Wednesday, February 10, 2010

Immigrants and the “City on the Hill”

A link to a youtube video was forwarded to me this morning, featuring a UCLA presentation on gangs and violence by Juan Pacheco, a former gang member from Fairfax, VA, who, after serving time from his gang-banging days, went on to graduate from college and is now pursuing a medical degree. He was also proud to announce that from his meager savings, he, together with his sister, made their mother’s wish of buying a home come true – the stuff that the American dream is made of! His life’s narrative could be a source of inspiration to new and young immigrants, especially those who are finding it hard to fit in, were it not for the lingering anger and bitterness in his tone that betrays a lack of understanding and appreciation for America.

He began his story on a sentimental journey about his family’s early beginnings in America. Fleeing the political turmoil in El Salvador, his parents, professionals in their respective fields, decided to immigrate to this country, settled for menial jobs for the sake of providing a good life for their children. Somehow in young Pacheco’s life, this was not right. He expected to live a life of luxury similar to the one they left behind in El Salvador. Encountering hardships was something he did not expect, including feeling isolated and ostracized.

And so he joined gangs. To him, gangs “mirror the bad things in society.” “Gangs are caused by an ineffective society,” he said. America owes them, and owes them big. And it must pay. Finding a common identity and a common cause with his fellow Latino immigrants, he sought to exact justice that he and gang members thought had been denied them.

Their sense of injustice, however, springs from a sense of entitlement that is as misguided as it is misplaced . . . as if America owes them anything.

As an immigrant, I, too, have my own story of early beginnings in American living. Armed with my prejudices (thanks to my leftist professors who condemned everything American), I viewed things around me with a jaundiced eye. I loathed this new life and missed the old one that I left behind. Back there, I had a comfortable life. People waited on me. Here, I was nothing. Little did I know that America was stripping me of my aristocratic and class instincts. It was humbling, but it was also character-strengthening. I began to learn that in America egalitarianism informs the thinking and lifestyle of the people: everyone is equal in rights and liberties, whether you’re rich or poor. Everyone is entitled to the same opportunity as long as one is willing to work hard to get it. In this country, I realized, the only key to success is hard work. You can get anything you want and be anybody you want as long as you are willing to work hard for it. Many immigrants came to this country with nothing, and yet they made it big.

So in time I wondered why I was passing bad judgments on Americans when they had not done anything bad to me. In fact, they welcomed me. They didn’t have to. But they did. They allowed me to pursue my dreams. At the same time, they left me alone to be the person that I am: I could still eat Filipino food, shop at Asian markets, and attend festivities hosted by Filipino-American communities. America is allowing me to be me, and much more. It is not taking my cultural habits away from me. It is giving me the freedom to enhance them. It is allowing me to determine the course of my life. As Dinesh D’Souza, author of What’s So Great About America, puts it: in America, one is free to write the script of his own life.

Moreover, America stands for something that every human being desires: liberty, equality, a life of dignity and well-being that one can achieve through hard work, equal opportunity for all. These are the very things that attract immigrants to this “city on the hill.” Go ask each of them, and they will tell you the same story.

Juan Pacheco told the same story. But his premises were wrong. Could he not see that what he is today, what he has become, is as American as the American pie? I’m sure he could. Otherwise, he would not have announced with pride and tears in his eyes that he bought his mother a home, despite all odds – the stuff of which the American dream is made.

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