Dear Diary,
As I have confided in you all of my deepest secrets, I feel it safe to say that I have written in to the Defender today. You know, the newspaper which I have mentioned before that I have read and like so very much. In today’s paper, my eye caught a liking to the jobs section labeled for the north. If only I could get my family up there. I wrote to the Defender in order to question the jobs available. Especially since I refuse to leave my family here in the South, I had questioned whether the job would allow my family to stay together. As bad as things have gotten in the South, and especially with my son’s continued big lip, I am afraid not only for our stomachs but for our reputation. I do not want to get word that my wife or children have been harmed in any way. I would feel responsible if that happens and I have not tried in every way possible to get our situation better.
I also included in the letter about my friends. There are several of them here that do not know how to read still, and want to get out of the South. Especially the ones with families to think of, we all just want better living. Work is the first thing on our agenda, because money is what puts food on our tables. My littlest boy complains every time I mention maybe having to pull him from school. He loves it so much, and my wife says he works and practices so hard every day at home. I want better for him. I want better for all of them.
I fear still for our safety here in the South. I have heard about the happenings in Tulsa and know that without even meeting the boy accused, that he was wrongly accused. I wish that things could get better. I wish that the life that American’s leaders claim to be was actually the way they were. They’re nothing of this life of freedom that immigrants think they’re coming into. That being said though, immigrants coming to America make my situation worse. They come in search of jobs, and even though some companies hate immigrants more than they dislike the blacks of the town, they get the jobs. If I were ever put up against an immigrant for my job, the immigrant would win. This in itself scares me.
Even if we do decide to move to the North, it must stay a secret until we are gone. The whites here would do anything they could in order to keep us here in the South. As much as they hate us, for some reason they don’t want us to leave. Any kind of rumor that gets started about blacks doing anything against the Anglo’s desire will end badly. Rumors have caused so many of my people to lose their lives. As in Rosewood, the simple rumor of a black man being with a white woman can easily turn fatal. They don’t understand that we are simply trying to better ourselves and our families.
As much as I hate that I can’t provide for my family as I believe I should, I am proud to be an African American. My roots are strong, and I believe that my children’s generation will see a better time for freedom. We have come so far from the slave days. My parents talk about how life used to be, and that I should be content with the way things are now. But, I am not content with the conditions that I am living in now. I want more for myself, but mainly I want more for my family. My race deserves equality just like any other here in America.
Tonight that is all the time I have. My wife has just put the children to bed, and I cherish every moment I have with her. She does so much, and is so strong. If every African American man and woman had her strength, we would be writing a completely different story. But, that is for another night.
Tomorrow shall bring a better day,
John
Friday, February 27, 2009
Sunday, February 15, 2009
Alonzo Vasquez- Mexican immigrant to the US
Moving to America seemed to be our only choice. With the poverty in Mexico becoming so unbearable, the move was our best option. We could no longer afford to keep our land back in Mexico, and the US seemed to be such a great opportunity for us all. In reality though, the way we are here is better off financially, but the family I once had is now falling apart. You ask why? My answer is simply this: money.
My name is Alonzo Vasquez, and I moved my family from the poverty in Mexico to the US in hopes of finding a better life. Those hopes have yet to fully be realized. The biggest setback: my family is falling apart.
My family was an actual family back in Mexico. We now are all working in some way or another. I am working in a factory, as well as my wife in another. Both of my children have found work in other places. All we think about is money. Since it was our biggest worry in Mexico, the need for it here is more important than anything. I hope that this change is only temporary, but I fear that it will be permanent.
My two children have become much more independent than they were in Mexico. In getting jobs and earning their own money, they are displaying characteristics that would normally only be found in adults back home. They both are not listening to me and their mother as much as they used to, making their own decisions on how to spend their extra money, and speaking more English amongst themselves than their native tongue. The conflicts around the house have increased dramatically, which has much to do with their money making affecting their attitudes.
The changes we are being put through are what these whites call “Americanization.” This change has taken what I used to call my family and turned them simply into money makers. Although we are financially better off here in the US, I miss who my family used to be and am worried they will forget where they came from.
Coming from poverty, my children really need to be able to remember their Mexican heritage and what they have been through. For the same reasons they teach history in schools, my family needs to be able to remember what has happened so that they know what it is like to work for a dollar and to overcome misfortunes they have already seen in their lives. If they are unable to remember their previous hardships, they will not be fully capable of enjoying the luxuries of a better life.
My name is Alonzo Vasquez, and I moved my family from the poverty in Mexico to the US in hopes of finding a better life. Those hopes have yet to fully be realized. The biggest setback: my family is falling apart.
My family was an actual family back in Mexico. We now are all working in some way or another. I am working in a factory, as well as my wife in another. Both of my children have found work in other places. All we think about is money. Since it was our biggest worry in Mexico, the need for it here is more important than anything. I hope that this change is only temporary, but I fear that it will be permanent.
My two children have become much more independent than they were in Mexico. In getting jobs and earning their own money, they are displaying characteristics that would normally only be found in adults back home. They both are not listening to me and their mother as much as they used to, making their own decisions on how to spend their extra money, and speaking more English amongst themselves than their native tongue. The conflicts around the house have increased dramatically, which has much to do with their money making affecting their attitudes.
The changes we are being put through are what these whites call “Americanization.” This change has taken what I used to call my family and turned them simply into money makers. Although we are financially better off here in the US, I miss who my family used to be and am worried they will forget where they came from.
Coming from poverty, my children really need to be able to remember their Mexican heritage and what they have been through. For the same reasons they teach history in schools, my family needs to be able to remember what has happened so that they know what it is like to work for a dollar and to overcome misfortunes they have already seen in their lives. If they are unable to remember their previous hardships, they will not be fully capable of enjoying the luxuries of a better life.
Sunday, February 1, 2009
Esther Klein- the true American life
They said life in America would be different. Mainly, that it would be wonderful. We could do whatever it is that we dreamed of doing, and make a living off of it, too. Well here I am working all hours in a textile mill, at just seventeen years of age. I hate the mill, and I hate to say it but it makes me miss the old country. Here, it’s like being a woman isn’t good enough. We’re yet to be equals, although I don’t see why we are any different than a man. The work I do at the mill is just horrible, and dangerous, too. As an immigrant, I am pushed around and made fun of by the “real” Americans. I wish we could stand up against the factory employers, but I’ve heard what has happened to others who have tried.
Women have yet to get our own independence, even though slaves already have! A black man can stand up at a ballot and vote, yet women still cannot. Before we came, I thought that it would be the most wonderful experience of my life. But now that we are here, my family and I agree that America still has a long way to go in gaining independence for all of their people.
Working at a textile mill is not the way I had pictured spending my days here in America. I am working long hours for very little pay, and the conditions are horrible. Once, I hurt myself and went to my employer and he simply sent me back to work. I hurt myself again, and the other workers told me not to complain or I would lose my job! I had pictured working somewhere much better than this textile mill when I came to America. Work would have been something enjoyable for me, but instead with the long hours and horrible conditions, I dread going to work each day.
As an immigrant, I am not considered a true American. They look down on me, especially because I am a woman, and think that I am not good enough to be in their territory. It’s as if I don’t have what it takes to make it in their eyes just because I was not born there or from their original countries. Adding to the frustration is my religious affiliation. As a Jew, I am not the most common religion and therefore am looked down upon. I wish that Americans had been what I pictured in my head.
America is not what I had pictured in my mind. I had pictured a place where I could come and live and work as I pleased and make a living surrounded by all different types of people who all have different backgrounds and still exist together. Instead, I work long hours in a textile mill for very small wages, and am looked down upon because of my gender and religious affiliations. Hopefully in years to come, the true American dream can come true.
Women have yet to get our own independence, even though slaves already have! A black man can stand up at a ballot and vote, yet women still cannot. Before we came, I thought that it would be the most wonderful experience of my life. But now that we are here, my family and I agree that America still has a long way to go in gaining independence for all of their people.
Working at a textile mill is not the way I had pictured spending my days here in America. I am working long hours for very little pay, and the conditions are horrible. Once, I hurt myself and went to my employer and he simply sent me back to work. I hurt myself again, and the other workers told me not to complain or I would lose my job! I had pictured working somewhere much better than this textile mill when I came to America. Work would have been something enjoyable for me, but instead with the long hours and horrible conditions, I dread going to work each day.
As an immigrant, I am not considered a true American. They look down on me, especially because I am a woman, and think that I am not good enough to be in their territory. It’s as if I don’t have what it takes to make it in their eyes just because I was not born there or from their original countries. Adding to the frustration is my religious affiliation. As a Jew, I am not the most common religion and therefore am looked down upon. I wish that Americans had been what I pictured in my head.
America is not what I had pictured in my mind. I had pictured a place where I could come and live and work as I pleased and make a living surrounded by all different types of people who all have different backgrounds and still exist together. Instead, I work long hours in a textile mill for very small wages, and am looked down upon because of my gender and religious affiliations. Hopefully in years to come, the true American dream can come true.
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