My Undocumented Kohl's Experience
A few weeks ago, i went to the Kohl’s store near my house with my mother. She was going to buy me my birthday present.
As we approached the cash register, the woman handling our purchase asked me if i wanted to receive a discount. obviously, i said yes. she then asked for my social security number. uncomfortably, i said i did not have one. she then asked if i was sure. there is a line behind me. i am angry and a bit embarrassed. i said yes i am sure and if there is a way to go about this differently.
She then says i do not qualify for said discount… and proceeds to ring up my items.
My mom and i left feeling horrible.
I tweeted about it.
Almost immediately everyone was tweeting at me, including media, asking for more information on this event. folks were ready to boycott and protest Kohl’s for their anti-immigrant agenda.
Spokesperson for Kohl’s said social security numbers are needed for credit charge Kohl’s cards. however, i was never offered a card, i was offered a discount. which is probably to meet a Kohl’s internal card quota. which doesn’t take into consideration the awkwardness and uncomfortable-ness this causes for undocumented folks like me. You cannot sell a charge card as ‘a discount’ when not everyone has a damn social.
So Kohl’s Executive Office emailed me wanting to talk about my experience at one of their stores.
They apologized for my experience and stated that they did not mean to discriminate in any way. The reason a social was asked for was to run a credit check to then process a Kohl’s card. That however, was not explained or mentioned to me. The executive office had a check in with the Kohl’s store where I shopped to make sure this doesn’t happen again and to better educate employees. The communications hand-outs have been updated so that more/accurate information is given out to customers and employees about this “discount”. They genuinely seemed apologetic about the whole thing (it was either that or their fear of immigrant rights folks organizing around a boycott).
I understand quotas need to be met and sold with inviting language, but making undocumented people feel discriminated against is not the proper way to go about it. While these changes may not guarantee that incidents like these won’t happen again, it’s important for us to speak out when they do. No one should ever be made to feel uncomfortable, or unwelcomed, in any space, for not having a social security number.
<3,
Angy
Finding Forgiveness
The pain inflicted in her exterior is visible in every square, circle or triangle mirror she passes by.
Shiny crystallized eyes reflect suffering far beyond her years.
Pig tails, school books, Disney movies and Barbies accompany her
But
Eyes corrupted with things she should not have seen.
At the small age of seven she could have told you what the male genital looked like.
Mind corrupted by a man.
She could have told you how heavy a grown male, 5’6 to be exact, felt on top of a lifeless body tired of
kicking.
Waiting for the rescue that never came.
She could have told you that muffled screams did not stop him.
At the innocent age of seven there is nothing child-like about her.
No matter how much bubble gum body wash was used,
Her body stayed dirty in the places he touched her.
Ears scarred by the words he forced down as he belittled her heart, body and mind.
Repeated enough she believed it
“I’ll kill you if you tell.”
Every night after the first time she felt his breathe curl down her neck she’s been terrified of consented
kissing and touching reaching her inner soul.
Hands like wrinkly raisins prove the many tears she’s tried to catch and force back into
an overflowed soul by dark waters and images that cloud her.
Attack her.
She could have told you how many nightmare-filled nights she’s spent crying till sleep overtook.
Surrounded by the fear someone will open her bedroom door again.
Calloused feet from trying to outrun his hungry hands
till that time he succeeded in grabbing her while an oblivious mother was busy pushing a shopping cart,
somewhere else away from her.
Every night since the first time he forced her onto a bed she’s been terrified of willingly laying her
unprotected body next to a loving man.
Every night since the first time he forced his member onto her child-like existence she’s never
been capable of letting a man near the passage to her soul and innocence.
Every night since the first time she was berated, abused, molested and under validated she has
questioned her own worth.
Worthy of taking part in a fairytale romance.
Important enough to be caressed by soft silk hands.
Every day and every night after today I have decided to step out of the life consuming dark shadow he
has caused.
my life, dreams and my happiness will be lit up to show me the way.
Love myself, and be loved, like I’ve never been broken.
This blood and life pumping muscle is a reminder of what I survived,
I could have been raped.
I could have killed myself.
I could have been dead.
But
I have forgiven myself for the endless times the finger was pointed at me
Instead, I have forgiven him to find peace and unity within me every day from now on since today.
in all honesty
fuck all these fake allies telling undocumented youth not to apply for deferred action because it is a deportation machine/ pipeline.
it is not up to YOU to make that decision for US the undocumented youth that will actually be applying.
it is OUR decision. it is a PERSONAL decision.
how about we simply educate our communities and let them decide what is best for them? how about we provide the resources that they need for the decision they will be making about their own lives? how about we create a real safety net where you recognize the power we, undocumented youth, have… instead of continuing to create fear in our community?
Filing Tips: Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals
Filing your request for consideration of deferred action for childhood arrivals involves several steps. You need to submit multiple forms, evidence and fees. Small mistakes in preparing your request could lead to it being rejected. Please read these tips to avoid having your request rejected or delayed because of common filing errors.
Read the mailing instructions to see where to mail the forms based on the state you live in. Remember to send it to the P.O. Box address if mailing through the U.S. Postal Service. All forms are available onwww.uscis.gov for free. Do not pay for blank USCIS forms either in person or over the Internet.
2. Sign your forms – You must sign both your Form I-821D and Form I-765. If someone helps you fill out the forms, that person must also sign both Form I-812D and Form I-765 in the designated box below your signature.
3. Write your name and date of birth the same way on each form – Variations in the way information is written can cause delays. For example, you should not write Jane Doe on one form and Jane E. Doe on another form. It is important to read all instructions on the forms carefully.
4. Use the correct version of Form I-765 – Always make sure you have the most recent form when submitting your request with USCIS. Review our Forms page to download the most recent version. You can download all USCIS forms and instructions for free on our websitewww.uscis.gov.
5. Use Form I-821D NOT Form I-821 – Form I-821D is used to request consideration of deferred action for childhood arrivals. Form I-821 is a different form used to apply for Temporary Protected Status, an entirely different process.
6. Do NOT e-file Form I-765 – Requests for consideration of deferred action cannot be e-filed. You must mail your package (Forms I-821D, I-765, I-765WS, evidence and fees) to the appropriate USCIS Lockbox.
7. Submit correct fees –The fee to request consideration of deferred action for childhood arrivals is $465 and cannot be waived. There arefee exemptions available only in limited circumstances. You may submit separate checks of $380 and $85, or one single check of $465.
8. Answer all questions completely and accurately – If an item is not applicable or the answer is “none,” leave the space blank. To ensure your request is accepted for processing, be sure to complete these required form fields:
Form I-821D: Name, Address, Date of Birth
9. Provide all required supporting documentation and evidence – You must submit all required evidence and supporting documentation. These documents are required for USCIS to make a decision on your request. Please organize and label your evidence by the guideline it meets.
10. If you make an error on a form, start over with a clean form – USCIS prefers that you type your answers into the form and then print it. If you are filling out your form by hand, use black ink. If you make a mistake, please start over with a new form. Scanners will see through white out or correction tape and this could lead to the form being processed as incorrect, and lead to processing delays or denial.
You cannot be the age of 31 or older as of June 15, 2012, to be considered for deferred action for childhood arrivals.
To ensure that your request is accepted for processing, it is important that you review your entire request package before you file with USCIS.
For more information on consideration of deferred action for childhood arrivals, visit www.uscis.gov/childhoodarrivals. If you have questions about filing a request, please call USCIS at 1-800-375-5283.
[see original here: http://blog.uscis.gov/2012/08/filing-tips-deferred-action-for.html]
COVERGIRL
Some say your body changes when you lose it
I can understand why
Something you’ll never get back
Don’t know where it went
Don’t know why it happened in the first place
It ain’t coming back.
“I lost my virginity to a douche bag” she said to me
Couldn’t feel he heart beating anymore
Couldn’t hear her laughing anymore
She don’t want to talk no more
Trying to be tough trying to be strong
Can’t let the weakness show
Keep these emotions under control
Having nightmares
Tossing turning screaming crying
Hearing him breathe heavy on her
Put his hands on her
Thrust her thighs open
Pry her pull her rip her
Tearing at the perfectly imperfect body
Pushing shoving rushing into her
Not a moan was heard
But the sound of the bed slamming into the wall each time he…
Silently weeping covering the bruises
Cover girl, you can’t hide the ones inside
They say your body changes when you lose your virginity
Hips don’t swing anymore
Shoulders slouched, arms crossed, lips sealed
Trying to love but inside is broken
Everything spills through the cracks
Innocence wasn’t lost but taken
Begging to stop
Following by a grunt and a slap
Hands no longer open to touch
Cold, solid hands pushing, shoving, rushing away from here.
Punching life in the face for letting her down
Lonely and scared
“god wasn’t there” she said to me.
Saw her childhood burn up in flames
All a big blur like faded pictures
Along with her laughter
Tiny little hands holding tight to little dolls
Glittery dreams for a glittery future, no longer sparkling
She crawled into a fragile ball
Body disrespected for no reason at all
Forced to stand up tall
grow up and take control
saw fists swinging into the air
no longer victory but attempted assault
screaming taunting for a fight
holding a brick heavy bat
food flying smacking into the walls of a basement apartment
red bloody ketchup dripping to the floor
pieces of rice decorate the room like tiny little stars covering the night sky
she hides
saw his robe purposefully coming undone
hungry hands pulling a little princess’s body
suffocating swallowing her whole
saw his rusty lips with greed and past innocence
slide up and down her neck
like a light switch being forced to turn on
heard her muffled plea, “PLEASE!”
tears trapped in her eyes start to burn down her cheeks
make it end
scared to ask for help
terrified screams spilling over her edge pouring like the Niagara falls
he said he’d call someone
take her away from mama
separating her from who had given her birth
the one who provided the breath of life that boosted her existence
life that apparently isn’t sacred enough to respect
trembling and shaking
night after night he’s lurking in the corners of her nightmares biggest fears
disgusted with her reflection
someone once told her, “your body changes when you lose your virginity”
but what if it’s taken by force?
No one mentioned what would happen to her soul
Girl,
The ground you set foot on is divine
You’re not a penny, dollar, quarter or dime piece
You’re a fucking masterpiece
Created by love, you’re royalty
The words you speak
drenched in truth
dripping with life
the sparkle in your eyes
all of it.
all of you.
sublime
Working Skin
Sweatshop eyes glistening with tears that drip drop on red white blue fabric.
Stitched and woven into the American flags they so proudly wave.
Sand paper rough calloused hands feed young mouths,
caress a loving partner good-bye,
Looking for a better life.
Foreign skin
Diving, ducking, leaping, flying, swimming
To achieve a dream
Hungry and thirsty
Mouth watering.
Craving the taste of freedom on their tongues.
Running, screaming, hiding, sobbing, escaping Grimm reaper faces
Black brick-heavy guns filled with bullets of racism.
Tripping.
Falling into a wonderland of dessert sands.
Falling over bodies no longer breathing.
Lungs filled with trapped wishes never completed.
No escape.
No flask or treat to eat.
No white rabbit.
Raped hands holding tight to childhood laughter
Robbed hands feeding young mouths that aren’t their own
Caressing hearts
Hoping to one day return.
Undocumented skin
Working, learning, working, eating and
Sleeping, working, smiling, working and
Crying and working and weeping while working
It never stops
Dragging dreams into white colored mansions and green parks
Pushing strollers that aren’t their own.
my immigration status got in the way
I stood there in the kitchen twirling the curly wire in my hand
as I heard your beautiful voice fill my soul through the phone receiver.
Not as often as mom would have liked but still the same.
Having to buy calling cards at the local bodega.
Having to schedule when I would speak to my Abuela.
Telephonically connected for about 5 minutes until the operator started harassing us that it was time to hang up.
5 minutes to tell you I loved you and thought about you all the time.
5 minutes to hear you say, “estoy orgullosa de ti mija”
to ask if you received my package.
Enough time to say we were going to see each other soon
that we would finally be able to walk hand in hand down the streets of Colombia
smell the air surrounding your little farm
as our toes dip into the rivers by its bed which are bathed in coffee richness.
See the beautiful land of my ancestry. of your ancestry.
Drink agua panela while you tell me stories about the time you fell climbing a tree
the scab on your knee
the scar encrusted on your hand from the time you burned yourself
I’ll laugh while you tell me embarrassing stories of mami
I’ll listen to the first time you killed a chicken para el sancocho even though I’m totally disgusted
5 minutes to make promises and scenarios
to mend the pain our departure caused
enough time to say things I didn’t believe.
enough time to escape reality.
Standing in a hectic line at Best Buy with mami
she holds a black box that will provide a relief to the distance
that will shorten the space between us caused by the lack of a social security card
a box which encompasses a black logitech webcam that focuses on reuniting separated families.
not having enough tissues
not having enough tears left
after seeing you on the screen
my curly locks reflected in your curly short hair
laugh lines and crows feet imprinted on your face
showing the passage of time
the pain that’s left behind
the wounds you cannot hide
Grandma
Finding out you had breast cancer was the toughest thing to deal with
or so I thought.
No one told me the grieving would be this painful.
Having to watch your health decline through webcam appointments
and listening to your laugh fade on the phone
will forever be images and sounds imprinted in my heart.
Mom always told me to suck it up when I spoke to you.
That you needed our strength
you needed our love.
To just mention the happy things,
keep the conversation ordinary.
But, every time you told me to please stop sending money and let you die in peace, a piece of me broke inside.
Every time you begged for me to come say goodbye
to please see you one last time
I covered my mouth so you wouldn’t hear me cry.
Abuela
I’m sorry for turning out to be the granddaughter I didn’t want to be.
I’m sorry for not being there every step of the way
I’m sorry for not being by your side as you faced this
alone.
when your soul started getting weary
when your sickness weighed more than any fridge, any elephant or any weight ever lifted
when your precious curls started falling out and spreading all across your pillow and the spaces in between your fingers
I should have been there
to pick up the pieces of your life and glue back together your memories
to comfort you as the medicines took control of your frail existence
to help you walk up and down those same roads we promised to once visit
For National Coming Out of the Shadows Undocumented and Unafraid Week I decided to come out through poetry. Here is the audio and the written version. I hope you like it. Press play on the audio and follow along [=
Rusty Chains
By: Angy
opening the squeaky door I find my mother sitting there
bent over holding albums in one hand
soft cream colored tissues in the other
trembling.
shaking.
crying.
begging for forgiveness.
I’m tired.
I’m tired of seeing my mother cry and ask for forgiveness to a crime she did not commit.
her salty heavy tears falling from her cheeks like dead bodies failing to cross the border
feelings of guilt from her immigration situation
lacking papers. no documentation
crying over opportunities I couldn’t receive
dreams I couldn’t complete.
fussing over empty social security number boxes
on college applications
what will I say to the administration?
my mother
who so fearlessly dropped everything and everyone for something new
a place she did not understand she couldn’t comprehend
parent teacher conferences, doctor’s appointments, meeting with the landlord, at the store,
I translated everything
becoming her ears, mouth
covering her eyes her lips with my 6 year old tenderness.
the bridge to two worlds.
coffee beans, salsa, vallenatos, agua ardiente, arepas, empanada, agua panela
meets
backstreet boys, sesame street, barney, concrete pavements and snow
my mother
who spent nights crying for life and memories back home
no longer in control
she thought I didn’t know
every muffled weep stabbed at my soul
she said, “Angy, I came because of you”
hatred rose in the depth of my heart and mind
wanted to cover my eyes, ears and hide
why?
yelling. screaming “why didn’t you just abort me!
grabbed me, pulled me right out of your body
saved yourself all this agony
searched for a better life without me?”
“I didn’t have a reason to live..till you came along” she counters.
my mother
always sacrificing.
giving but never receiving
scared her status will be revealed by simply breathing
don’t talk about this, don’t trust anyone.
raised in dark-colored all-consuming fear
sucking me down stealing my laugh
scared to own this, afraid to be myself
no le digas a nadie! I heard her repeat. don’t tell anybody.
Oppression and injustice weighing down on my back
bones splitting cracking weighing down on me
I’m reaching for clarity
hate, tugging at me pulling from all sides.
gotta break free
from these
rusty colored chains that
tie me down from
reaching my fullest potential.
holding on tight to them I
dig my nails and teeth into every word ever spoken
every diss
every hate crime
every time my mother was blamed
each hate word carved in my brain
dig my nails and teeth into each tear I shed
for every time I was told I wouldn’t be able to do it
for my grandmother looking down from heaven
this is for you.
for all the memories we didn’t have a chance to create
for my mother sitting somewhere at home
this is for you.
for all the fear drowning in you I will come out alone
crushing these chains and
stating I am undocumented and unafraid
I want to celebrate our victory
not sorry.
and yes
I will own my story
Connecting Our Struggles
coming out publicly about ones immigration status is an empowering step for many undocumented individuals.
Why?
Because the simple act of stating something that society instructs to be kept hidden is an act of revolution.
Because once something we all have in common is stated out loud we create unity among people sharing the same struggle.
Because finding this unity or support system is important to those who feel alone.
Connecting our struggles and identities is where a movement is born.
I’ve come out of the shadows undocumented and unafraid for over 2 years now. On tv, the radio, news papers, blog posts and t-shirts. Two of the biggest events in which I stated my status were organized for the National Coming Out Day in March. One sunny morning in 2010 I stood in front of the Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) building right here in New York and stated that I am undocumented. In March 2011 I stood in the middle of a circle in Union Square and told all the onlookers. However, when writing and sharing my story of self I never told anyone that I was molested as a child by someone I know.
In high school we were asked to submit a personal statement along with our college applications…an essay about ourselves which described a struggle we faced that empowered us in a certain way. I didn’t embrace my undocumented identity as much back then so I decided to write about being molested and how it had changed me. This is something big and I cannot hide the fact that it happened; it has shaped who I am. I didn’t want to be secretive about it and I know that being quiet about something this huge doesn’t mean it makes it go away…so I wanted to embrace it. I wanted to share this huge fact about myself because I know I am not the only one. By writing my piece I had hoped to reach other girls who like me were once in the same situation. I wanted to get over this huge fear of intimacy. I had hoped that writing it out would mean I wouldn’t have nightmares anymore. However, one of my high school teachers told me to never tell anyone about what happened, “you should try to write about something that won’t be embarrassing to speak about when interviewed by college staff. This is not an appropriate topic” and just like that she convinced me to keep quiet about something that is intertwined with my sense of self.
Similarly, I read and hear about folks coming out as:
parent and undocumented
student and undocumented
working while undocumented
unemployed and undocumented
queer and undocumented
But I’ve never been able to say that I survived molestation and am also undocumented because I didn’t understand how both were connected. I didn’t understand how one issue balanced with the other. I didn’t understand that my inability to ask for help when the abuse was happening was intertwined with the threats I heard of having ICE called, of having my family separated. I didn’t understand that by sharing this story I could reach other individuals who may be living this every day and don’t ask for help because they think it isn’t there.
Why bring one topic as controversial as sexual molestation into the already controversial issue that is immigration?
I get it now.
Because one may not agree with my fight for immigrant rights, but by seeing a another side to my story they’ll understand that I’m just as much of a human as anyone else.
Because I’ve stated my immigration status and I seem brave and courageous, even though another aspect of me is still scared and embarrassed.
Because to fully promote empowerment we must practice it.
Because we are all survivors of something and there is nothing to be quiet about.
Coming out isn’t just one identity. It is about finding strength and courage within all of our struggles. Coming out about any obstacle we have faced, and embracing it, is where we empower ourselves and aren’t ashamed about it anymore. Sure, talking about my immigration status is controversial enough as it is but folks needs to understand that this isn’t the only problem I am facing.
Yes, I am undocumented but that isn’t the only aspect about me that matters. And so, one of my resolutions for 2012 was to embrace all of me equally. I am not a 2D person, but 3D even 4D with different facades to my identity, different struggles, different stories that go untold because many believe that this is only a one issue movement. When it’s not. By connecting all of our stories, struggles and realizing that there is unity in oppression we are able to really move forward. Our existence is combined with many other things.
Do I Consider Myself American?
I am tired of being asked if I consider myself American…
and when I say that I don’t…
people try to force America down my throat.
Honestly, when I hear “American” I think about raids, deportation, genocide, wars, guns, racism, segregation etc etc
When I see the American flag I think about white supremacy for some reason.
But I feel like these are things I’m not allowed to say in public or when interviewed because the common response is…
“so why don’t you just leave?”
Well, Colombia is messed up…there’s a reason as to why we left.
There’s la guerilla
poverty is where my mother grew up
deaths all around
and of course we came to the united states for a better life. or at least a semi-decent one.
However,
Am I not allowed to be proud of where my family and I are from?
Am I not allowed to speak Spanish when I please? entonces para que carajos me ensenaron?
Am I not allowed to wave the Colombian flag around or wear Colombian jewelry?
Why is it that folks feel I can only be proud of the country of my birth while at a parade or festival…but not everyday
Some folks tell me…“well you are American because you were raised here and you advocate for equality..that’s the American thing to do”
No.
I wasn’t raised American. My mother raised me as a God-fearing-Colombian.
What does it even MEAN to be “American”?
America imports cultures, music, food, religions even labor is imported. So to be American am I suppose to appreciate other music, food and religions?
Because if so… i already do that… i eat all kinds of food and listen to all kinds of music
but something tells me there’s more than that.
Apparently I am not American because I call politicians out on their bullshit.
So the American thing to do is sit around and let them do as they please?
I was raised listening to salsa, vallenatos, merengue, bachata
I was raised eating bunuelos, pan de bono, natilla, arepas, empanadas
and I honestly have more Spanish music on my Ipod than English
No.
Advocating for equality is not the American Thing To Do
Advocating for equality is the RIGHT thing to do..regardless of what country you are in.
Advocating for equality is something America does NOT do. Why do you think people protest? Why are people being racially profiled? Why are students being tracked while in school? Why are there homeless people? Why is there a wage inequality between men and women? Why is there a need for affirmative action? Why have we had dozens of white presidents and only now do we have an African American one? Why is there NAFTA? Why are almost all the Disney princesses white?
I respect everyone else’s ideas of America.
If you believe Democracy exists..that’s fine
If you believe the American Dream is real..that’s fine too
but respect me..and my beliefs.