An Open Letter to the Reddit Community

TheJaice · 7時間前

My grandparents were children, living in a German speaking village in the Ukraine, and our family had been there for generations, when WWII started. When the Germans pushed through Ukraine, they gave my grandparents German citizenships, due to the fact that they spoke German. They were forced to work manual labour on their own farms for nothing, and give almost everything to the German soldiers.

When the Soviets pushed back, they fled through Eastern Europe, afraid that the Soviets would kill them as soon as they heard them speaking German. My great-aunt told me stories about their escape that made me weep, including losing a baby to illness, which was buried, through the kindness of strangers, in an unknown town in Poland, and having to leave an older brother and his family is East Germany, because they had a baby that may have cried on the train, and revealed them all.

My grandfather remembers riding a bike out of the city of Dusseldorf (they didn't know it was Dusseldorf until years later) while the British bombers flew overhead, and he dove into a ditch, while my Great-Grandmother lay in a horse-cart in the middle of the road, delivering my great-uncle, by herself, and thinking the bombs would fall on them at any moment.

As a child, I can remember at Thanksgiving and Christmas, my grandfather would never eat pumpkin pie. I found out when the escaped Europe and came to Canada, they had sailed on a boat that was carrying pumpkins, and that was all they had to eat for months, as they crossed the Atlantic. He never ate pumpkin again.

My grandparents were very fortunate to arrive in Canada, and were set up working on beet farms in Southern Alberta, where they spent the rest of their lives. But my Dad was a first-generation Canadian, from a German-speaking family, growing up in the decade after WWII. He and his brothers (and my grandparents) faced a lot of discrimination and hatred as he grew up, but they also found acceptance, and a country that welcomed them with open arms. My Dad, despite being a white male, in his late 50's, is one of the strongest proponents for helping those who are trying to create a better life for themselves, because his parents lived it, and if they had been turned away, my Dad wouldn't be here, I wouldn't be here, my kids wouldn't be here.

My Dad met that baby, his cousin, who had to stay behind in East Germany, when he was in his 30's, and his cousin was in his 50's. He spent his whole life living behind the iron curtain, and my Dad, who is the strongest man I know, cries when he thinks about how close his parents came to a similar fate.

Zexui · 7時間前

Both my parents grew up during the Khmer Rouge. When my father was a teenager he had to cross the border into Thailand and then back to Cambodia just to gather food for my family. Not only did he have miles to hike but he was also under the threat of being killed by Pol Pot's men or Thai soldiers. When he was 14 he threatened several Thai soldiers with a hand grenade just so he could take home a watermelon. Two of his sisters starved to death. My mom witnessed kids stepping on land mines and people being executed on the spot. My grandfather was executed by firing squad for being a teacher. Luckily both of my parents made it into Red Cross refugee camps. Both of them eventually moved here to the US where they met and had me and my brother. I'm incredibly thankful for the United State's refugee program because I literally wouldn't be alive without it. Now I'm 19 years old and ready to become an educated productive member of society. Although our country may have its problems, I still could not be any more prouder to be a United State's citizen.

Edit: Wow! Thanks for the love friends. We're all a bit divided right now, but I'm hopeful that one day we all can come together and work as one planet.

G1trogFr0g · 7時間前

The year is 1975 and the Vietnam War has ended. My grandfather has been sent to a Reeducation camp, and my father at 17 years old becomes the man of the house. His uncle and him lease a 20ft fishing boat and for the next 9 months they learn how to operate, sail and feed themselves. Finally one night, he takes his crew, along with 200 others, and sneaks their way out of Vietnam to Malaysia.

After 3 days at sea, they finally see the coast. They start to enter the cove when the authorities using war boats shoo them away back into international waters.

This how I know my father, even at the age is 17, will always be smarter than me. He tells them to keep circling the in-land until they find the richest, most expensive resort they can find. Then, just before dawn, they sneak closely to the white sandy beaches, drop off the women and children quickly, go back out 100 ft and sink the boat. By the time the authorities have discovered them: there are 200 people floating on to the beach, boat sinking, and about 25 white tourists watching this commotion. The authorities cannot afford the bad press and allow them into Malaysia as refugees.

After 9 months, an American church sponsored him to come to America, legally. They paid for his plane ticket, and gave him a place to live and donated clothes (added this edit due to some confusions in the comments)

My father eventually made to America and landed in the dead of Boston's winter with $5 cash, an address, and is wearing shorts no less. Thankfully, a kind American gives him a jacket as he exits the airport.

At 19 years old, owning $5, a borrowed jacket, and without knowing English; he pushed himself into the local college; sometimes ate pigeons caught in his dorm room; drove $300 cars; and graduated with a Bachelors in Engineering and has played a small but integral part in creating the first personal computers.

Edit: grammar, and to thank everybody who has taken the time to read this. And thank you anybody who has ever helped out a refugee.

Edit2: thanks the gold stars! My first!

Edit3: **there seemed to some confusion that I didn't make clear, he came to America legally when a Christian church sponsored him ( he was and is atheist).

tiger13cubed · 7時間前

I am a Bosnian-American. My mom and I fled war-torn Bosnia in the early 90's after a man came to our front door and pointed guns at us because of our religion. (I won't say which one but you can guess with one...) We struggled in refugee camps for a couple of years, suffering starvation and disease until we finally got asylum to come to the US. My mom and I are both US citizens and we love our country. We live in the south now and we fear that the same persecution that drove us to flee to the US will make us flee from it.

jrshaul · 7時間前

My grandfather came to the US in the 1950s.

He had nothing left in Germany. His property was looted or destroyed; his family, almost totally murdered. He'd spent the war fighting for the British without a passport as the only sort of turncoat they'd readily accept - a Jew.

He was a bitter, cynical man with an irrational denial of his own mortality. A man who never fit in and who could never go home. A man whose jeep had hit a German land mine, requiring him to collect the steaming bits of his driver - a kid from Kentucky - from yards around.

And y'know what? Nobody cared.

No one cared that he was German, or Jewish, or had a glass eye (though, in fairness, it was a really good glass eye.) Nobody cared he couldn't stand American food and didn't really get the culture and flatly refused to buy German cars or anything touched by IBM. (His typewriter was a Wang.)

My grandfather was a refugee - one never accepted by the country on whose behalf he fought. An American gave his life for him in the war; but it was America that gave him a life to call his own.

BlaueKrieger · 7時間前

I am an immigrant. My father was murdered in my home country in the late 70's. My mother brought me to the U S., legally, as a child. I went on to serve in the U S. military for nearly three decades, which included tours in Iraq and Afghanistan (twice). During my time in the military I graduated from college with honors and also earned a masters degree. I am now a civilian working professional with a good job, a family and paying a nice chunk in taxes. That's my story in a nutshell.

santaunavailable · 8時間前

My cousin secured a Visa right before the Syrian war broke out -- he was supposed to visit us in the summer of my seventh grade.

Then his father was tortured to death by the Syrian government.

We managed to bring our cousin over with his visa, but he had to leave the rest of his family behind.

We're glad we got him the visa.

Edit: Thank you for the gold.

If anyone else wants to gild me, I politely ask that they decline to do so and instead donate to the Syrian American Medical Society. They're good guys.

https://foundation.sams-usa.net/donate/

SteveAngelis · 8時間前

My extended family fled from the Germans in the 30's. Most were turned away. A few lucky ones got into Canada, a few into Brazil and South America. The rest were sent back to Germany. All those sent back to Germany died.

Food for thought...

Edit: The only picture I have of some of them. We do not even know their names anymore: http://i.imgur.com/NtCB5QS.jpg

hoodoo-operator · 8時間前

People complaining that reddit is becoming too political seem to forget that the admins blacked out the entire site in protest of a specific bill being voted on in Congress. Making a post in opposition of a president's executive order is small potatoes compared to their political actions in the past.

Andromeda321 · 8時間前

Astronomer here! I just had a colleague in the Netherlands who is a kickass astronomer forced to turn down an invited talk to a prestigious institute in the USA. Which would be an amazing career boost and really help out science in the USA as well... but he happens to be Iranian in addition to Dutch, because his father is, so he can't come give his invited talk. This is so fucking awful on so many levels.

My own family's immigrant story because you asked: I am a first generation American, born from Hungarian parents. My father was born in a refugee camp in Austria after WW2- his first crib was a flour crate, my grandfather with two PhDs worked in a rock quarry for pennies, and they got sponsored to Canada when my dad was 3. At the time the USA also discriminated against nationalities for immigration- my family was on the "losing side" of WW2 so were not allowed entry even though they were against the war, of course. But my father moved to the USA with his family in high school the year the law was changed (my grandfather immediately got university teaching jobs until he died), and my dad started a small business that provided for many Americans many times over the initial investment.

My mom came over in the 1980s, as a defector from communism, and married my father. So basically turning her back on her home, at the time with no idea on when she'd ever return. She ultimately got a graduate degree in education and raised some pretty awesome children who are productive citizens (if I may say so), and we are all proud to be Americans.

It makes me so sad now to know that there is right now the equivalent of my father as a Syrian kid out there right now, for whom once again the door is closed.

Edit: a lot of people are saying my colleague should just enter on his second passport. Well guys, when you apply to come to the USA they ask you to list all your nationalities and said visa is typically good for a few years (for European ETSA stuff at least). Not sure when my colleague applied, but when he did he did not want to break the law and was truthful on his application about multiple citizenships. And now he's supposed to fly out next week, but no airline would dream of flying him because he would likely be turned back at the border because of info in his visa that he's also Iranian.

This is one of literally thousands of stories out there. It's not exceptional. Stop acting like he is the problem instead of a stupid, ill-crafted order in the first place.

kakavl · 4時間前

Amnesty works. Here's my story:

My mom carried me, almost 5, and my newborn baby brother on a plane from South America to the US in 1979 to join her husband who had been here six months. They came for economic opportunity, traveling on visitor visas they let expire and working under relatives' social security numbers (who had since moved out of the country).

My mom cleaned houses for a Mexican family business and I remember going with her on days I couldn't go to school, watching her break her back cleaning for other people. The business owner's son had a small industrial equipment company who needed a receptionist and they have her a chance. She taught herself English and within 12 years was a VP managing a major portion of the company's accounts. She also taught herself Portuguese to be ale to communicate and travel to work with their Brazilian customers.

In the meantime she and my dad applied for permanent legal residence under the 1986 amnesty program. I was 12. I was scared because I'd known we were "illegal" and that coming forward there was a risk we'd get sent back. (That happened to my aunt - she had violated a law no one knew about having to do with when she arrived in the US and she had to leave for a year with her newborn daughter). Thankfully we got our green cards.

My dad didn't do so well- he worked at a steel factory for a while until he was laid off. He was a driven entrepreneur at heart but no matter what business he tried they never took off. His most successful attempt were gluten-free cookies that got picked up at the local Whole Foods but he couldn't take his business to scale and it went bad.

For lots of normal reasons, my parents split a couple of years after we got our green cards. My mom worked two to three jobs always, every night, every weekend, while holding her 9 to 5. My dad kept pouring money into doomed businesses so it was up to her to make it all work for me, my brother, and my new sister.

Almost forty years since we came here illegally, I'm now a lawyer working at a small nonprofit (were the ones who'd been fighting against Steve Mnuchin before he was nominated to Treasury Secretary and have been feeding our research to the Senate dems in the last few weeks). I'm married to a wonderful woman and we've been trying to get pregnant for a few years now. My brother is in tech- one of the early, never went to college techies who rode the booms and busts and now still techs with his also techie husband in San Francisco. My sister has two beautiful kids and a husband; he's a graphic designer, she's an x-ray technician at a major sports university.

In 2002, I became a citizen. It was less than a year since 9/11 and again, I was scared that the national reaction might mean even green cardholders weren't safe so I applied for naturalization as quickly as I could. I was sworn in with hundreds of other immigrants at a ceremony in Faneuil Hall in Boston- one of the most historic buildings in this country. I was a grown adult, crying like a kid with emotion. And still, in the moment between when they had us hand in our green cards, walking down the line to pick up our naturalization certificates, I felt in limbo. I thought, if something happens right now, I'm not safe.

This weekend has brought back all of those memories of being scared of being found out as an undocumented kid, of being told never to lose or hand over my green card to anyone because it was my protection, of that moment when I didn't have it and even though I knew my citizenship was literally a few yards away, I was terrified. (As was the elderly lady behind me who asked me whether it was true that we really had to hand over the green card and wasn't that dangerous?)

I don't know to end this comment except to say that I feel incredibly lucky. It was not for any reason personal to anyone in my family that we were never the target of policies like the ones being ordered and carried it today. We're no more hardworking or intelligent or law abiding than most other immigrants, so why do they get this while we got lucky?

elfa82 · 8時間前

/u/kn0thing's reaction coming back from vacation

timotab · 7時間前

in 20 days, I will have been a US Citizen for 6 years

Panda413 · 8時間前

“Our progress in degeneracy appears to me to be pretty rapid. As a nation, we began by declaring that 'all men are created equal.' We now practically read it, 'all men are created equal, except negroes.' When the Know-Nothings get control, it will read, 'all men are created equal, except negroes, and foreigners, and Catholics.' When it comes to this I should prefer emigrating to some country where they make no pretense of loving liberty—to Russia, for instance, where despotism can be taken pure, and without the base alloy of hypocrisy.”

― Abraham Lincoln, Speeches and Writings, 1832-1858

2018MidtermElections · 8時間前

Tuesday, November 6, 2018
https://www.usa.gov/register-to-vote

timetospeakY · 3時間前

My mother was (past tense because she passed away) an immigrant from Venezuela. She came to start her life over after living in poverty and marrying a much older man when she was 19 just to get out of her abusive and suffocating life with her mother. She had a son with her first husband but soon realized she couldn't make a good life for him there and she needed to get as far from her now ex husband who was stalking her with the help of her mother.

She moved to the US with a boyfriend, nothing to their names but a beaten down car which they used to get their first jobs delivering newspapers in the morning before anyone was awake. She did that until she could afford to go to National University in San Diego and get her degree in human resources. That's where she met my dad, a 4th generation Californian, but technically just as much an American born of immigrants as she was. In fact his great great grandfather came from Norway on the first ship around the world looking for a better life.

They eventually got married and had me and then my younger brother. We were born in California, and my mom was the main source of income while my dad started his own business. When my dad's business became substantial enough to support us when I was about 12, she switched to a more part time job while also being an extremely hands on mother. She joined the PTA, ran the elementary school newsletter, drove us to and from school and extracurricular activities, made every meal, took care of the house, the pets, made tons of friends, was known in the community as someone who would step in when there was a need that needed to be met.

She contributed in every possible way that a citizen could, but she kept her Spanish and Venezuelan dual citizenship (she was born in Spain and moved to Venezuela as a child to escape Franco, that's a whole other story), because she was aware that the American Dream was not guaranteed. She always said she'd become a citizen if Hillary ever ran for president though. She was very aware and invested in American politics, which was why it scared her to see how quickly and terribly things could change for Americans, citizens and immigrants alike, and why she kept her foreign citizenships.

She was one "tough cookie" (she loved that American saying). She passed away when I was 15 but she lives in me, my brother, my half brother, her sister and brother in law, their kids (all of whom are now American citizens from Venezuela and have jobs and houses and businesses, or are American students), and all the people she touched. I identify as a product of a hard ass, brave, funny, loving, and incredibly proud immigrant. This country is lucky as hell to have had her for 22 years of her life.

ABomb117 · 7時間前

My grandfather and grandmother moved with my dad, his brothers and sisters from South Korea after they escaped North Korea during the Korean War. They originally were planning on going to Brazil but a similar situation happened like what has just happened this week in America and they ended up being able to immigrate to the USA instead and start a life with the literal money in my grandpas pockets. They lived and grew up in the Bay Area and now 35 years later my dad is a successful small business owner in Phoenix AZ with grandchildren and a neat legacy to leave behind. I'll never understand what it was like for them in the old country.

Edit: Spelling and grammar

Edit: First time being gifted gold. Glad it was over something meaningful. Thanks stranger

swim_to_survive · 6時間前

This story starts with my father, an Iranian immigrant, and son of a modest government worker. My grandparents with an educational obtainment no greater than basic grade school, knew that if their three children (my father, aunt, and uncle) were to succeed in any aspects of life they would need an education. So, they lived in great modesty, only making sure the money they made went to give my father and his siblings the best school they could afford. His days and evenings were spent studying as he approached the end of high school, as only a small percentage of students got into the universities there. Thankfully he passed, and a friend of his suggested that my father attend university in America. It wasn’t a bad idea, given the political climate in Tehran. The year was 1977, and a world away Star Wars was introducing America to a galactic empire of fear and tyranny, but there in Tehran, tensions were to a breaking point under the ruthless dictatorship of the American-instilled Shah. In the days when Tehran fell also birthed a new hope, my father managed to get a visa to America and decided to go and stay with some cousins in the Midwest.

In what was described to me as a scene out of an Indiana Jones movie, my dad made it onto a runway and had to climb up a rope ladder into a moving plane as military forces drove down the runway trying to prevent them leaving. It was the last time my dad would see my uncle.

My dad settled in Gary, Indiana. Young and inspired, but speaking very little English, he worked three jobs while applying to schools. He got into M.I.T. but unfortunately couldn’t afford it –and so he settled with Indiana State. He played soccer, made friends, assimilated, and met my mom. An upstate new Yorker with a long linage of American/French-Canadian blood. My grandfather served in the war, my grandmother was the personal nurse to Samuel Clemmons’s sister – you might know him by another name, Mark Twain. And sometime after graduation my grandparents finally told my father that his uncle was no longer with them.

You see, my grandparents, despite working very hard to provide for their children, only had enough money to send one of their kids to America for college. My uncle, being the middle child, was unable to follow my father immediately after him. So he did as every young person does, work and talk politics.

And so it goes, the small talk that turns to politics with a neighbor leads to him being taken from his home in the night, and not heard from until his name was discovered a few weeks later amongst the many who were executed for dissent. Those same neighbors were the ones who reported him, ironically going against the famous doctrine that tells us to love thy neighbor.

It broke my father when my grandparents explained that three months prior to graduation, my uncle was murdered by a new theocratic dictatorship. Religious extremists who, like so many dictators and fascist movements, purged any and everything that dared challenge or contradict their own legitimacy and power.

But my father has been, and will always be, a resilient man. After graduation, my parents went back to New York for some time, trying to get work in New York City, my father got denied a position in The World Trade Center which could have only been attributed to the current Iranian Hostage Crisis taking place –a blessing in disguise. Eventually, they moved West – all the way to California. My father became an aeronautical engineer with a small firm with lofty ambitions, to change the way flight recording was being handled. My father contributed to the safety of our nation’s air force by helping design some of the flight recorders in our fighter jets. I still have pictures of him sitting in cockpits, and many memories of us lying in a field identifying planes and jets that flew overhead and through the clouds. Years later, during the buyout by a huge national competitor, he was screwed out of partial ownership – and what would have set our family for life ended up being a pittance; one month’s additional salary.

He quit shortly thereafter and decided he would never again work for someone else, since the word of men don’t matter for much these days. It took my father 10 years to get the success he set out for, all the while we survived under my mother’s salary, but then he made his American dream come true – and by doing so brought financial stability to dozens of others.

As for his children, when his first son was born only one name was considered – my uncle’s.

I didn’t learn of my uncle until I left for college, ten years ago.

I don’t believe the universe is ever so careless, and that even the most coincidental things may serve some purpose. Often have I wondered if this story would ever matter contextually in a social setting, and now I understand.

We share a name, but we do not have to have the same ending. I will use this story to add my voice to the fight.

That our Constitution, which grants us Americans inalienable rights and liberties, is being threatened. The cornerstone of our country’s foundation, the very core that to this day has enabled me to live the life that he couldn’t, say the words that led to his demise, needs to not crumble to fear and hate, and the personal agenda of a small few who would rather profit than protect us.

Do not let America go so quietly into the night, we all came from somewhere. We were all woven into this fabric that we call ‘the land of the free, and the home of the brave.’

This isn’t his story, this isn’t mine.

This is our story.

I am working on writing a version of this that I would like see published in any, and every, way. This story in the current format is not for editorial use, but if you have a means or contact that might help get it into more hearts and read by more eyes, please send me a private message.

koryisma · 5時間前

I served as a Peace Corps volunteer in Morocco and stayed for a few more years working with a non-profit. Morocco is over 99% Muslim, and Islam is the state religion.

The people there welcomed me with open arms. In my town, I could not leave the house without people inviting me in for tea, bread with jam, dates, or a full meal. Sometimes people would literally drag me into their homes to show hospitality. Why? They saw I was a foreign woman and the way that they lived their faith was to be welcoming and hospitable. Their act of inviting me in, of feeding me, of showing me love, of truly accepting me as I was, for who I was? To them, it was literally an act of worship.

I have dozens of stories-- the time I lost my wristlet (with money, passport, phone, etc.) and when I called the phone, the taxi driver who found it drove it out to where I was, took me to where he found the wristlet, then offered to drive me anywhere I wanted. He asked for nothing in return.

Or the time that I stopped in a small village on a long-distance bus, and an old man grabbed my hand, intertwined his fingers with mine, and said "Morocco and the U.S. are like brothers. We are close. Like this. You are like our family."

The way I was adopted into certain families. The way that my neighbors who had so little resources that they didn't have a bathroom in their house still sent their daughter over with a pot of tea and stuffed bread when I came back from traveling... they knew I probably was tired and wanted to rest, but wanted to be sure I was taken care of without having to prep food and cook.

I moved to Rabat-- the capital-- after Peace Corps. While there, I met the man who is now my husband. A Muslim, Moroccan, wonderful man. He is the opposite of what many think a "Muslim man" must be like. We respect each other. He treats me like an equal partner in everything. We laugh together every day, and after five years of marriage, I am more and more in love with him.

He teaches me to be a better person. When we first got married, he showed me that settling disagreements with raised voices and hurtful words isn't how you treat a loved one. He helped me settle down with my temper. And even now, if he sees it starting to flare, he'll de-escalate me with a joke or by making light of the situation. He helps me remember what is important in life-- people, actions, simple things... not a good job, having a good image, or impressing others.

My heart is breaking. I am calling, I am writing, I am marching. But my heart is breaking. He came halfway across the world to be with me, and now, my country is such the opposite of the hospitality, love, acceptance, and welcome that I received in Morocco. It's a terrible juxtaposition, and I hope we can stand up, speak out, and make change.

blog

調停者