How understanding immigrant integration brought me back to my roots

I recently took the time to reflect on my childhood and life experiences as a second-generation immigrant as part of a study on Latina social workers. As I walked down memory lane and revealed how it brought me to pursue my current field of work. I realized that learning about immigrant integration and educating others about it — in my personal and professional life — encouraged me to explore and celebrate my Colombian roots.

In 1987, my parents arrived to the United States in search of better opportunities. My father enlisted in the U.S. Army, relocating from one state to the next. My mom and siblings settled in North Carolina, where I spent the majority of my childhood.

Growing up, my mother didn’t talk much about her home country. We observed some common Latino traditions, such as celebrating Christmas on the 24th and eating lentils on New Year’s Eve and twelve grapes at midnight. However, neither my sister nor I had a quinceañera, a common Catholic Latin American celebration that symbolizes the passage from girlhood to womanhood. Additionally, speaking Spanish was not an enforced rule in our household. I never questioned it and always assumed it was intentional as a way to help my mother practice her English skills.

Like most second-generation immigrants, my physical appearance and the common question of, “Were you born here?” served as a reminder that people initially see me as an “outsider.” Conversely, my American-accented Spanish and the surprised facial expressions from my Hispanic elders remind me that I was born and raised in the United States. The perfect quote to describe this feeling comes from the famous Selena Quintanilla’s father — “We have to be more Mexican than the Mexicans and more American than the Americans, both at the same time! It’s exhausting.”

It wasn’t until I moved to Maryland that I realized just how much my upbringing lacked my Colombian heritage. Montgomery County’s diversity welcomed me, and for the first time, people were interested in learning about my family’s culture. Only, I had very little to share.

I first learned about immigrant integration when I joined CLINIC as an intern. Immigrant integration was a concept that even my mother had never heard of in her 30 years in the United States. CLINIC defines immigrant integration as an equal partnership between the long-term residents and newcomers, working together to ensure their community is more inclusive.

Through my work, now as a project coordinator with CLINIC, I have had the opportunity to interview dozens of affiliates and other community-based programs to exemplify their local efforts of successful integration. Unfortunately, in my mother’s experience, there were no initiatives to welcome her as she was. Instead, she had to assimilate in order to be seen and heard. Speaking English was the only way she could communicate with anyone in the community. As a result, she didn’t find it necessary that her children prioritize Spanish.

In 2018, I decided to visit Colombia for the first time since I was two years old. As I explored my mother’s hometown, Cartagena, I embraced the culture. I learned the history, ate the delicious food and met family I never knew existed. I felt at home in a place I had never known. From that moment on, I vowed to fully integrate both of my cultures together — starting with speaking Spanish proudly with my American accent and attempting to master some of my favorite Colombian food such as Sancocho, Patacones y Arepas, and my husband’s favorite, Chicharron.

As immigrant heritage month comes to a close, we must celebrate immigrant integration and the big and small ways it can take place in our lives. Immigrants and refugees bring unparalleled diversity and richness to our country.

Share with us how your agency is promoting immigrant integration!

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The Supreme Court Ruling on DACA: What the Decision Means and What’s Next

On June 18, 2020, the U.S. Supreme Court ruled in the Department of Homeland Security v. Regents of the University of California that the 2017 termination of Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals, or DACA, was arbitrary and capricious under the Administrative Procedures Act, and the decision to rescind DACA must be vacated. Join CLINIC for a preliminary discussion of the court’s decision, what it could mean for DACA holders and actions practitioners can take now. 

Juntos, Luchamos

Jeremy* y su hija de 11 años salieron huyendo de Honduras hace casi un año. Él ha estado a un lado de su hija desde sus cero meses, como lo describe él. Es un padre joven que nunca se ha rendido ante la adversidad, y no duda en mostrarle a su hija lo mucho que la ama. 


Jeremy y su hija fueron puestos bajo el programa de MPP, describió la experiencia con una sola palabra: “decepcionado”. Las autoridades migratorias los detuvieron y lo interrogaron por seis días sobre su verdadero parentesco con su hija. Le hicieron dos exámenes de ADN y lo hicieron firmar un documento que podría permitirles llevarlo a prisión por diez años si no estaba siendo honesto. “Me la querían quitar. Mi hija es mía. No puedo negar a mi hija,” comentó Jeremy. Su hija había dejado de comer y no paraba de llorar por miedo de ser separada de su padre. El segundo examen de ADN, resultó confirmar lo que Jeremy había dicho en el transcurso de los seis días – la niña si era su hija. 


Ellos llevan diez meses en Cd. Juárez y Jeremy ha notado cambios en su hija, “triste y estresada, pero la motivo constantemente. Le digo que no podemos bajar la guardia.” Añadió: “Esta lucha migratoria ha sido difícil para nosotros. Le digo que no podemos darnos por vencidos. Nuestra fe es luchar. Sea lo que sea, tenemos que seguir adelante por su bien estar y futuro.” 

 

Together, we fight


Jeremy* and his 11-year-old daughter fled Honduras almost a year ago. He has been by his daughter’s side since she was born, as he describes it. He is a young father that has never given up despite all the adversity and does not hesitate to demonstrate his love for his daughter. 


Jeremy and his daughter were put under the MPP program. He described the experience in a single word: “Disappointed.” Immigration officials interrogated him for six days about his relationship with his daughter. They made him take DNA tests and sign a document that could send him to jail for 10 years if he was not being honest. “They wanted to take her away from me. My daughter is mine. No one can deny me my daughter,” Jeremy said. His daughter had stopped eating and could not stop crying because she was afraid to be separated from her father. The second DNA test confirmed what Jeremy had kept trying to demonstrate for six days -- the girl was his daughter. 


They have been in Ciudad Juarez for ten months and Jeremy has noticed changes in his daughter. He said, “she is sad and stressed but I give her words of encouragement, often. I tell her that we can’t let our guard down.” He added, “this migratory struggle has been difficult for us. I tell her that we cannot give up. Our faith is to keep fighting. Whatever happens, we have to keep moving forward for her own well-being and her future.”  

 

*using pseudonyms to protect identity

In the Hands of their Father

Fernando, his partner and his one-year old daughter fled Honduras after receiving death threats from the same people that killed his brother. Their journey to the United States border was very violent. Fernando’s partner was pregnant when they were returned to Ciudad Juarez under MPP so he was incredibly worried, not knowing where and under what conditions his baby would be born. 


The situation in Ciudad Juárez was worrisome, and with the outbreak of COVID-19 even more so, since, “the hospitals are saturated with COVID-19 cases,” explained Fernando. He was also worried about his partner’s health because she could not continue her prenatal treatment, or attend her psychological appointments, due to the quarantine. They were told that the baby’s due date would be June 15, which put them more at ease, since they believed that the pandemic would be under control by then. However, on the morning of May 11, the same day that they were supposed to have their immigration hearing in the United States, the shelter where they were living had to call an ambulance to take his partner to the Hospital de la Mujer. 


Due to protections in place related to COVID-19, the hospital did not allow Fernando to enter or accompany his partner. The policy was that only the patient was allowed in. “I stayed outside the hospital, taking my own precautions, not only from COVID but for my own safety,” Fernando shared. When the baby was born, they informed Fernando by phone, letting him know that both his daughter and partner were in good health.

 
The pandemic continues to limit the everyday activities in Ciudad Juarez and are even more difficulty for people in shelters, under conditions of extreme vulnerability. Due to the quarantine, the family has not been able to register the baby in the Civil Registry or receive any vaccinations. “My biggest worries are for my daughters, and my partner; they cannot get sick from COVID-19. I hope that no one tries harm them, or me. I don’t think that they can be in a better place than in the hands of their father.”
 

Puede leer esto en Español. 

 

*using pseudonyms to protect identity

En Manos de su Padre

Fernando*, su pareja y su hija de un año de edad salieron huyendo de Honduras después de recibir amenazas de muerte de parte de las mismas personas que mataron a su hermano. Su travesía hacia la frontera sur de Estados Unidos fue muy violenta. La pareja de Fernando estaba embarazada y al ser retornados a Ciudad Juárez bajo MPP, estaba aún más preocupado al no saber dónde y en qué condiciones nacería su bebe. 


La situación en Ciudad Juárez ya era preocupante, y con el estallido de COVID-19 aún más, ya que “los hospitales están saturados de casos de COVID-19”, explicó Fernando. Así mismo, el temía por la salud de su pareja debido a que no pudo seguir con su tratamiento pre-natal, ni acudir a sus citas psicológicas por causa de la cuarentena. Se les había informado que la fecha de parto era el 15 de junio, lo que según Fernando, los tenía más tranquilos debido a que ellos suponían que para esas fechas la pandemia estaría más controlada. Sin embargo, por la mañana del 11 de mayo, el mismo día que Fernando y su hija tenían la cita aplazada del juzgado migratorio en EEUU, el albergue tuvo que llamar a la ambulancia para llevar a su pareja al Hospital de la Mujer. 


A causa de las medidas preventivas relevantes al COVID-19, el hospital no permitió que Fernando entrara ni acompañara a su pareja. La política es que sólo entra la paciente. “Me quede afuera del hospital toda la noche tomando mis propias precauciones, no sólo del COVID-19 pero por seguridad,” comentó Fernando. Cuando nació la beba le informaron a Fernando por teléfono, asegurándole que ambas, madre e hija, se encontraban bien de salud. 


La pandemia sigue limitando actividades cotidianas en Ciudad Juárez, y más para quienes se encuentran en albergues bajo condiciones de extrema vulnerabilidad. A causa de la cuarentena la familia no ha podido registrar a la niña en el Registro Civil ni ponerle sus vacunas. “Mi preocupación más grande son mis niñas y mi pareja; no pueden contagiarse de COVID-19. Espero que nadie atente contra la vida de ellas, ni la mía, creo que no estarán mejor que en las manos de su padre.” 
 

Read this in English. 


* uso de seudónimos para proteger la identidad