Prior to coming to Paris, I considered myself to be a very open minded individual. I saw myself as the lily-livered bleeding-heart liberal who was receptive to all thought processes and ideas. While I still believe this to a degree, throughout my time in Europe, I have been confronted with challenges that have tested this identity.
In some aspects, it has been strengthened. For example; the issue of race and ethnicity in France is widely different than what it is in the United States. Because of the varied pasts with race relations between the U.S. and France, there are some obvious differences that come with the territory. But after being taught by French professors on issues of race and immigration in France, after meeting and speaking with children and grand-children of Algerian, Moroccan, Tunisian immigrants, I now see that France is a place where race is rarely dealt with in a way which furthers the conversation to a more inclusive conclusion. I have seen only fractions of the reasons why French politicians such as Marine Le Pen (France’s answer to Donald Trump and Nigel Farage), have risen to power. I have become more thankful for the diversity around me in America, the diversity that has never stopped speaking up against injustice. I still see the United States as a country that has, throughout its history, impeded in the natural rights of people of all minorities. We’ve progressed, there’s no denying, but after the past few years where this issue is once again being pushed into our national discourse – it seems as if we are regressing to a time of divisiveness and hatred that we haven’t seen since it was codified as laws. Especially after this election.
Let’s touch on that topic for a second; I was in Dublin during a study break watching the election night results at a Democrats Abroad event. (I was interviewed by the Irish Times while there: http://www.irishtimes.com/news/world/us/young-americans-in-ireland-he-got-ohio-he-f-ing-got-ohio-1.2860757) I left Ireland that night to head back to Paris without knowing who had won the final electoral votes and when I landed in Paris I was confronted by the grim reality that my country had elected a fraction of a man who has energized people who believe that my people and I do not belong in the national discourse. Even now, almost a month after, it is very difficult to talk about it without experiencing the physical and emotional toll that it took on me. I am still recovering from what happened on the night of November 8th, thankfully I had an incredible support group around me both here in Paris and from friends and family at home in New Jersey and at GW.
When I called my mom the night after, she knew that I was hurting and she knew that I needed to be home and not alone doing laundry in a student residence in Paris. She knew that I was scared. But she wasn’t and neither were my other family members, some who are undocumented and at risk of being deported from a country which they have lived, worked and studied in for decades. They weren’t scared for the simple reason that they have survived through worse. They survived through oppressive regimes in their home countries only to escape to another country that stands for inclusion and freedom yet never allowed them to rise and prosper. Some have lived for 20 years in the United States, paid their taxes, worked 70 hour work weeks at jobs that no one else wanted in order to scrape by and provide a better future for their children. My father did that – he kept his head down and day after day did his job in order to provide for my sister and I, he retired at the age of 67 – two years past the age that our nation is supposed to thank you for your work and allow you to live in peace knowing you have contributed to this greater American experiment. He died three years later, when I was 10, having given almost three decades of his life to his new home and the place where his son was born. He believed in an America where honest hard work is rewarded with a decent life, where his children can surpass his achievements by lightyears thanks to the system he served.
So when I stood up on the first day to introduce myself and described myself as fiercely Latino, I did it knowing that being a Latino in America is being part of a diverse cast, alongside our Black brothers and sisters, our Middle Eastern and Asian brothers and sisters, our Caribbean and European brothers and sisters, who have left their homes and struggled to make a life for themselves and their children. I did it knowing that we are a strong and resilient people that have had to jump through higher and smaller hoops faster than anyone else simply because this isn’t “our” country. After living in France for four short months, I have seen a place where the demographics of peoples has largely remained unchanged over the past two or three centuries. Where people of color struggle to define their identity in the French landscape, one which tells you to choose whether you want to be French or an immigrant but never both.
I am disappointed in my country, and yet in an admittedly enigmatic way – I am proud to be an American (read: Colombian-American/Honduran American) Mostly because I know that we have stood up through injustice after injustice with resilience and dignity without stooping to the lowest common denominator. I know that the next four years will be hard but never harder than the past 240 years that minorities in the United States have had to suffer through worse and have always, always overcome those challenges. I know that while I loved my experiences in Europe, I am eager to return to my country to continue working for the underrepresented and voiceless who need an advocate. I will do this with the new perspectives and practical skills I have obtained throughout my time here, and with a reenergized hope that, as a continent that has gone through centuries of turmoil and has always risen from the ashes, we too can continue to rise.
Oh yeah, I’m also going to miss the wine and baguettes.