“My fellow Americans, we are and always will be a nation of immigrants. We were strangers once, too.” ~ Barack Obama.

I have spent more than 85% of my life living in a land that was not the land of my birth.  Thus, as I recently posted on social media, I identify as Immigrant.  My first experience as a white child thrust into vibrant, rural, tropical community in Jamaica  (transplanted from grey, rainy, industrial England) was very instructional, to say the least.  Although racially I belonged to a minority, since this was one of England’s colonies (very recently declared Independent at the time my family and I arrived), the vestiges of the colonial masters remained in place.  The status quo was maintained by a light-skinned ruling class, and only gradually did those in authority begin to look more like the majority of the country who were descended from people who had been wrenched from Africa centuries before.

As the only white child in my primary (elementary) school, I was treated by the other students as an object of curiosity. Many had no experience of dealing with white people at all, and television was a rare luxury unknown to most. Fortunately, there were those who befriended me, and helped me to fit in, but for many my accent, my hair, the fact that when they pinched me my skin turned red, all of these were items to be commented on.  The day I fell on the marl covered playing ground and skinned my knee, I heard a child yell ‘Coo deh, she have red blood!’ (Look there…). 

Over the rest of my formative years, the world nearby was changing.  The US mainland was less than two hours away by plane, and news trickled in about civil rights struggles, race riots, and an emerging movement for ‘Black Power’.  In Jamaica this was matched by an increasing interest and exposure of the de-colonized version of local history, the truth about the trans-Atlantic slave trade and the role of Britain in that inhumane trafficking of human beings, as well as the true history of Africa, a huge continent with rich culture and traditions, mostly ignored or destroyed by the European colonizers who pillaged and looted for their own gain.  It is noteworthy that white immigrants to the colonies are never known as immigrants, no, the term for them is ‘ex-pats’ (short for ex-patriates, a person who lives outside of their native country).

In my early years in the US, as an immigrant I was fortunate in that my skin is white.  It was only when I opened my mouth that I would be asked ‘where are you from?’.  Often my accent would be admired, ‘I love to hear you talk’ I would be told, and I would wonder if I could monetize that, perhaps a radio show or something.  I didn’t realize what an advantage my white skin was at first.  My first job as a registered nurse was in the new tower block of a large medical center on Miami Beach.  Like all employees who did not live on the beach, I was subject to the requirement which originated when Black workers who worked on the beach needed to show evidence that they were there legitimately.  I needed to get a police ID (separate from my driver’s license) to show in case I was stopped.  Later, when I met up with fellow Jamaicans (not with white skin) who also worked at that prestigious medical center, I learned that it was very unusual for nurses with little experience (like me) to work on the new tower block.  They, despite their experience in maternity nursing (also being trained midwives) would be placed in one of the older parts of the hospital, working on the genito-urinary floor (smelly), or the orthopedic floor (heavy lifting).  Hmmmm.

Most Jamaican immigrants to the US (not with white skin) have at sometime been told by a (white) American: ‘But you’re not Black, you’re Jamaican!’, this being said as a compliment.  To which an obvious reply is that when stopped by a police officer, or other person in authority they are Black, and subject to the same racism and danger as any person of color in this country.  In fact the outcome may be far more dire, since they (unlike those who are descended from the enslaved Africans in this country) have not been given ‘the talk’.  They have not had centuries of mistreatment and abuse by those in authority that has resulted in the need for Black men to be extra polite, extra cautious, extra non-threatening, extra calm when approached or addressed by an officer of the law.

So, as a white immigrant, even though I too am aware that I need to be ready to defend my right to be in this country, backed up by documentation, I am given a pass.  I benefit from ‘white privilege’, although, since I was married to a (Blackish) Jamaican man, and gave birth to four biracial children, I can be harassed for the company I keep.  I have been in the car when pulled over (only reason for the stop was that my husband was ‘DWB’ – driving while black), and had to show my ID also.  I had to sit there while several other squad cars arrived, before everyone finally agreed there was no reason for the stop and nothing to charge us with.  In my first year in this country we traveled to Jacksonville for me to sit my ‘boards’, the two and a half day of exams that I had to pass in order to become a registered nurse.  This was the late 70’s, and I was acutely aware of the stares of the White Americans as they looked at me sitting next to my Black boyfriend.  When driving, I made sure my door was locked.

The political environment which has allowed for overt expressions of hostility to whole groups of people based solely on their country of origin, or their religion, or the color of their skin, or their sexuality, or their gender, is painful and cruel.  Not to mention that it puts their lives in danger.  Living in South Florida, we are well used to people from Haiti being mistreated and subject to unjust accusations.  These are a group of hard-working, God-fearing, ambitious people who love their families, strive to get an education, and look out for each other.  Unlike those for whom Spanish is their first language, the Haitian immigrant must speak English to work in South Florida, and many of them also speak Spanish (since their immediate neighbor on the island of Hispaniola speak Spanish).  It is truly despicable that, in the interests of stirring up more hatred and division, politicians are using them as a source of fear and contempt. 

Only an immigrant knows how difficult it is to fit in in a foreign land, a foreign culture.  Most of us also know the fear of working while undocumented, perhaps due to the expiration of a work visa without the new one being approved, or the expiration of a ‘green card’.  Now, even those who are ‘naturalized’ citizens are being threatened with ‘denaturalization’.  And yet most immigrants love the US, pay taxes, defend the US, and work hard to be a contributing, valuable member of society.  It is time for those American citizens who should be ashamed of the current political climate, to be more vocal and active in the defense of those who are being ‘otherized’. 

On this Friday morning, I hope that all those who can legitimately do so, vote their conscience.  It is time for an end to the cruel and harmful rhetoric, and a return to a kinder, gentler sense of community, one nation, where ‘We the People’ can feel recognized, valued, and supported.

Have a wonderful weekend, Family!

One Love!

Namaste.