Thinking About It

My mother in law was admonished by her parents not to speak her native language when she went out in public. This was in attempt to mask their heritage. "Only English," they were scolded, as they headed out into the world that was mid-twentieth-century Detroit. My mother-in-law is eighty years old and she can remember the fear of feeling different, being the xeno in the phobe was not the way to school.

Years before, there was an American family named the Joads. They left their home and moved to what they heard was a land of plenty: California. They knew that the rest of the country frowned on these Okies, and worried that they would be chased out or worse if they didn't do their menial labor and move on without a fuss. The milk and honey from this land was not meant for them. Their eldest son, Tom, had been thinking about this. Here's what he had to say: "Then it don’t matter. I’ll be all around in the dark – I’ll be everywhere. Wherever you can look – wherever there’s a fight, so hungry people can eat, I’ll be there. Wherever there’s a cop beatin’ up a guy, I’ll be there. I’ll be in the way guys yell when they’re mad. I’ll be in the way kids laugh when they’re hungry and they know supper’s ready, and when the people are eatin’ the stuff they raise and livin’ in the houses they build – I’ll be there, too."

Back here in the twenty-first century, I remember sitting with my little family at a hotel coffee shop as we prepared to make yet another trek to the Happiest Place On Earth. We were up moderately early so we could avoid the lines and maximize our fun. Looking out the window into one of the few remaining open plots of land in Orange County, we watched as a group of men and women ran back and forth, down lanes of strawberry bushes with cartons, filling them up, and racing them back. They ran both ways. The sun was still rising, and it was obvious that they were rushing to get as much work done as they could before it was high above them. I knew none of these families would be joining us at Disneyland. I thought about the fruit they were harvesting and went back to staring at the table, just a few blocks from that happiest place. 

I got an email from our school district's superintendent, reminding us of our rights and responsibilities as employees of a Sanctuary District. We were warned of a potential ICE sweep in the coming weeks, and what we could do to protect our students and their families from being rounded up because of their race, creed, religion or skin color. 

And so, like Tom Joad, I've been thinking about it.