In the Country We Love: Chapter 16-Afterword

I mean look, they weren’t committing to me the way they would a series regular, but I didn’t care. In my eyes, we had a little time to date and get to know each other before they fell in love with me.
By the next morning, my euphoria had turned into trepidation.

By the next morning, my euphoria had turned into trepidation. What had I gotten myself into? Who was in this? What was this whole Web series thing about anyway?

From the looks of it, a few of the seasoned actors had already formed cliques, probably when they’d shot the pilot months before.

She had such a commanding presence. So regal.

The producers seemed to approve of the new look and escorted me to the set, one of the most basic I’ve ever seen. A cafeteria. A rec room. A kitchen. A cafeteria and commissary.

That was the beginning of not just a work camaraderie but a real friendship.

That storyline, among others, makes me laugh. We’ll see how that jibes with what the writers create.

I know this sounds dated and that the women’s liberation movement already happened, but we still deal with societal pressures that tell us we’re not as strong or as competent as men.

Never in my wildest dreams did I think that I, this little mouse, would have a shot in this space. I was humbled and hungry.

He was so debonair, but with an edge. His accent was so authentic New York. Think Goodfellas. He was the real deal with a kind of swagger some people would kill for.

Critical acclaim has poured in from every corner of the planet. Viewers send the cast hundreds of letters every month. In its first season alone, the show received twelve Emmy nominations and, hello, we won that 2015 SAG Award for Outstanding Performance by an Ensemble in a Comedy Series.

My parents have always been very open with me and very candid in their storytelling, and exposed me to other people’s lifestyles, including those of their friends.

But in the world I was raised in, amid the countless media images I took in as a girl, I got this crazy notion that being white and well-heeled and educated made one inherently superior.

“It’s tough,” I said, the tears toppling out before I could squelch them.

I’ve revealed too much, I thought. This has been a big mistake. I’d opened the floodgates for people to judge me. To say crude things about my parents.

Maybe I’m being too political. Maybe I need to stick to the arts or talk about saving the whales. The topic of immigration is so polarizing.

Much of the time, I didn’t know what to say, which is why I’d come off as curt and a little bothered.

My dad wasn’t looking for some grandiose life. He simply wanted to be close to his only child. And even in his early sixties, a time when many are settling into retirement, he was willing to take a lowly job just so he could be around me.

Because they’re in a country where day-to-day existence is so arduous, they’re often distracted by the basics of survival.

Stephen Goss, chief actuary of the Social Security Administration (SSA), has reported that undocumented workers are investing nearly $15 billion a year into Social Security.

“If we deported a substantial number of undocumented farm workers,” labor economist James S. Holt once told Congress, “there would be a tremendous labor shortage.”

That’s because more than half of America’s 2.5 million farmhands are undocumented, some picking grapes and blueberries and apples for as little as four dollars an hour; their paltry earnings are what keep your food prices low.

In my father’s factory job, the conditions were deplorable, his supervisors abusive.

They have the unchecked power to dole out cruelties on the powerless—those who often don’t speak English and who are terrified of deportation. In the worst cases, the exploitation is coldhearted and downright shameful.

They were berated and cursed at.

The Los Angeles Times brought attention to the plight of Josue Melquisedec Diaz, an unauthorized contract worker hired following Hurricane Gustav. Diaz and eleven other workers were brought in to clean up a community ravaged by floodwaters, reported the paper in 2011; while nearby American workers were provided with gloves, masks, and boots to protect against infection, Diaz’s group was not.

In the criminal justice system, people are provided a pro bono attorney if they cannot afford one, but that same right does not exist in deportation proceedings.

My work on Orange has taught me this: Human beings are not categorically bad because of their mistakes. They can learn from their errors and get back on track.

A series of restrictions forces most already in the States to wait for ten years outside of the country before a green card application can be filed and considered. That’s about as unreasonable and nonsensical as someone suggesting that we round up all undocumented workers and send them back to their respective countries.

The president extended a lifeline by creating DAPA (Deferred Action for Parents of Americans and Lawful Permanent Residents) and expanding DACA (Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals).

Anti-immigrant conservatives in twenty-six states went to court to block the president’s programs, without regard for the impact on families or local and national economies.

Unfortunately, the 2016 election of Donald Trump has been interpreted as public support for his mean-spirited, anti-immigrant rhetoric and policies.

If you’re as horrified as I am by some of the draconian proposals that came out of the last election cycle—ideas such as amending the Constitution to end birthright citizenship—you can do more than sit around and debate about it.

We can keep the pressure on Congress to do what’s right and pass a comprehensive immigration reform bill; until that’s completed, our efforts must continue.

You don’t have to be a policy bigwig to get involved. You can call and write to your elected officials.

I’m fighting for the most expansive relief possible, which would grant millions the right to reside here lawfully, continue contributing to our country’s financial well-being, and keep their families intact.

I walked off Jorge’s set; changed into my T-shirt, emblazoned with Meryl Streep’s anti-bullying message; and joined 800,000 people on the streets of Washington, DC, for the gloriously peaceful Women’s March on Washington.

After rallying in unity against hate and bigotry, and determined to keep fighting for social justice, the Women’s March organizers brilliantly made sure we remain active.

We are being governed by a president who either doesn’t understand or refuses to abide by the main tenets of the US Constitution, which grants equal power to the judicial branch as to the executive and legislative branches.

But court decisions by panels of judges in black robes are elusive to immigrants and their families. Those without documents wake up every morning wondering if that is the day they will be separated from their children, similar to what my parents experienced when I was a child.