La Migra
I grew in in California in the 1980's. I was raised in a low income neighborhood with a high percentage of Latino families. California was cracking down on undocumented immigrants during that time. My best friends were a girl named Ramona and a girl named Marisol. Both Ramona and Marisol were US citizens but the rest of their families were not. Their mothers and fathers worked in the field and then got jobs assembling electronics. I spent my childhood watching for the immigration van. It was white with blue lettering on its side. When the van would enter the neighborhood there was a relay that went off. "La Migra" would be whisper-shouted from street to street. As children we ran to houses we knew had undocumented people, jumped fences into backyards and tried to alert them. I remember playing with my white friends in front of Ramona's house planning to tell the officers that we lived there. On three occasions I watched as mothers were dragged out of their homes while their children watched. After that, when the van came into our neighborhood Ramona's family would run to my house and hide in our bathroom. I said "La Migra" so much that once when Ramona's mother was crouched in the dark bathroom with her children around her, she told me my accent was perfect. I felt proud. I wanted to say it exactly right to make sure they wouldn't be dragged into the van and disappear. With so much talk of immigration reform I can't stop thinking about what it felt like to live in a neighborhood terrified of a van. I am sending prayers out to everyone who is afraid; those that are afraid of the van and those who think the van will make them feel safe.