I, too, am America
I was born in California. One side of my family immigrated to the United States in the early 17th century. The other side of my family arrived on tightly packed ships filled with misery and tears. We have been American for a long time.
Yet, it wasn’t until a cool night in November 2008 that I felt a sense of belonging. Barack Obama’s victory felt like a personal victory, an acceptance of sorts. I was not naïve enough to believe, as some proclaimed, that we arose that morning in a country with a deeply flawed racial history and went to bed post-racial, unified, and free. But for an evening, I, too, sang America.
Like many Americans of color, I have been told to go back where I came from or that I if I don’t like it here, I can leave. Most of this moving advice has come from white, self-proclaimed Christian men. This is in keeping with the American tradition of the violence of Manifest Destiny, colonialism, finders-keepers, and the expulsion of “savages” under the guise of civilization and proselytizing.
