MayDay

When I was a kid in Chicago, there used to be an annual May Day festival on May first. We never went to the festival, my mother explained to us that May Day was a communist celebration, and in those days, even though I didn't understand what a communist was, I knew enough to imagine some gruesome things that might be happening at that festival, maybe a baby-throwing contest, or a barbecue pit for Catholics like me. Even though I grew up in Chicago, I never realized that May 1st was a grim memorial to some brave workers who dared to seek better working conditions and better lives. My family was working class, and should have been marching alongside the other workers, but my family answered to the Catholic Church as the only true authority, and the Church kept us in lock step, supporting wars that kept Communism from taking over the world.

I was born an American, but my parents were not. My mother's family came from Italy, and my father's from Ireland. I don't know if they came here legally or not, those things were never discussed. My Grandfathers worked at crappy jobs, I remember their gnarly and arthritic hands, I never understood a word they were saying in accents as thick as the oatmeal they fed me for breakfast, they probably barely scraped by, they served in WWI, and struggled through the Great Depression. My father used to tell a story about a truck full of beans that turned over on the street, and he and his brothers filled canvas sacks with beans, and those beans were the only thing they had to eat for months. They lived in poverty, but with the hope that hard work would pay off, and for them it did. The immigrants children became the great middle class, fought in WWII, and went on to send their children to college. My older sisters were smart enough to get scholarships, and I had to work full time to pay my tuition, but here we are, educated, successful, and firmly ensconced in the middle class.

I don't understand why Americans fear undocumented workers, I know that there is a sense of uncertainty about the economic future, things are not as easy as they used to be, and hard work doesn't neccesarily mean success. I don't see middle class Americans looking for work as dishwashers, I don't get up early enough in the morning to notice who delivers the Washington Post, (that was my first job, delivering papers when I was eleven years old) but I can tell you that I spent today mowing my lawn and cutting down ivy because there's not a kid in this neighborhood who I can pay to do it. I think the worry about our unsecured borders stems from economic injustice in the world outside our borders, average Americans are hanging to what they have now, and fear that the poverty outside our country will sneak across the river and infect us all. As domestic spending is slashed for the military budget, as college becomes something that only the well off can afford, as we face huge health care expenses, as our public schools struggle for federal funds, we don't need to be sharing our shrinking safely net with people who are not supposed to be here. Americans don't blame corporate tax evaders or irresponsible law makers, for the decline in social services or the sky-rocketing costs of health care, we don't blame the corporations for shipping jobs to third world countries, we blame the Mexicans for trying to take jobs away from us, and having the gall to want to send their children to our schools.

The noose of rampant capitalism is tightening around our throats, and we're afraid.

For my Grandfathers and my father, I took the day off of work, and didn't spend any money. I ran out of cigarettes at about 6 pm, and as much as that sucks, I'll go without as they did and honor the sacrifices they made for me and for our country. On this historic day that was born in my hometown, I honor the hard working and wish them a bright future in this country where anything is possible if you're willing to work for it.

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