Immigrant

 I am an immigrant.

I helped build your railroads. I rebuilt your neighborhoods after the hurricanes. I worked your fields. I did your dirty work for low wages. After all that, you suddenly fear me. I leave my home with my family. I risk my life in a long, dangerous journey to find a better life.
I leave a country of drugs and gangs who thrive on the drug use of your country.
I leave a country that still carries the scars of your colonial dreams.
I come to a border that is in chaos, doing its best engage people like me. A border with no guidance and law from a timid and inept Congress.
I am an immigrant.

The United States cannot absorb all the immigrants who want to come here. We can’t even solve the problem of homelessness in our cities. The border cities cannot meet the needs of all who come. Yet look at the risks the immigrants take in hope of a safe and comfortable life. Their home countries are unstable, partly because of American colonialism and American drug consumption. All of this is in the lap of Congress, who for decades has lacked the will to tackle the problem. They just kick the migrants down the road.