Marching Drunk with Love

by Jose Sanchez

May 1, 2010 Sitting on the train, I looked around. The normal weekend tourists were busy crowding over a subway map, the “walk of shamers” were on their way home their heads in their hands, and oddly there were a large amount of Latinos. I asked a lady who had her two teenage daughters with her, “Van a la marcha?” (Are you going to the march?). She replied “Si joven, vamos a la marcha, tu vas? Y pa que marchas? (Yes young man, we’re going to the march, are you? What are you marching for?) I replied “Si voy y marcha por mi familia, soy Mexicano y Dominicano, y ustedes para que marchan.” (Yes I’m going to the march for my family, I’m Mexican Dominican, and what is your rational for marching) “Por mi esposo” (For my husband), she replied. At that we rode the rest of the trip in silence, her husband clearly was undocumented and dared not risk exposing himself and or breaking up his family by calling for rights at the march.

The bright sun hurt my eyes as I exited the station. For a few moments I was disoriented, I called Yelky to see where she was. After a half hour of misunderstanding my Google map application on my blackberry I met Yelky at City Hall. Walking to Folley Square a few blocks away I was shocked to see a sea of orange before me. A local trade union, the main sponsor of the event had their members come out in full force. The Square had a festive air. Everyone was in good spirits. The Green Party, Socialist, and Communist parties all sent representatives to do outreach. A mariachi band was playing “El Rey” on what I considered an endless loop (more like an hour). Yelky introduced me to some of her other friends; they were marching not just for their families and friends but also to draw attention to and hope that one day the Dream Act will pass. The Dream Act if it’s ever passed will allow undocumented students to continue with their higher education by recognizing that they had little to no choice in the matter of their parents carrying them as they passed international borders, thus allowing them to apply and receive federal/state aid for their college education.

After standing in the sun in my suit I went off in a search for some shade. The chants of “Si se pude!” and “Yes we Can!” reverberated throughout the square and my chest. Soon the stage was set and speeches of solidarity with immigrants, unions, and human dignity carried on the wind. I would later find out that I was one of 25,000 that attended that march. We marched past the city’s courts, city hall, the city’s main street “Broadway” all under police supervision. There were many that shouted along with us, a few even joining us. There was one man on a corner who was eventually restrained because he expressed his opinion that we were all illegal, deserved no rights, and that all of us should return to our homeland. As the police pushed him back into obscurity the crowd shouted in unison “What does America look like…This is what America looks like.” Indeed as we returned to the square I took a good look around me, America was represented in the march. SB1070’s passage in Arizona may only impact Mexicans on the whole but the issue of immigration reform cut across gender, race, religion, and even sexual orientation. I saw militants, Muslims, Hispanics/Latinos, LGBT families, students, children, the poor, the rich marching. Everyone at the march called on President Obama to pass comprehensive immigration reform, overturn Arizona’s SB1070, and to secure more jobs.

I was thirsty after marching so much yet Yelky and I with others languished in the shade. A friend came, 3 hours late due to her responsibilities’, upset that she had missed the march she nonetheless quickly went off to interview march participates and to take pictures. Seeking to finally satisfy my thirst I lead the others into a Starbucks, where after sharing news and comradeship we said our goodbyes, convinced that the day and its message were done.

I still had a lot of energy so I walked back to the square. A large crowd was still there gathered, the fire not yet gone from their eyes. Two other friends of mine called for me, I had not even seen them in the mass of humanity that was the march, and they were busy organizing another march up Broadway. They hoped to join the two protests, the one at Folley Square and the one at Union Square into one. We started running; telling people that still had the will and the energy to march. This second march would be illegal i.e. no permit, we avoided talking to the police, and they got visibly nervous as our crowd got bigger and bigger. We made the gamble that there would just be too many to arrest, it paid off…we were soon marching back up Broadway, into posh Tribeca and Soho, in front of designer storefronts’. We stopped traffic, cause people’s heads to turn, and because this was something of our own we were louder, more passionate about making sure everyone in NYC could hear that we were mad at how immigrants are treated, our demands for comprehensive immigration reform, and that everyone should join us in boycotting Arizona until SB1070 is overturned. A few blocks ahead I saw the group from Union Square, and both masses became one, walking back down Broadway back to Folley Square. This time the police could not ignore such a large mass of people, and proceeded to provide cover for the impromptu march.


Part II (added June 21st, 2010)


As the march of May 1st gathered steam back at the square, a speaker system appeared out of nowhere. The official sponsors’ of the march had by now packed up and cleared out. Everyone was waiting for something; I was sweaty, tired and angry still waiting for something spectacular. In my youth I looked to government as a protector of human rights, and to know that Arizona Governor Jan Brewer passed SB1070, shattered any illusions I still had from my youth. A mother walked over to the podium and in Spanish announced that she was illegal and her kids too, she worked hard to provide them a sound education and hope that they will escape her fate of subhuman servitude. A student took the crude microphone next, announcing that she was a militant Filipino female warrior, her voice full of emotions cried out, “We nurse your elderly, and care for your children America, yet we are thousands of miles away from doing the same for our own parents and children.” Emotions in the mass swayed with each speaker, one minute we were humbled by stories of crossings, made proud by those who shared their stories of defending their rights, and everyone cried when we heard the stories of those whose families were shredded apart by the current immigration patchwork system. Two little girls were handed the microphone…They announced that they came with their aunt who had papers because she married “right,” and told everyone that their mother who is a housecleaner and father a recently fired construction worker were illegal and not in attendance for fear of being arrested and deported back to Mexico. Fighting back tears they too announced that they had no papers and as much as everyone told them to dream big, they knew that without papers they will have nothing for their futures. They asked everyone to think of their family in their prayers and then withdrew from the stage. The two little girls showed such profound humility and grace that everyone crying roared in support for them. I could not handle hearing yet more stories, I felt suffocated and physically boxed in…I was born in Chicago, I am a citizen…there has to be something more that I can do. Yet that day I could not do anything more than march. Reaching over to a friend I told them that I would retire to the shade. I walked through the massive crowd with the story of the two little girls ringing in my head. I sat down on the grass and was soon joined with my other friends; they too overcome with emotions and desired a break. We all felt happy yet powerless, we had to resign ourselves to the fact that we mobilized an entire city that day and that was something worth celebrating. I recommended eating at a Mexican restaurant we had all seen earlier on the march up to 14th Street. Any other day I would have been adamant about walking up…but that day I had marched and stood and marched for hours on end I was tired. Taking one final look at the square we yelled in unison with the crowd’s cry of support for another story. In the short train ride, we goofed around and acted like any other group of twenty-something’s. After being hemmed in by 25,000 people at the march the space on the train was a relief for me.

Walking out of Union Square station I was at first surprised with the noise…normally the hippies and druggies shout and wander around but what I heard was a definitive concentration of noise…looking around for the source I saw on the corner a large group of maybe 500-1,000. They were shouting at a small group on the other side of 20-40 people. I was wondering what was going on and the noise was deafening, yet was we walked closer the noise turned into cleared into shouts of “¡El pueblo unido, jamás será vencido! All of a sudden I had arms around me and a kiss on my cheek, “Jose Jose you’re here how did you know of this I just got off of work and look at these bastards they fucking love SB1070…you do know about SB1070 right? Looking into the eyes of the person that just hugged me and kissed me I found the familiar twinkle of Maria’s eyes a great friend of mine. I spent the next minutes sharing the news of the marches with her as we walked closer to catch a glimpse of those in favor of SB1070.

They stood there silent with dark sunglasses arms crossed and behind a large Confederate flag. I was dumbstruck. An elderly African-American stood there as well, and I could not just be quiet I actually crossed traffic and approached her…”Excuse me how can you stand there with them and not us, I’m even darker than you how can you support such a racist act as a African American” I inquired to her. She responded “I’m American, and you better go your one of the good ones, you have no business being here suit boy” I could not control myself after the entire day’s events I yelled back at her “I’m Mexican Dominican my family knows what its like to hide and crouch in fear, they understand the sweat and blood each dollar made requires, just like I bet yours does.” Without thinking I took the bait, I just was so angry and any trace of restraint left me; I started shouting at the silent KKK members my friends crossing traffic trying to restraint me…then the silent men started shouting back and soon I found myself trying to restraint my friends. Someone as quick as a blur and stole the confederate flag running down Broadway to the cheers of the crowd. NYPD closed in and told the crowd to disperse. At first everyone thought they were trying to disperse the pro-immigrant right side…they were not. They told those in support of SB1070 to go home. I hollered and whooped and jumped up and down and everyone went wild with joy. We went to the Mexican restaurant and ordered a large round of tequila’s.

The fight is not over you too can help by organizing your own marches in your towns and contacting your elected officials to voice your opposition to SB1070.

You can also call the office of Arizona Governor Jan Brewer

Governor's Office :( 602)542-4331

Toll Free Line: 1-800-253-0883

PLEASE DO YOUR PART TO HELP ARIZONA.

Thank you,

Jose Sanchez