This weekend I decided to take a seven hour drive back home to Illinois in order to finish my taxes and see some family. As I sat down and started writing about a different topic, my grandfather came over to my house and asked what I was doing. After explaining to him the basics of my refugees/displaced peoples class and this assignment, mostly in Spanish, he asked me if I knew the history of my own family and our migration story. I have always known I am a Mexican-American, my grandfathers family was from Mexico and I knew he was born in a border town, and that my grandmother moved to the US at the age of 16 from the United Kingdom. Yet even though I was some-what relevant to my families past struggles and culture, I have not been able to appreciate my family's migration narrative and mixed culture until now.

 During the Mexican Revolution of the 1910's many land Mexicans were forced to leave their homes and land in fear of their lives. My great grandpa, Guadalupe Gonzalez, was a land owning Mexican citizen who was threatened and assaulted for his political views and land during the time of the revolution. Great-grandpa Lupe and three of his relatives made a run from Mexico to America late one night in a hope of safety and security, as one of my great-uncles was murdered by the government. After a month long trip from central Mexico to the border, my great-grandfather made it to Pharr Texas, a boarder town known for an extreme Hispanic population. Mexicans that migrated to the United States were not treated as asylum seekers from a war torn government though, as there was no refugee convention before World War 2, and even that convention would not have applied to my Mexican great grandfather, pictured below. 

The story of my grandmother is different. My grandma was born in Ipswitch, England right before World War 2. During the war, her town in England was destroyed by bombings and her father was sent to the war efforts, leaving my great grand mother with three young daughters in a frequently bombed England. My great grandmother took my grandma to the United states to just take a trip, so my grandma thought, until great grandma Racheal told my grandma she was here to stay, as it was no longer safe in England. Although both sides of my mothers family have migrant stories, their personal experiences were much different. My great grandfather was forced to build his own house on unclaimed land in the desert-like boarder climate, was forced to learn a new language, and died at the age of 40 due to an illness that could've been treated by doctors. My grandmother, a white woman, tells me her immigration story in a much more, american-dream tone, compared to the grind and strive tone set by my great grandpa Lupe. My grandmother was legally allowed to entire, as Lupe was not. Grandma was given government help, Lupe was not. My grandfathers side still gets judged for being immigrants who at one point feared for their lives, my grandmother does not. I always knew white privilege was a thing, yet I did not see the conflicting power of privilege in my families story until I was ready to realize who I am and who my family is, not what color my skin tone is or what group is favorite more by American politics and media. My great grandfather set the way for me to one day fight the injustices that forced him to flea, and if there is one thing I have already taken from this course, it would be how to better comprehend and appreciate my families narrative, and how to use our story, my story, to fight for equality in  nation divided by color.