CHASING DOWN THE MUSE: Many borders, many stories

“Where are you from?”

It’s a simple question used in conversations with new acquaintances, especially those with an obvious foreign accent. The deeper and embedded question, “Where were you born?,” is a question that is loaded with unspoken prejudices and personal histories.

We are the product of our beginnings, and birthrights can range from those of privilege to those of despair and hunger. Those lucky children born in countries with well-developed societies are gifted with opportunities that those born in third-world countries might never experience. Rights of property, freedom of choice, education, potable water and social services are just a few.

My father tells a story that has entertained his children over the years and provoked a set of relevant questions. Seems my father was keen on developing land in the protected zone of Mexico, a strip of land 30 miles wide at the edge of the sea. This was before the 1970s enactment of the Fideocomiso, a bank trust that provided a vehicle for foreigners’ purchase of said land.

Stymied in his attempts at acquisition, he developed a tale about being born in Tijuana.

The story goes like this. His very pregnant mother had gone to the bullfights in Tijuana and unexpectedly went into labor. Baby Cooper was born in a Tijuana hospital, healthy and well. His Mexican citizenship granted him land privileges; he could proceed with his project.

He swears that my grandmother transported him as a newborn across the border and checked into a San Diego hospital. It was there, he says, that she received his U.S. birth certificate, stripping him of his Mexican privilege. Of course, my grandmother never corroborated his story.

My husband, Stephen, is often asked the same question, “Where were you born?” His answer surprises most. “Laguna Beach,” he says slyly, although in reality, the closest hospital in 1951 was in Santa Ana. He is sansei, or third-generation Japanese-American. He carries the facial features and physical characteristics of the Japanese race, although he speaks little of the language.

His mother and father were both born in the United States, full citizens, but not protected from the rage and fear that swept through the country during World War II. His mother, her family, as well as many members of his father’s, were stripped of their property and possessions and herded into concentration camps in California and Arizona. His father, a member of the U.S. Army, was put to task breaking code. A black stain on our history.

The Fourteenth Amendment to the United States Constitution states that “All persons born or naturalized in the United States .... are Citizens of the United States and the State wherein they reside.”

Be born here, get rights here. It’s a dilemma that chokes the current immigration debate.

Visual citizenship in the United States is a tricky business. We are a nation comprised of immigrants, except for our Native Americans. We are many colors, many sizes and heights, many languages and dialects. We cannot be defined by our outward package, nor by our religious beliefs or family values.

Brown-skinned friends of mine, both those born here and those naturalized, tell tales of current harassment. Their stories pain me, as I sense fear again sweeping our nation. This time, the fear is based not in war, but in dollars. Those without citizenship are draining our social service budgets.

There are no simple answers. As law-abiding citizens, we are affronted by those who would break our laws, sneak across our borders, take what is not theirs.

Illegal immigrants force us into a dialect about citizenship; upon whom to bestow it, where and when. The children of immigrants force another dilemma. Should we deport their parents, thereby creating foster children? Send back the entire family, denying the children their birthrights? Should we simply embrace them all?

Why do they come? Is it just for our social services? Do they come to be a drain? Or is it so that they can create a life of opportunities they cannot find in their own country?

Instead or pouring billions of dollars into fences and walls, is there a way can we work together to create opportunities that might benefit both sides of the border? Could we fund educational initiatives? Could we assist in the creation of works programs to improve their country’s infrastructure?

Is there a path we can craft, utilizing all of our intelligence, wealth and power, that benefits our neighbors, as well as ourselves?