The first time I ever gave a second though to what race I am, it was two weeks after I moved to NJ, after marrying J by the catholic church in Mexico (which is not legaly binding, according to Mexican law). The woman at the municipality where we were applying for our marriage license asked me to "check the box" for my race. I did not know what race I am. In Mexico, where I am from, we are a mix. Only second or third generation-immigrants know for sure. I told the woman at the desk that I did not know, then she asked me what country I came from. I said Mexico. "You are Hispanic, then", she said. To me, that did not make much sense. I understood the term "hispanic" to apply to the language spoken or the region in which one is born, and not one's race. To me, race refers to the color of one's skin, to one's features. I found out that this is not the case in the U.S.A.
That was the first awakening. The second was when I was at my in-law's home, cleaning the room in which J and I were staying (which was supposed to be only for a couple of months, and ended up being a whole year). My brother-in-law arrived, and when he saw me cleaning, he offered to pay me the "Mexican rate" if I cleaned his room as well, a whopping $5.00 an hour. I said to him that my hourly rate in Mexico was $165.00 for a second year associate at the law firm where I was working and, if he paid me that sum, I would gladly clean his room. He did not accept the counteroffer, I am afraid.
After that, on several instances I have been made aware of my second-class citizenship. I was told that "here, in America" things are done this way or that way. I caught surprised looks when I told people that I am a lawyer and that I speak three languages, or that I did not learn how to do laundry until I moved to the U.S. People in this country always assume things when I say that I am from Mexico. I have found this country to be filled with assumptions. There is another name for that: prejudice.
I am not saying by any means that Mexico does not have a certain share of that, but there it is more about socio-economic class. I felt it at times, but the fact that I am light-skinned saved me from ever feeling it in full force. I believe now that if I had been a little darker skinned, J would not have married me. I have heard comments coming from him and his family referring to other races that have brought us to huge fights. I think this is one of the reasons why we are getting a divorce. Because I am proud of my culture, my heritage, my origins. My people. Mi raza.
Last May, I marched in NYC for the legalization of immigrants. In my opinion, immigrants have brought more to this country than has been taken. Because most immigrants come here to work, looking for better days, for oportunities that have not been offered to them in their home countries. I agree that there must be some control, but the fucking wall across the border that has been approved and the minute-men that believe that they have the right to shoot another human being merely for the soil they are stepping on can go fuck themselves. I wonder when this world is going to realize that we really do need each other. That we are, after all, equals and all deserve the same treatment. That nobody has the right to belittle another person because of the country they come from, it being Rwanda, India, Irak, Mexico or Canada. Or for any other reason, for that matter. Until each person in this country realizes that its biggest strength comes from the diverse population it has, there will always be injustices. And that actually applies to all people, not just the U.S.
This is probably why I decided to live in NYC. Because in a New York minute you can stand in any corner and see people from all sorts of places. All sorts of colors. And that makes it beautiful.
