Mexico Trucker Online

Editors Note: One of the best essays I have read in a long time!
There has been a lot of talk about immigration reform lately. It is often said that this is par for the course in election years, a chance for politicians to pander to their core constituents and distract attention from other issues.

This time around, though, I don’t see it so simply as just political blowhards playing the election-year game. I see a lot of frustrations rising to the surface. I see a lot of tension that needs release. I see the Minuteman Project and I read topic thread posts on internet forums. And for the past few years I’ve been hearing, more and more often, the random phrase that once upon a time made my world seem like it was ripping: “I hate Mexicans.”

It usually comes out of nowhere. The sky is blue; there is a TV show on. We’re eating a snack. “I hate Mexicans.” And I’m dumbfounded. What do I say?


In 1994 I was 13, and I attended Cook Junior High. Half of the students were from Roseland, the other half from the north side of Highway 12. Prop 187 was on the ballot. Our classmates were marching with flags and I wasn’t marching with them because I wasn’t Mexican. We sat inside class and the teachers didn’t talk to us on the subject and my dirty-blond-haired friend sniffed, “Why can’t they just be American if they’re going to be here?” Some kids resented the disturbance; were irritated at the fuss.

I went to my dirty-blond-haired friend’s house in the upscale trailer park. It was sunny. We listened to some Aerosmith. Her father, a preacher, came home. “I hate Mexicans,” he said. I had never in my life heard such a thing. My parents never once spoke like that.

“I’m half-Mexican,” I was forced to mention, and as I watched him backpedal I realized something about myself, and about the world. For one, because I am culturally American, and have very pale skin, my half-Mexican heritage goes unnoticed by almost everyone. At the end of the day, though, it is not something that I will totally abandon. A thing that I never really thought about became, in that moment, my defining characteristic.

I had to make a choice then. Racism knocked heavily on my door, and I had to look outside, and I saw that these arguments about immigration really were racially tinged. Even if I hadn’t been personally offended by his remark, I would have had to notice that the hate and the policy preference aren’t mutually exclusive.

“Oh no,” people say, “it’s not a race thing.” They give all kinds of reasons why they hate Mexicans. They give all kinds of reasons they hate illegal immigrants. They don’t ever stop to think that hate is a knee-jerk reaction. That it is not some logical, well-thought-out position to defend. Or, worse, they don’t hate, they intellectualize: “Well, you see, we should deport 12 million people because they are illegal.” - “There isn’t enough room.” - “They are all on welfare.” - “They are all criminals.” - “Why should honest Americans pay for them?”

There is so much indignation behind these statements, so much anger and grief. I could sit here and rebut the reasons people give to deport 12 million people (remove 12 million human beings!). I could bring up NAFTA. I could bring up how many illegal immigrants work two jobs and how hard it is to get here. I could bring up any number of statistics that could then be challenged by different statistics. I could bring up the fact that if we didn’t have economically-illogical immigration quotas, they wouldn’t be illegal at all.

But what I want to focus on is the anger, because I think with this lies the real reason this issue even comes up. The anger! “I hate Mexicans,” the blond girl says after talking about her math class. “I hate Mexicans,” the middle-aged woman says after speaking of her shopping trip. I’m tired of having to mention to them that they have just showed themselves to be bigots and racists in front of someone who considers herself at least partially Mexican.

“We’ll shoot them off the fence,” the young man posts on the forum. “What part of Ileggal don’t they understand?!” the woman posts on the forum. And I love that they can’t spell, but I hate that they all agree. This country is overcrowded? Blame the illegals. Welfare state? Blame them. There is something wrong with the world today, and dammit, those illegal immigrants sure aren’t helping. At least we can point a finger at them. At least we can differentiate between them and us, so that it doesn’t have to be our fault, it’s theirs. At least we can find somebody to blame, because it’s hard out there, it’s a confusing world, and most of all, we can’t find a way out. But they are a They, and sometimes people need a They to blame.

To me, though, undocumented workers aren’t a They. They are my neighbors (especially here in Roseland), and my classmates, and my co-workers and my friends. They are in proximity to me, they work in places I frequent and they do all kinds of stuff I probably don’t realize, and they aren’t a They, they are Us, part of America, part of our economy, part of our society. Until 15 years ago, they were allowed to get drivers licenses, but now people don’t even want them to be able to walk on this ground.

The controls are being tightened, but the immigration quotas aren’t being adjusted to reflect the economic reality - they are finding work, because work is here to be found. And we’re making them illegal, but for what? Do we really consider 12 million people to NOT be our neighbors, to NOT count as part of our community?

There was something else that was big when I was in eighth grade at Cook Junior High, a new craze. People were wearing the bracelets, it was on the news. And when I’m remembering that time, with the protests, and the hate, and I’m seeing the same thing today on a national scale - the protests, the hate, the legislation - I remember that trend. At the time, as a 13-year-old bad-ass, I thought it was stupid, but now I really wonder: What WOULD Jesus Do?