"I didn’t say that was fair but we were livin' "

Look hard or far enough in most people’s past, you will find an immigrant.  For the Ceniceros family, you need to look no further than their grandfather, Julio Ceniceros.  In his humility, he is content being able to call himself a husband, a father, and and grandfather many times over. Calling his life a success would be an understatement. 

J-U-L-I-O first name, Ceniceros C-E-N-I-C-E-R-O-S is the last name. I was born in Torreon Qaguela. As I remember, when I was four or five years old, we crossed the river. We end up in Ramonville, Texas, like forty miles, forty-two miles from the border. We used to pick cotton for these brothers, Mike and Cliff Crowls. They had a farm and we worked for them. So then we were happy, they were happy and but if we get caught, in the movies, or in the grocery store, or wherever, or they just come and check your camp; they just check the immigration department “we want to check your papers”. [And we responded], "well we don’t have any papers". [Immigration responded], “Well get in the car”. And they would take us back. But there is so many corruption in the world, you know? They (pause), I will tell you all about it. When they took us back to Mexico, we crossed the river, and the same guy who crossed the river with us, he has somebody waiting for us in Santa Maria, Texas. It's a little ways, like a fifteen, ten miles to the border. He had a car waiting for us. The car brought us back to the camp where we used to live, where the two brothers had us. And the two brothers paid them thirty dollars for the ride, and here we were again! You know, working for them. But they got wise, the border patrol company, they say, "these guys are here for years, they know all the farmers". So they give...[they] make deals and we gotta move um around. They only let us stay for one year and then move um to another area. Not in the same area. Talking about the border patrol. Otherwise, they get corrupted, "you my friend, you my friend...I am not going to take you people away."

We were afraid to go to school

I remember real well when I was six or seven years old, I was working. But then they 'event [invent] those cotton picking machines. And they wanted me in it, in that thing so I can spray the cotton away from the shoot so it wouldn’t plug. And that was my job.  We used to call them La Chota-Immigration.  I was so trembling. I was so afraid of them, because they send you back to Mexico.  I was so scared because the adults were scared so I was more scared than anyone else. [Because of this], we were afraid to go to school. To get back from Mexico we just turn around and cross the river right away.  So many and many occasions we were at the city they caught us before the immigration come back. So they got wise and they send us far away, like, uhhh... Guadalajara in airplane, Veracruz in boat. They fill up a boat. Put a thousand illegals in a boat to Veracruz south of Mexico or fill up the airplane to Guadalajara. Far, so you don’t come back right away. It takes at least, if you don’t have no money, it takes weeks to get back to the border. We didn’t know anything about putting money in the bank, because we were so afraid to.

It wasn't because I liked the sport, it was because it was easy money

When I was in Mexico, Matamoros, we didn’t know what to do. No job, we didn’t know the city.  And then I started working for that company, for the furniture store. I was like thirteen, fourteen, twelve years old, something like that.  Godavari, that was the name of the furniture store, and I used to collect for them. I used to go into the coliseum, they call...coliseum, the gym where they box and all that. The care taker, George Covlis, owed money to the furniture store and I used to go there so often that I get to know all the people they train and box. This guy [Covlis], he was the...he was the main man because he owns...well, he didn’t owns, he runs the gym, and he fix this and that, you know? So that’s how I got acquainted with the guys, and they say, “you want to help out”? [Julio responded],"How do you want me to help out"? [They answered],“Just put your gloves on and come with me I’ll give you ten pesos for a round”. Peso, you know? That’s, like, less than a dollar. Well sure you know! And that’s how I started. When I start boxing I was thirteen years old or so. This magazine, there was a guy that reported there, he used to take pictures, and look at, Roberto Gondola was his name, he says “why don’t you get serious and train? I’ll train you”. I said, "I don’t think I can do that". He says “yes you can, come on when you get done working come over here”. And that’s how I start.

[The last time I boxed was] right here when I married your grandma.  I was already… I give up boxing, well I didn’t train for years, but that’s easy money…if I’m gonna lose, they’ll  pay me.  But I didn’t want to be a champion of the world, I just wanted to get money… and keep on feeding my wife.

I don't care how cold it gets in here. She keep me warm

[When I came to St Paul] I did't like it right away. It was January, there was a lot of snow! Wow! You know I want to see the dirt and I can't see the dirt, just sand, I mean Snow. Imma go back as soon as I get enough money to buy my ticket and go back to Ramonville. And they say, "well this guy is gonna get married. You wanna go dance"? Now my cousin's husband Mando, "Well sure, sure, sure lets go". And I met my wife, and that was the end of my career. She, we, we fell in love and we were dating for eight months or so and we got married and are still married. I don't care how cold it gets in here. She keep me warm. Haha. After two years of being married then I can get my papers, I wasn't legal then yet. She was working for a lawyer Earnest Biddle, he [was] my lawyer, and he was my guard. I got my papers fixed. Yeah... and that's the story of my life I guess.

It was hard life but I don’t think I change it for any millionaire who could buy the world

Well, that’s the only life I know...it’s the only life I know.  It’s what my parents or my brothers or my mother told me, to keep on coming back.  It was hard life but I don’t think I change it for any millionaire who could buy the world.  I think if I would go to school, I would be better.  I don’t know.  I don’t think it would have helped out with anything. How I can complain about my life without school, I learned the hard way. I had to get by.  I think I'm pretty straight forward in my life. My kids are growing and having their own families. I feel very good. I love them. 

Image References (in order of appearance):

1) Ceniceros, Julio (Far right).  Family Photograph, Circa 1960.  Provided November 20, 2013.
2) Ceniceros, Julio.  Self Portrait, Circa 1970.  Provided November 20, 2013.
3) Ceniceros, Julio and Ceniceros, Esperanza.  Wedding Photograph, Circa 1968.  Provided November 20, 2013.

Story Facilitators:
Santino Reynolds, Kayla van der Hagen, Ahmed Abdirahman

It Was A Tough Time, But We Got Through It All.

Picture Credit (1)

Never Forget Where I Came From

My name is Nilsson Estuardo Serhay Hernandez, and I’m 19 years old. I’m from Guatemala, from the city of Antigua. I miss my home town a lot because ever since I came here to the United States, I haven’t been able to go back. That is because I had an illegal status in this country. I could always travel there, but I couldn’t come back to the United States. I don’t really remember much about Guatemala, but I do remember going out with my family to visit the ancient Mayan temples. I remember I would always love going to those temples, running all the way to the top of the stairs and seeing how high we were. Another thing that I remember was going out into the jungle with my cousins. We weren’t really allowed to do that, but we would once in a while. We would climb trees, look at animals, cherish nature, and just have fun. I [have] this Mayan medallion that has been passed down since a long, long time ago. 

Picture Credit (2)  

The center piece is a Mayan native named Te’qunmaehn. There’s stories that he was a leader of a rebellion. (3) He lead many Mayans against the Spanish people because he felt like they were being treated unfair. Because of that, he was seen as a hero to the Mayan people. My grandpa gave me this a few days before we left Guatemala. He told me to never forget where I came from, that’s why I like it so much. It reminds me of who I am, where I came from, and my family in Guatemala.

We’re Going On A Long Trip

We got to America by Airplane. [We] obtained a visa that gave us a certain amount of time we can stay in this country. (4) My mom brought me here because before we came, my dad was already living in America and my mom would come to visit him. But then she thought, “Maybe we could start a life--- in the United States of America.” I was five years old, so I didn't really have a choice. I remember I would always ask my mom, “Where are we going? Where are we going?” She would tell me, “We’re going on a long trip to see your dad.” My father came to America because of the violent and economic corruption of Guatemala, also because I was born and he wanted to supply our family. In Guatemala, a ‪‪‪‪lot of people threatened to kill my father if my grandfather didn’t step down from being the mayor. He was a really good mayor, but when you're in office, you're taking a risk for your family. W‪‪‪‪hen I was maybe about 11 months, I was being carried by my mom and she was walking down the Guatemalan streets with my auntie. All of a sudden, these two guys approached them with guns and said, “Give me everything or we’ll kill your kid.” My auntie instantly fainted, she couldn’t help my mom at all, she just fainted. It was all up to my mom to stand up to them. She wouldn’t let go of me even though the guys were trying to take me away from her arms. All she kept yelling was, “Take everything from me except my kid!” She kept fighting them and kept resisting. They eventually took everything, except me. When I think of that story it shows me how much my mother loved me and how much of a hero she is. If it weren’t for her, I don’t know where I would have been right now. It also shows the type of violence there is in Guatemala. And so she just thought that moving away from that place was the best thing for us.

They’re My Blood

At the time we came to America, my dad wasn’t really prepared to go out and get a house or an apartment. We had to live with some family members for a year until my parents were stable enough to get an apartment. From there they ended up getting a house, but it all started from other family members helping us out. What kept my family united was the fact that that we always want to keep going. We don’t want to give up, we shouldn’t give up. All these obstacles might come in our paths, but there’s always solutions to that. So yeah, me and my family-- we’re really close. I think that’s a hispanic trait of families. I miss my family [in Guatemala] a lot. Even though I haven’t seen them in years, I can’t forget about them, they're my blood, they're my loved ones. We still talk to each other like we’ve seen each other yesterday.

I Would Come Home Crying

My school experience here in the United States was a bit hard since I didn’t know English when I first came here. I remember in first grade, I had this teacher who disliked me because I didn’t know English. Now that I think back at that time, I do feel like she was a bit of a racist. My parents would tell me that when they would come in for conferences, she would say, “Why is he going to this school? He should go somewhere where they speak Spanish.” My parents didn’t really know how to react. I remember I would come home crying because I couldn't talk to other kids. I've always been a social kid and not being able to communicate with people was-- was really saddening. I do remember having these other Spanish speaking students that talked Spanish and English. [They] helped me out a lot more than the teacher did. So yeah, I mean it was really hard. We did end up moving schools because of that to a more friendly Hispanic school named Cesar Chavez. (5) I was taking ESL classes there, which helped [me] out a lot. By 5th grade, they gave me this little diploma like, "You have English down." So I guess that was when I was really used to the language. [Now] I'm so used to speaking English that I do a mixture of both [languages] sometimes. It's called Spanglish.

We Didn't Have A Normal Life Anymore

Picture Credit Here

My family and I have been illegal, except my brother who was born here. To start it off, I didn’t even know I was illegal. I didn’t know at all. I-- I was too young or my parents never really told me. Since we were living here and my parents had jobs and they drove, we just had a normal American life. Until an incident happened that made all of us, especially me, realize how our status was in this country. This whole incident was when I was a sophomore in high school. It was a regular day, my dad was going to give me a ride to school. As we were about to pull out of our driveway, four ICE patrol vehicles immediately surrounded us. (6) I was-- I was really confused and scared. I was like, “What the heck just happened?” (sigh) While we were still in the car, just my dad and I, he told me, “Nilsson, I’m probably going to be away for a while.” I was confused, you know, it was a lot to take in at the moment. He was like, “Just know that I love you and your mom and your brother. And-- and don’t be sad, everything’s going to be fine.” I told him, “What’s going on? Who are these people?” He said, “These are ICE officers and they somehow found out about our illegal status here in the United States." That was really hard. I remember my dad went to ask our neighbor if they could take me to school, but I didn't want to go to school-- or do anything. It was like a massive hammer where it just hit me. As we were leaving, I remember looking back and seeing my dad get handcuffed and thrown into the ICE vehicle. I remember trying to be smart about it and I took their license plate down. I thought maybe it could help identify where my dad is or something. After that, I told my mother what happened and she couldn’t believe it. She-- she immediately began to cry over the phone. Since that happened, my mom knew that we couldn’t go back to that house. My younger brother and me were staying with my auntie for awhile while my mom was living with a friend because she thought that maybe they were looking for her instead. That really broke us apart, it was a really hard time. My mom, she was thinking of the future and she thought that maybe we just all had to go back to Guatemala. She was being haunted by these people. We didn’t-- we didn’t have a normal life anymore. Honestly, that incident made me change the way I saw immigration laws and these ICE officers. I detested them. In my mindset I was thinking, “Why did they come for us?” you know, my parents are hard working people, they pay their taxes. They do everything this country asks us to do and when there’s other people out there that really aren’t doing anything, “Why are they coming for us?” For that time I did feel like an outsider, because that was a big reality hit.

It Was All On The Line

We decided to take legal actions and so my mom went to immigration lawyers. Along with the papers that asked for forgiveness [for] overstaying our visit, she filed that she has two children who will be without any support if she leaves. We had to go to court, it was my father and my mother who were being tried. It was very scary waiting for the judge's final verdict because it-- it was all on the line. It was either we were good to stay here in the United States where we founded a life, or it was going back to Guatemala where we had nothing really. I want to say maybe five months after, we received notice that we have been forgiven, but with that forgiveness we also had to pay a fee of $1,800 per person. [Then] we had to proceed to get our fingerprints taken, get our social security card, and all that stuff. So that’s the whole process and after that, we just had to wait until we received our papers. Everything turned out for the best. It was a tough time, but we got through it all.

There’s Nothing To Worry About Anymore

My immigration story, I would have to say would be impacting. It really impacted everything in our lives and when I have children I can tell them, “You guys are lucky you didn’t have to go through this.” My favorite part about living here is that you have an opportunity for a good life. In Guatemala, it’s really hard to get that opportunity. A lot of people might have different views on this but this is my view about immigration; it should be approached differently. The whole breaking families apart, why would you want to do that? This whole country was founded by immigrants, from Europe, from Asia, everywhere. I know it is a big issue but we should really take in consideration the damage that we are doing. I’m always going to be Guatemalan, that’s where I was born. But of course, I’m American. I‪‪‪‪t was only five years that I’ve been in Guatemala. The rest of my life, I’ve grown up here. For the most part, I’ve always felt accepted. But now that I’m in this status of being legal, there’s nothing to worry about anymore. I feel-- I feel like I’m at home.

FOOTNOTES:

1. Hernandez, Nilsson. Family Photograph, circa 1999. Provided 23 November 2013.
2. Hernandez, Nilsson. Photograph Taken by Marissa Paananen, circa 2013. Provided 17 November 2013.
3. An ancient Mayan story: The Spanish tried to convert the Mayan to their religion and began destroying all of their history. Te'qunmaehn did not agree with this, so he gathered an army that would stand up and fight the Spanish. However, the Spanish won this war, which is why Spanish is now the dominant language in Guatemala.
4. Resident's Visa: Granted by the United States for an immigrant to live in America for a certain time period. If they are still living in America after this time has expired, they have become illegal. 
5. Cesar Estrada Chavez: (1927-1993) A Mexican-American labor leader who used non-violent ways to fight for the rights of migrant farm workers; an important figure in Latino history. (Source)
6. ICE: Immigration and Customs Enforcement.

STORY FACILITATORS:

Marissa Paananen, Shelby Kersten, and Ber Moua.

Living The American Dream

Koua Yang is a Hmong man who was originally from Laos. When he was less than one year old, his father passed away leaving his mother, two sisters and himself alone in the aftermath of the Secret War. (1) His small family along with many Hmong people were forced to leave their homes after the American soldiers left the Secret War in 1975. Yang’s family survived the dangers that lied in the jungles such as bombs dropping from the sky like mystic rain and the threatening toxins that filled the air. Yang’s family crossed the Mekong River to Thailand and was put into refugee camps. He spent at least four years in the camps before immigrating to the United States in 1980. Yang is now a social studies teacher at Harding high school and also coaches the boy’s and girl’s varsity tennis team.

My Mother is the Foundation

In our culture, you don’t have an identity without a dad. So, when my dad died in 1976, we were left to fend for ourselves; this is why my mom is such a wonderful woman. She essentially took on the role of the male and the female, the wife and the father. She led us, and normally that does not happen among the Hmong people. She could have left us with our extended family, with the Yang clan, but she didn’t. She could of just gone back to the Vang clan, but she didn’t.

My mom is definitely the matriarch of our family, the centerpiece that created this foundation. She sometimes looks at herself and says, “Oh my gosh, in America I’m so trivial, so small, so unworthy.” She doesn’t realize that she’s the one who created my sisters and I through not only her genetics, but her will, her ability to survive, and her success through hardships. She had us to create that will. She's our foundation. Because of that, I looked up to my mom and I looked up to my sisters. They helped me so I never looked at it like, "I’m a male in this culture, I should rule this family." I looked at it as, we’re all trying to get somewhere, and we gotta help each other.

In the Caged Pen & the Metal Bird 

I pretty much grew up in a caged pen, a barbed wire camp where I couldn’t do much. I could travel from village to village but I couldn’t really get out and do the things that I wanted to do. I never really understood that I was in a refugee camp. I grew up in it, so it was normal. They were trying to prepare us for the trip over to America. My mom remarried as a second wife and when my step-dad did the paperwork to immigrate to the United States, there was only room for my two step-brothers, my two sisters, a wife and a father. And obviously, in the United States polygamy is illegal. So, guess who got screwed? My mom.

My step-dad would tell me, "You’re gonna meet monsters. You’re gonna meet the white monsters. They’re gonna be hairy, and from the stories they eat people.” So, as a kid who was three-four years old, your imagination starts going crazy. It was either my mom or my dad who said, “You’re gonna go to a different world on a Dha Laus.” (2) So here I am, imagining myself on top of a metal bird hanging onto its metal feathers. I asked my step-dad how long it would take to get there and he said, “Oh it’s about 20 hours they say.” So I was thinking, "Okay, I’m gonna die. I’m not gonna make it. We have to hang onto the bird’s feathers for 20 hours.” I begin bawling and crying until we got to the airport and realized that we go inside the metal bird. So I said, “Oh, okay. It’s safer inside the metal bird.”

Inside the metal bird was where I first transitioned to America and saw my first Caucasians ever. Remembering the stories about how big they were, how hairy the were, it was all true. The only piece that was missing was that they ate people. I was four at the time, and I saw the flight attendant and was pretty scared. He offered me apples, which I’d never seen before. He offered me oranges, which I'd also never seen before and he showed me how to eat them. While he was doing this I remember wanting to touch his arm badly. I wanted to know what was up with all the hair, he seemed so monstrous. So I touched it and I was petting him and just trying to figure it all out.

A Chance to Go to School for Free

When I was in school, I was interested in everything because I never had a chance to go to school in Laos or Thailand. If you had money, you can go; if you didn’t, you farmed. I was lucky because I was young enough not to go farming. I was too little, but my sisters, they worked hard. They were young, probably like six or nine and they were already farming and fetching water. I was lucky to escape that.

My sisters and I were excited that we got a chance to go to school. My sisters and I were amazed. We all said, “Oh my gosh, we get to go to school for free? And they feed us too? Wow! What a deal.” My oldest sister was dying to go to school back in Thailand. She would sit for days sewing a tapestry with my mom and selling it for however much you can get and then go take a class once a month. I remember she would go and do math problems outside of the school, just trying to sneak in and hear what the instructor taught. That’s how badly she wanted to go to school. But when I came here, I saw some kids that would come to school and before the bells rung, they were already running away from the school. I just see the irony in it.

It’s About a Path to Success; it’s About a Way to Escape Poverty

One of the things my Mother talked about as we grew up was how important it was to escape this cycle of poverty. We were poor, we were on welfare, we lived in the projects, and my Mom told us,“This is a rough life.” We lived in a one bedroom apartment that we shared with my stepfather, stepmom, two stepbrothers, my two sisters and I. We literally had our bedroom in a closet. We lived a harsh life because they didn’t love us very much, so whenever we had food they would keep it for themselves. They would keep it in their room and so we were always starving. The only time we ate was in school. My mom taught us from early on that even though you suffer, it makes you work harder, and it makes you stronger for the things that you want. And, she always stressed the importance of school and an education.

“It’s about a path to success; it’s about a way to escape poverty,” is what my mom essentially said. She says that my job is to get an education, and that’s how I move; socially move. So, she really tattooed that on our genetics while growing up. Her transition was, if you work hard, if you’re an honest person, you’re a good person and you believe and you have good values, and you want to do well in school, you can do well. You can get out of poverty. No matter who you are. It doesn’t matter if you’re white, if you’re native, if you’re black, if you’re Asian, if you’re green, if you’re whatever. You can get out.

It Takes a Village

My mom had the biggest influence on me, but a lot of people have too, it does take a village. I had a really tough time in junior high, that’s when the immigrants started coming to the United States. The new Southeast Asian immigrants faced a new form of racism because of the Vietnam War. Americans couldn’t distinguish between the Hmong, the Laotians, and the Vietnamese; through this assumption we faced a tremendous amount of racism. In junior high, you were part of gangs because it was protection. During this time I remember one specific teacher, Mr. H. One day after school, I was in a fight and Mr. H. took the other kid and I by the ear to go up to the boxing gym. He told us to “go at it.” And so we did. We just started fighting, and eventually got tired. He said, “See all this energy you guys have? Use this energy in wrestling.” He taught us to use our energy in a different way. We learned how to be disciplined, and be a part of something. He kept that mentorship all the way through junior high; getting me out of the gang activities.

My tennis coach, Kathy, wasn’t the greatest tactician or technician in tennis, but one thing she had which nobody else had was caring for her students. She really loved kids, and I remember her buying me a racket-- a $200 racket! I remember that until this day. As a coach, I hope to do the same things for my kids. I have over a hundred kids in the program and I think about all these kids. Most of them don’t have much, like me back then. I remember the generosity and the human touch that Kathy had and I try to keep that.

Our Second Generation: Education gets you to the American Dream

I think sometimes the missing piece in immigration stories is that it disconnect with the second generation. The fact that they forget. It’s not like they don’t know what they’re roots are anymore. They can always research that. But to remember how it was, to remember how much their families struggled. To remember how the first generation faced all the obstacles, the racism, the economic hardships. To persevere, to get a better life, and then to provide a better life for our next generation. The newer generation forgets the hard work, the tragedies that their relatives went through. And they’re not quite as resilient. They don’t fight quite as hard, and they don’t want it as much. These are all things that I try to keep alive as an educator and as a person who’ in-between the first and second generations. So that’s really my true American story. I don’t know if there’s a generic version for an American story; the American dream, where I live in Hollywood now, and I’m walking on gold streets. That’s what people dream of, but I think this is what it is for most immigrants. We’re not looking to be super rich, I mean it would be great, but most people are looking to make a better life for themselves. And a lot of times they realize that it’s an education that gets them there.

Footnotes:

1. The Secret War was also known as the Vietnam War.

2. The English translation is a metal bird, also known as an airplane.

Photo Sources:

1. Yang, Koua. Family Photograph, circa 1976-83. Provided. 2 December 2013.

Story Facilitators: 

Betty Yang, Jake Bischoff, and Rebecca Bukvich