This weekend, I was doing my usual Blog surfing, looking for any interesting Blogs on Immigration on the net. I came across this outrageous ANTI blog. The blogger was blogging about the inferior genetics and low IQs of Hispanics titled "Immigration: Let’s Discuss The Genetics Of It".
Outrageous? YES!!! In fact, he got my dander up. So, of course I responded to "the Kernel", the author of the Blog. When I woke up Sunday morning, I had an email-response from the Kernel. We start commenting back and forth, tit for tat. If we were WWE wrestlers, it would have been a cage match.
He was so pompous, self-righteous and non-apologetic for his remarks. The best he could do is advocate conservatism, “The conservative adheres to custom, convention, and continuity. It is old custom that enables people to live together peaceably; the destroyers of custom demolish more than they know or desire.” He, of course, was referencing the custom of the Northern European immigrants of the 1700s and the need to maintain his heritage.
As I shared the importance of the Declaration of Independence, “All people are created equal,” his weak response was “show me where it says that because we’re all created equal we must forego the obligations we have to our ancestors and to our descendants.” This is the man who advocates inferior IQ and genetics of Hispanics.
As I advised him, “The rate of Hispanics will not diminish. We are CITIZENS and our numbers are growing. You cannot stop this. Your Northern European policies have brought us to where we are today.” I shared with him the 1924 Immigration policies setting limits to Eastern and Southern European Immigrants, the Chinese Exclusion Act and the fact during this period the Corporations and Congress ensured open southern borders allowing Hispanic migrants to work via programs similar to the Bracero program.
I added, “Now, with the accomplishments of the Civil Rights movement, we have learned we are, in fact, equal.” The Civil Rights Movement being the single most important difference in the history of our nation.
The Civil Rights movement changed America. Prior to the civil rights movement, the time the Kernel relishes, it was permissible for the Anglo majority to mistreat minorities. Minorities were paid lower than standard wages. They were made to work in unsafe working conditions. They could be removed from their property. Often, they were subjected to Jim Crow laws which prevented them from voting. Legally they could be made to drink from separate water fountains, sit in the back of the bus, restricted from restaurants, sit in restricted locations at theaters, swimming areas, and restricted from other entertainment facilities.
The Civil Rights Movement stopped the Jim Crow laws and helped all minorities achieve equal, legal status. EQUAL!!
The achievements during this phase of the Civil Rights Movement were passage of the Civil Rights Act of 1957, the Civil Rights Act of 1964 that banned discrimination in employment practices and public accommodations, the Voting Rights Act of 1965 that restored voting rights, the Immigration and Nationality Services Act of 1965 that dramatically changed U.S. immigration policy, and the Civil Rights Act of 1968 that banned discrimination in the sale or rental of housing.
I will leave it to you to judge the outcome of the discussion between the Kernel and me. The ANTIs will love him. The PROs will probably agree with me and think he is a pompous you know what although it was an invigorating exchange.
http://americankernel.com/2007/06/immigration-lets-discuss-the-genetics-of-it/#comments (scroll to bottom of page)
Monday, July 23, 2007
Saturday, July 21, 2007
My Dad Was My Hero
My Dad was my hero. He came to Michigan so his family could have a better life. He started his work in the fruit and vegetable fields in Michigan. When the season was over, he stayed and found a job in an auto plant.
Dad and Mom raised us all to be a close, Christian family. Each Sunday, we woke up early, dressed and attended Mass. We prayed together. Afterwards, we came home and mom always made us a nice Sunday breakfast. We spent the entire day relaxing, talking, and just being together.
Dad believed in education for all of his children. He guided us to complete our education so we would have good careers in our adult lives. He asked we speak English at school and at home. He said we should not have an accent. Americans view accents negatively so we did not want to start our lives with this strike against us. We listened and followed our Dad´s suggestions. We all learned to speak English flawlessly.
Through the week, we went to school while Dad worked three jobs to support us. One of his jobs was being a house painter. He worked for the Church part time in order to help offset our tuition at Catholic school.
Each night, after I finished my homework, I dreamed of my future career. I wanted to be “That Girl.” I believed my Dad when he taught us that in spite of any discrimination we may encounter we could each achieve the American Dream.
Dad and Mom raised us all to be a close, Christian family. Each Sunday, we woke up early, dressed and attended Mass. We prayed together. Afterwards, we came home and mom always made us a nice Sunday breakfast. We spent the entire day relaxing, talking, and just being together.
Dad believed in education for all of his children. He guided us to complete our education so we would have good careers in our adult lives. He asked we speak English at school and at home. He said we should not have an accent. Americans view accents negatively so we did not want to start our lives with this strike against us. We listened and followed our Dad´s suggestions. We all learned to speak English flawlessly.
Through the week, we went to school while Dad worked three jobs to support us. One of his jobs was being a house painter. He worked for the Church part time in order to help offset our tuition at Catholic school.
Each night, after I finished my homework, I dreamed of my future career. I wanted to be “That Girl.” I believed my Dad when he taught us that in spite of any discrimination we may encounter we could each achieve the American Dream.
They Called Us "Messykins"
I always wondered why we were never called Americans. As long as I can remember, people referred to us as Mexicans. They didn´t say Mexicans though. They pronounced it one of two ways.
The first pronunciation was said in whispers and pronounced messy-kins. When we were in the Traverse City area, the local children poked each other in the ribs when we walked by and loudly whispered, “Hey, look at the messy-kins.”
The second pronunciation was said in a stern voice and pronounced meXX----kinz. The X severely accentuated with a two second pause before saying the second syllable. This was the pronunciation people in authority often used. “Hey, you meXX—kinz better move right along.”
This was all normal to my young ears. It was normal that is until Dad brought home our first TV set. On TV, I watched shows like “Father Knows Best.” I pictured my Dad as Jim Anderson. I thought of myself as Kitten.
On TV we were all Americans. In school we learned we were Americans. Why didn´t anyone ever call us Americans? I wanted to know.
“Momma, Momma,” I asked, “Why don´t they call us Americans? We were born here. Why can´t we be Americans too?”
“That is what they call us, Mija. It doesn´t matter what they call us. We are God´s children and He made us in His image,” she answered. It was a good answer, but she didn´t answer my question.
School had no answers for me either. Teachers always said, “Sign your identification cards.” Then she came directly behind me and said, “Dee, be sure to mark the box Mexican American. “
I tried to overlook their efforts to differentiate us from the rest of the children. I worked hard in school and I made friends. My best friend in Kindergarten was Helen.
Once, Helen took me to the bathroom and tried to help me scrub my skin. “I just know that brown will come right off. I get dirty myself and all the brown comes off.” She was trying to help me, but she just didn’t understand that the color stuck.
When I came home from Kindergarten that day, Momma saw my arms were red and raw. She asked, "What happened to your arms?"
"My friend Helen tried to help me wash off the brown, Mama. She said my skin was just dirty and it would come off if I washed it," I answered.
Momma gathered me up in her arms. She said, "The color doesn't come off mija."
"Then why would she say my skin was dirty mama? Why?" I asked, tears rolling down my cheeks.
She hugged me and replied, "They just think it is mijita. But don't worry. God made you this way. God loves you. Just be proud of who you are."
“But Momma,” I pleaded. “Why can´t we be Americans too?”
Patiently, she tried to explain, “they have always called us Mexicans. We have brown skin. We haved lived in the country for hundreds of years. It doesn´t matter what they call us. Never be ashamed of who you are. You are a child of God, made in God´s image.” Still no answers.
When I think back to those times, I know our family was brought to the state because we were migrants. In the fields, we worked. When the work was finished, we were expected to leave. The farm owners hired us for this purpose. They did not want us to disrupt their lives. They wanted us to do the work and go. Somehow our humanity was not part of the equation. From their perspective, we were not much different than machines.
The first pronunciation was said in whispers and pronounced messy-kins. When we were in the Traverse City area, the local children poked each other in the ribs when we walked by and loudly whispered, “Hey, look at the messy-kins.”
The second pronunciation was said in a stern voice and pronounced meXX----kinz. The X severely accentuated with a two second pause before saying the second syllable. This was the pronunciation people in authority often used. “Hey, you meXX—kinz better move right along.”
This was all normal to my young ears. It was normal that is until Dad brought home our first TV set. On TV, I watched shows like “Father Knows Best.” I pictured my Dad as Jim Anderson. I thought of myself as Kitten.
On TV we were all Americans. In school we learned we were Americans. Why didn´t anyone ever call us Americans? I wanted to know.
“Momma, Momma,” I asked, “Why don´t they call us Americans? We were born here. Why can´t we be Americans too?”
“That is what they call us, Mija. It doesn´t matter what they call us. We are God´s children and He made us in His image,” she answered. It was a good answer, but she didn´t answer my question.
School had no answers for me either. Teachers always said, “Sign your identification cards.” Then she came directly behind me and said, “Dee, be sure to mark the box Mexican American. “
I tried to overlook their efforts to differentiate us from the rest of the children. I worked hard in school and I made friends. My best friend in Kindergarten was Helen.
Once, Helen took me to the bathroom and tried to help me scrub my skin. “I just know that brown will come right off. I get dirty myself and all the brown comes off.” She was trying to help me, but she just didn’t understand that the color stuck.
When I came home from Kindergarten that day, Momma saw my arms were red and raw. She asked, "What happened to your arms?"
"My friend Helen tried to help me wash off the brown, Mama. She said my skin was just dirty and it would come off if I washed it," I answered.
Momma gathered me up in her arms. She said, "The color doesn't come off mija."
"Then why would she say my skin was dirty mama? Why?" I asked, tears rolling down my cheeks.
She hugged me and replied, "They just think it is mijita. But don't worry. God made you this way. God loves you. Just be proud of who you are."
“But Momma,” I pleaded. “Why can´t we be Americans too?”
Patiently, she tried to explain, “they have always called us Mexicans. We have brown skin. We haved lived in the country for hundreds of years. It doesn´t matter what they call us. Never be ashamed of who you are. You are a child of God, made in God´s image.” Still no answers.
When I think back to those times, I know our family was brought to the state because we were migrants. In the fields, we worked. When the work was finished, we were expected to leave. The farm owners hired us for this purpose. They did not want us to disrupt their lives. They wanted us to do the work and go. Somehow our humanity was not part of the equation. From their perspective, we were not much different than machines.
Friday, July 20, 2007
Growing Up Mexican American
I was the seventh child in a family of ten. We had five boys and five girls, an even match. We lived in a small town in Michigan. It was a quiet, peaceful place. We were one of the few Mexican-American families that lived in town all year round.
Dad had a good job in a factory. Most of the Mexican families were migrant laborers and only came to the state in the summertime. Dad and his family came to Michigan as migrants too. When his parents, brothers and sisters moved back to Texas, he decided to keep his family in Michigan and work in an auto factory.
I guess we did pretty well in Michigan, especially compared to our relatives in Texas. We lived in a big house with a big yard. Fruit trees and beautiful flowers decorated our yard. We had plenty to eat. Dad’s family in Texas wasn’t so fortunate. They didn’t have very much money. Many of them still traveled the country to work various migrant jobs. In the winter, they all headed back to San Antonio to count their family profits.
Every summer until I was twelve, Mom took all of us kids to the Traverse City area to pick cherries. Dad taught all of us children that hard work and an education would enable us to achieve success in America.
We usually joined the flocks of migrant workers from down south who migrated to the Michigan fruit fields. We followed the caravan of cars up to Lake Leelanau, just north of Traverse City. There, we went to the home of a nice fruit farmer. He housed us in clean garages and barns and paid us the average wages. These were much better conditions than other migrant families had to endure at neighboring farms.
In the fifties and sixties, discrimination was obvious towards Mexican-American migrants. We could only swim in the "Mexican section" of Lake Leelanau. We had separate bathroom facilities. They reserved a special Mass at church just for the Mexicans. It wasn´t that people were rude to us. They just kept us separate then sent us on our way when the work was done.
We worked long hours, from 7:00 am until 6:00 pm each evening.
Each Saturday, Mom paid us our allowance which was based on the work we completed. We learned so many valuable lessons in the Cherry fields. Dad was right. Hard work did reap rewards. We also learned the value of a loving family.
Dad had a good job in a factory. Most of the Mexican families were migrant laborers and only came to the state in the summertime. Dad and his family came to Michigan as migrants too. When his parents, brothers and sisters moved back to Texas, he decided to keep his family in Michigan and work in an auto factory.
I guess we did pretty well in Michigan, especially compared to our relatives in Texas. We lived in a big house with a big yard. Fruit trees and beautiful flowers decorated our yard. We had plenty to eat. Dad’s family in Texas wasn’t so fortunate. They didn’t have very much money. Many of them still traveled the country to work various migrant jobs. In the winter, they all headed back to San Antonio to count their family profits.
Every summer until I was twelve, Mom took all of us kids to the Traverse City area to pick cherries. Dad taught all of us children that hard work and an education would enable us to achieve success in America.
We usually joined the flocks of migrant workers from down south who migrated to the Michigan fruit fields. We followed the caravan of cars up to Lake Leelanau, just north of Traverse City. There, we went to the home of a nice fruit farmer. He housed us in clean garages and barns and paid us the average wages. These were much better conditions than other migrant families had to endure at neighboring farms.
In the fifties and sixties, discrimination was obvious towards Mexican-American migrants. We could only swim in the "Mexican section" of Lake Leelanau. We had separate bathroom facilities. They reserved a special Mass at church just for the Mexicans. It wasn´t that people were rude to us. They just kept us separate then sent us on our way when the work was done.
We worked long hours, from 7:00 am until 6:00 pm each evening.
Each Saturday, Mom paid us our allowance which was based on the work we completed. We learned so many valuable lessons in the Cherry fields. Dad was right. Hard work did reap rewards. We also learned the value of a loving family.
Thursday, July 12, 2007
America Shrouds Detention Centers in Secrecy!
The Detention Centers are not prisons, they are much worse. They are torture chambers. Not only undocumented workers and their families are taken there, but innocent Hispanic American citizens as well. People in these centers are beaten, raped, tied up and moved to segregation. Guilty until proven innocent.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2HYa_NdL_cE
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2HYa_NdL_cE
Hutto Detention Facility - TX
The T. Don Hutto "Residential Center" is an immigrant detention facility in Taylor, Texas operated by Corrections Corp of America. A former high-security state prison, it and a smaller center in Pennsylvania are the only two facilities in the United States that are authorized to hold non-Mexican immigrant families and children on noncriminal charges. Its purpose is to hold immigrant families while their applications for asylum are being considered. It began operating in the summer of 2006 and currently holds 375 prisoners, approximately 200 of which are children. Previously immigrants with children would be released with a notice to appear before an immigration judge. The policy has changed and now families are being locked up in prison cells until their status is determined. Detainees are a diverse group, they include single men with children, pregnant women, and infants.
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
ICE GETTING TOUGH ON EMPLOYERS but ANTIs Don´t Care!
Good News!! ICE is getting tough on employers. Assist Sec. of Homeland Security, Julie Myers wrote a letter to the Kansas City Star. ICE is arresting and fining employers. In some cases they are enforcing their asset forfeiture authority. I say hurray for ICE. It is about time they have gone to root cause and penalized the actual culprits of illegal immigration, the employers.
What is remarkable is you do not hear Lou Dobbs, Buchanan, Rush or the ANTI Shock Jocks talking about penalities for the employers. Where is their outcry to imprison or put these unscrupulous employers out of business? Nowhere! The ANTIs are after the Hispanic undocumented workers, no one else. We know their real agenda.
Ask yourself this, if the ANTIs really wanted to stop illegal immigration, they would push to stop the employers. The crimes of the New Bedford employer Insolia are horrendous. Not only did he solicit, hire and provide false documents for workers, he ruled them with fear and intimidation:
http://archive.southcoasttoday.com/daily/03-07/03-07-07/01local.htm
"Mr. Insolia ran "a sweatshop," where workers were docked 15 minutes pay for every minute they were late; fined $20 for spending more than two minutes in the rest room on the first violation and fired if there was a second violation; fined $20 for talking during work and fired if there was a second infraction; and fined $20 for leaving work before the break bell sounded. Prosecutors said Mr. Insolia provided only one roll of toilet paper in each rest room stall per day, and the rolls ran out in 40 minutes. The way the environment is described it’s the type of sweatshop that you read about in terms of the turn of the century," Mr. Sullivan said. "I’m not talking about the 21st century, the turn of the 20th century, very early 1900s. These are the deplorable conditions that these workers essentially had to endure under. They were given no option, certainly. It’s either here or the risk of no income. The conditions were horrible. Clearly, they were exploited because of the fact that they are here illegally."
Where is the outcry from the ANTIs? Don´t hold your breath waiting for them to respond.
What is remarkable is you do not hear Lou Dobbs, Buchanan, Rush or the ANTI Shock Jocks talking about penalities for the employers. Where is their outcry to imprison or put these unscrupulous employers out of business? Nowhere! The ANTIs are after the Hispanic undocumented workers, no one else. We know their real agenda.
Ask yourself this, if the ANTIs really wanted to stop illegal immigration, they would push to stop the employers. The crimes of the New Bedford employer Insolia are horrendous. Not only did he solicit, hire and provide false documents for workers, he ruled them with fear and intimidation:
http://archive.southcoasttoday.com/daily/03-07/03-07-07/01local.htm
"Mr. Insolia ran "a sweatshop," where workers were docked 15 minutes pay for every minute they were late; fined $20 for spending more than two minutes in the rest room on the first violation and fired if there was a second violation; fined $20 for talking during work and fired if there was a second infraction; and fined $20 for leaving work before the break bell sounded. Prosecutors said Mr. Insolia provided only one roll of toilet paper in each rest room stall per day, and the rolls ran out in 40 minutes. The way the environment is described it’s the type of sweatshop that you read about in terms of the turn of the century," Mr. Sullivan said. "I’m not talking about the 21st century, the turn of the 20th century, very early 1900s. These are the deplorable conditions that these workers essentially had to endure under. They were given no option, certainly. It’s either here or the risk of no income. The conditions were horrible. Clearly, they were exploited because of the fact that they are here illegally."
Where is the outcry from the ANTIs? Don´t hold your breath waiting for them to respond.
Monday, July 9, 2007
My Pet Peeves: Minority ANTIs
SUBJECT: Why do minorities jump on the ANTI Bandwagon and speak in favor of the ANTI agenda?
Response: Because they believe they will be held in high regard by the ANTIs, whether it be their boss, the media or public opinion on the internet.
What shall we call them? Wanti´s (Wannabe ANTIs)
Personally, I feel sorry for the Wanti´s. They are wannabe ANTIs. They wish they were Anglos. They are ashamed of their own ethnicity. They hide their eyes when a minority walks by. Worse yet, they may call them a name. My question is, how do they treat their own mother or grandmother? How do they treat those that marched in the civil rights movement? Are they in so much denial they forget where they come from?
Request: I ask them to study the issues. I ask them to study history. I ask them to read my Blog and email me. Let´s talk about it. It is not too late. We want you back!!
Response: Because they believe they will be held in high regard by the ANTIs, whether it be their boss, the media or public opinion on the internet.
What shall we call them? Wanti´s (Wannabe ANTIs)
Personally, I feel sorry for the Wanti´s. They are wannabe ANTIs. They wish they were Anglos. They are ashamed of their own ethnicity. They hide their eyes when a minority walks by. Worse yet, they may call them a name. My question is, how do they treat their own mother or grandmother? How do they treat those that marched in the civil rights movement? Are they in so much denial they forget where they come from?
Request: I ask them to study the issues. I ask them to study history. I ask them to read my Blog and email me. Let´s talk about it. It is not too late. We want you back!!
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