I moved to Georgia from San Antonio, Texas at the tender age of 15. I had spent my formative years in S.A. growing up in a community that is proud of it’s Latino heritage among many Hispanic friends. I was not raised to view Hispanics as any different than me, rather to appreciate the rich culture. Fiesta, ten days of cultural celebration in downtown San Antonio, was always a fun time of year for me growing up because many of the events celebrated the city’s Mexican roots (that, and we had a school holiday and El Rey Feo would visit school and throw gold coins to us, which was fun). Tortilla soup, cascarónes, Mexican dresses with my jellies, knowing there’s more than just a boy-band named menudo: all a part of my South Texas childhood. My sister-in-law is Latina, as is my precious niece. Many of my closest friends as a child were Hispanic, and I loved them! I was particularly close with Laura Chavez and Sandy Villalobos. I attended Sandy’s quinceañera with Wes Morgado, another one of my best friends who was a Mexican folk dancer, and I was really excited to have him as my escort.
So when I moved to Georgia and heard, for the first time in my life, some of the racial slurs used against Latinos, I was horrified. And rightfully so. You see, the area of northwest Georgia I moved to happens to be home to many Latino immigrants, most of them first-generation. And unfortunately, with the rise in immigration came a rise in already-racist sentiment. I saw new things that delighted me like the small, locally-owned businesses popping up to feed the demand for Mexican and South American goods- carnicerías, tiendas, and helado vendors. But I also heard stereotypes that I had been completely unfamiliar with spouted with disdain. The economic boon that these immigrants brought did not blunt the community’s sense of entitlement or fear. I was shocked to hear what people said about each other, to witness discrimination in it’s purest form, as I never had before. It left quite an impression on me.
I think my disillusionment with (what I deemed at that time) the “rednecks” around me gave me a stronger, deeper connection with the Hispanic peoples and culture I grew up with, whom I always considered my own. As an adult, I have taken on the cause of Hispanic and immigrant rights. I feel strongly that many people discriminate against Hispanics and immigrants out of fear, which is what most xenophobia, homophobia, and racism is based out of. It is a fear of the unknown. It comes from a place of ignorance, a misunderstanding.
One thing that I think most people are mistaken about is that all Latinos are “Mexican” and illegal, which is most certainly not the case. While many Latino immigrants are Mexican in descent, many are from Honduras, Venezuela, Colombia, the Dominican Republic, El Salvador, Brazil, Nicaragua, Costa Rica, Guatemala, Peru, and Cuba. Most Hispanics are second- or third-generation, meaning that while their parents or grandparents were born in a Latin-American country, they were born here, and are U.S. citizens. Others were born in Puerto Rico, and are U.S. citizens from birth. But most people don’t seem too discriminating in their discrimination. Folks around here see the last name Gutierrez or a sign printed in Spanish and immediately they think, “Illegal!” “Wetback!” “Mexican!”
A lot of people never stop to think that Maria could have moved to the area from California, New York, Texas, or another state, or that Victor might have an H1-B. More than likely the people you encounter are legal residents with visas or green cards, naturalized citizens, or native citizens. Just because someone is Hispanic does not mean he or she is illegal, and no one should be treated differently based on his or her last name.
