More than twenty years ago I was teaching first-generation immigrant students in a public high school. They came from every trouble spot around the globe. They had crossed oceans, continents, deserts, and landed in my ELL classroom. My charge was to teach them English.
Some had never been to school or even held a pencil because their country had been at war for as long as they could remember. Some had dropped out of school because they were too poor to buy books. Some were well educated, but their families had left their home country to escape dangerous political regimes. Some had never seen a doctor, even after they’d broken bones. Some said it was normal in their nation to be stopped by the police, and unless you paid them, they wouldn’t let you go.
I was their first teacher in America. My classroom became an island of safety in a strange new world. They treated me as if I was their U.S. mom, and the Statue of Liberty lady all rolled into one. I held up my lessons as if they were my torch, as if English, the lingua franca of the world, was the golden key that opened opportunity and freedom for all. Freedoms and opportunities that had been ruined in their native land. And daily I witnessed the alchemy of the American Dream, powered by our founding principle e pluribus unum, out of many one.
Now when I turn on the TV, I witness the daily nightmare of immigrants disappeared without due process. And those who speak out on their behalf like Alex Padilla, a sitting senator, are forced to the ground and handcuffed.
All this makes me reflect on what my immigrant students taught me two decades ago:
- That a stable American democracy is worth fighting for.
- That quality public education is a must for every citizen in a democracy.
- That medical research and healthcare for all make a nation strong.
- That political corruption trickles down to affect us all.
- That immigrants are determined, resourceful, and generous people.
- That immigrants are the jet fuel that makes/made American great!
As an adoptee, born illegitimately, I know what it is to be an outsider, unable to remain in my family of origin. I also know what it means to be welcomed in by loving strangers.
Therefore, let’s not lose sight of the fact that we are all immigrants or the descendants of immigrants fleeing difficult circumstances, outsiders welcomed in by a beneficent nation.
And as Christian believers don’t we share much with the immigrant experience? Coming humbly before our God, seeking a new life, a second chance. Willing to renounce our former allegiances, eager for a new identity as a citizen of heaven that promises freedom from our past and a bright future. I still remember the mercy of Jesus who welcomed me in as an outsider in my most vulnerable state and made me the adopted daughter of the high king of heaven.
So, last weekend, in the rain, I attended my very first protest for No King’s Day—for me a protest on behalf of immigrants who are being dehumanized and disappeared without recourse—my intent not solely political, but to reflect the love and grace of our compassionate God.
Photo by DJ Paine on Unsplash
“You must not mistreat or oppress foreigners in any way. Remember, you yourselves were once foreigners in the land of Egypt.” (Exodus 22:21 NLT)
Thank you!