples who have had their lands, communities, bodies, and spirits stolen, commodified, and repackaged back to them disfigured in the rhetoric of diversity, humanitarianism, and progress.”
“Service abroad” programs have been the subject of major controversy. From the exploitative photographing of black and brown children to issues of sustainability, it is clear that these trips do not produce the benefits that are often marketed by the sponsoring organizations. In fact, instances of outright harm caused by these programs are unfortunately common. Still, thousands of people continue to sign up for service trips every year with the hope that their presence abroad can somehow play a role in “improving” the world.
This is a guide for you, the well-intentioned person whose interest in relieving poverty (or perhaps in boosting your resume) has led you to book a service trip to Latin America.
“In recent years, my birth city has experienced growing rates of unemployment, poverty, and crime, becoming one of the most dangerous cities in the world with a murder per capita of 59 per 1,000 people as of 2016. This is especially true after the 2009 U.S. backed coup to remove democratically-elected Manuel Zelaya from the presidential office. Corrupt post-coup governments have been closely linked with police and drug cartels, which have only exacerbated the inequity, violence, and poverty in Honduras, leading many people, including unaccompanied youth, to embark on dangerous journeys to the North. I often wonder what my life would have been like had we stayed in Tegucigalpa, yet the social and political context of Honduras at the time drove my mother’s hard decision to leave and subsequently shaped the experiences of my family.”
“Nuestras conciencias serán sacudidas por el hecho de estar sólo contemplando la autodestrucción basada en la depredación capitalista, racista y patriarcal.”
“Our consciences will be shaken by the fact that we are only contemplating self-destruction based on capitalist, racist and patriarchal depredation.”
“Although I am glad to see attention finally given to the current plight of Central American refugees and migrants, I am appalled by the ways we continue to overlook decades of U.S. policy intervention in Central America and fail to connect how it has fueled migration since the 1980s. In doing so, we continue to ignore the long history of violence against Central American peoples and their historical and socio-political experiences and analyses.”
“Sin esos aliados migrantes de clase trabajadora centroamericanos, quienes resistían a un régimen de migración estricto que no reconocía refugiados, que hacía la guerra contra ellos en Centroamérica, no tendríamos el movimiento social en torno a la migración e inmigración que tenemos ahora.”
Repackaging ICE as kinder, gentler deportation agency with a new name will not put an end to the human rights abuses that have been highlighted and exacerbated under the Trump administration. The next Democratic president would simply revert to deporting immigrants en masse, just as President Obama did. Rather, ICE should not only be abolished, but its core function of imprisoning and deporting non-citizens must also be eliminated.
En ese sentido, estas líneas pretenden llamar la atención sobre una política de represión que el Estado mexicano ha instaurado desde hace por lo menos 50 años y que quienes las lean, conozcan algunos detalles de las vidas de las personas a quienes desde el poder se les quiso borrar desapareciéndoles, pero que pese al tiempo, la incertidumbre, la impunidad, la simulación y la crueldad permanentes, continúan presentes desde la memoria y el afecto, con la esperanza de que más temprano que tarde sean regresados al hogar que los añora todos los días, todo el tiempo.
When I first stumbled upon the term “1.5 generation immigrant” in college, I felt like it more closely captured my experience, rather than first or second generation immigrant labels. The deep disconnect I felt from all the nations which I belong to: at birth, Honduras, Panamá until age 11, and then the United States. Holding this in-between identity has allowed me to develop a distinct and critical understanding of global migration and a commitment to the work of Migrant Roots Media (MRM).
