Wednesday, March 21, 2012

“Cuchi Cuchi Pa’ Tí…”


I am not too sure I remember the exact use of the above saying, but it was meant along the lines of “just for you” but in a not too nice a manner…

Anyhow, this is the state of things around here… Just for you, I am sitting here and trying to fill in, dutifully, a few lines that can go on to that “never land” cybernetic universe. The one that allows me to reach you in the US, Russia, India and points in between… all without lifting a finger… well, just to put it down on the corresponding key and, with one single stroke… send it all on its way!

This morning, early in the morning, there was a one-on-one class of ESL. It was with a very pretty young lady, who wants to improve her pronunciation because in her professional circles, it is not too cool to have a Hispanic accent. Go figure… some of the folk who come have such a thick Germanic accent that it is almost impossible to understand a word they say. But they are "OK"... Yet, this professionally prepared young lady is afraid because she has a, mind you, light “Spanish” accent. I guess that a European accent is “kooler” than a Hispanic one, given the current status of affairs around.

We see a little bit of everything; we become teachers, advisers, counselors (not the professional kind, mind you) at times confidants and, all in all, basically offer a shoulder to cry on for some of these folk. Every one is a story and each one has a history. Many are of very humble origins and come here, as we know, to pursue the American Dream. A dream that for too many who were born here, seems to be scuttling away faster than we can run to catch it.

But for these folk, whatever little they can obtain here, is more than what they had before and gives them an opportunity to give their children something they could, perhaps, grow into. In exchange, they often give up family, friends and a life. A life that to us is perhaps a poor one, but to them was all they had. Sometimes they come in to class and it is easy to see they are down. I ask: “Did you talk to your children today?” the answer is usually yes… and they miss them, and their families, terribly.

At other times, when they come to class at night, after often working 12-13 hours nonstop, there is a very tired bunch of questions in the air… “Is this really worth all?” “Am I giving up my life for something which will be worthwhile for my family?” “Is not seeing my children for so many years truly worth what I may be able to give them in return?” I do not have an answer to these questions…

Perhaps I have experienced at one time or another some of the loss and the frustration, the feeling of impotence of not being able to have a say in your own life… but never to the extent these folk have lived it. There is an air of resignation at times which turns into, after we finish a class which I try very hard to turn into a “motivational” show, a somewhat reborn facade of resiliency and of hope not completely lost.

There is little I can say about these immigrants. Yes, there are far too many people who live, work, raise a family and pay taxes in our country and who do not have the appropriate papers. Most have taken an unforgiving chance just to get away from an environment which will kill them and their children. The travels and dangers they go through in order to make it here, are far beyond whatever you or I could envision. Every step of the way is hounded by the cold breath of probable death… Their hope is to get here and make a little something out of nothing; several do succeed at this. It is a sub-world, a world where hope mixes with the fear of being found out; where faith is truly tested on a daily basis and where giving up is, simply, not an option. The alternatives are even less appealing.

I will not be a judge on this matter. It is far beyond my reach and scope, since I also was –at one time- an immigrant without papers; I just happened to benefit from a different epoch and a situation arising from an international altercation, over which I had no say. These people do not have that cushion; they only have their wits and their dreams; and they are willing to fight for them.

All I can ask is that, for those who do their utmost to integrate and offer a working hand, doing what is right –within their very limited scope- there should be a light somewhere, a light which may allow them to understand that they will be helped and received. Should there be an additional price to be paid? As with “time off for time served” a much too common arrangement for people who have committed much worse deeds against society, perhaps their years of toil, fear, limited possibilities and hard work should also serve as “time off for time served” in any arrangement which could be brought forward. 


Be Well … Be Back!!!

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