Reflection About Immigration Experience

When the class was told to write an immigration story I was very biased and stereotypical toward it. I thought that it was mainly Hispanics that would be talking and writing about their stories. What was unknown to me is that anyone can have an immigration story. All my life I was fascinated with history, but I never looked into my own. I am the product of two cultures, Native American and Black. Both of my people were persecuted and still currently rejected in society. Until now I have never thought about my family’s immigration story. I asked my grandmother briefly about it, as well as my father. My tribes are the Navajo and I am a part of the Salt Clan. The other is Jemez Pueblo, descendants of a tribe from Mexico. As for my father, he is

We are descended from slaves who were taken from the mother land and brought here to do the work of lazy European immigrants. Excuse the animosity, but I care a lot about social justice and black history. When Columbus came and “discovered” the new world he assumed he landed in India, his intended place of discovery. When he encountered the first peoples, he ignorantly called them Indians. Because the Indians had something he wanted, he raped and pillaged their villages, used them as slaves, and brought with him a disease that would eventually wipe out most of the indigenous populations. Later, when more European immigrants went to this new found land, they forced Native peoples to abandon their homes and move out west. This inhumane process was known as the Trail of Tears. To my grandma and Native Americans across the nation, it is called the Long Walk. According to my grandma, the Navajo were stripped of their lands and forced into the Long Walk. My grandma’s great, great, great, great grandmother was among the Navajo that were in the walk. She watched dozens

When Africans were taken from their home land, among them were my ancestors. All he knows is that one of our ancestors survived the sea and was sent to the Tennessee area to work on a plantation. My ancestor was raped by her master and bore a child. Because of this, our family took the last name Terry. This is a white name from a cruel white man, but we take pride in the strength and endurance that it represents. I recently found out that one of my ancestors married a full blooded Navajo. This is interesting because it means that I am more Native American than I thought. I come from a long line of slaves and indigenous peoples, for that I am