People like me are the children of immigrants, typically, of African descent, yet representative of the multiethnic, multicultural Caribbean peoples whose ancestors have been on the move for the past 150 – 300 years.
There were those who landed in the Caribbean on slave ships – they traveled from Africa as slaves, lived through the treacherous middle passage, and survived the slave system that sought to break them, creating vibrant communities and rebelling, as best they could and whenever they could. Those who came as slaves became strong, courageous, resourceful and resilient – I live now because they survived. Some of my ancestors traveled from Ireland, the Middle East and India. Those who came freely, as castaways, stowaways, merchants and merchant marines – they, too were courageous, resourceful, resilient travelers who insisted on making a life of their dreams rather than a life dictated by their circumstances.
Some of these brave ancestors immigrated from Jamaica to Santiago de Cuba, to Guantanamo, to Havana – and some immigrated again to America. Basically, they were the kind of people like Alexander Hamilton, and all the other brave souls who came from other places and fell in love with America – helped build it into the giant powerhouse it has become in just a few hundred years. They are the people called to these shores by the sentiments expressed on the Statue of Liberty. I was born in New York – we learned those words by heart, sang them, in elementary school – at least, we used to, when I lived there. I still remember them:
Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shores.
Send these, the homeless, tempest tossed to me.
I lift my lamp beside the golden door.
My parents sailed past that statue as they came into New York Harbor; they disembarked from the ships on which they came at Ellis Island – and they cherished the memory of their arrival in this country for the rest of their lives – the promise of a better life. They expected to work hard; they weren’t looking for handouts, but they knew that, in America, there was a greater possibility that they could find a way to make an earnest living, educate their children and truly take part in a democratic society.
My father said to me: “Don’t ever let the fact that you are a girl, or that you are black, stop you from going after your dreams. You live in America.”
In spite of everything I’ve experienced growing up, from lynchings, to hoses and dogs let loose by local officials – just because children wanted to get an equal education, or people wanted to vote – from police violence against black and brown men, to America’s current outgoing administration led by a would-be dictator – racist, mysogynistic, corrupt, incompetent and dangerous – I still believe that America’s “golden door” to Liberty and Justice exists.
In this blog, I will share my unique perspective as a First Generation American. I love the country of my birth – I’ve studied its history and its government very carefully – because my parents were devoted citizens – naturalized citizens – who taught their children that if we wanted to live the promise of America, in spite of its flaws, we needed to become good citizens, understand its founding principles and contribute to our community and our country. They never missed an opportunity to vote – they often worked at the polls!
It disturbs me that so many citizens do not seem to know or understand their country’s history – and so, seem determined to repeat the worst aspects of that history, rather than to strive for
the best of its promise.
My current writing projects, in the historical fiction genre, are a tribute to my parents’, grandparents’ and great-grandparents’ journeys as immigrants to and from the Caribbean islands, as they gradually made their way to America. I have benefited greatly from their indomitable spirit, their courage and grit – and so has America.