On March 25th the Streets Belonged to Us
San Jose Protests Against HR 4437
Story by Hector Gonzalez // Photo by Elizabeth Gonzalez
by David Madrid

March 25th will go down in history as the day that Latino immigrants not only fought for their rights against the unjust bill in congress HR4437, that criminalized immigrants, but also the day that the immigrants made a bold statement – we will not go without a fight.

I can see how the US Government can fight against weapons of mass destruction, or even political ideologies, but I wonder, how could they fight against heart? Because that's what all of us immigrants are fighting with.

As a Salvadorian immigrant myself in pursue of a green card, who works in the U.S and pays taxes, I felt it necessary to be at the rally here in San Jose.

Close to two million people have protested in cities and towns across all of America including, Kansas City, Atlanta, Ohio, Milwaukee, Phoenix, and Dallas, among others. Reports say Chicago had over five hundred thousand protesters and Los Angeles was overwhelmed with over one million protestors. Even students have been walking out of school for what many are saying is the largest protest in the history of California.

In San Jose, close to 15,000 immigrants came together to protest. We began in the East Side of San Jose at the Mi Pueblo Super Market, across from the Tropicana shopping center, in the middle of a sea of Taqueria's, and few blocks from Mathson Middle School were seventy-five percent of the student population speak Spanish. The march began from the Eastside beginning from King Road to the Ceasar Chavez Plaza, a four mile walk, then we walked back to the eastside, then back to Ceasar Chavez, and once again back to the eastside, with a total of sixteen miles that were walked by men, women, young children and elders. A man walked holding his toddler in his arms the whole time, without putting him down once and yelling with all his might “Si Se Puede.”   His arms just wouldn't give out. Coming back from Ceasar Chavez plaza for the second time, peoples legs begin to get tired, but a young girl reminded the group that only lazy people get tired quick, and we were not lazy, so we kept marching with no complaints. As thousands of people marched together, hundreds of cars cruised behind the group. There was a sea of flags in the air, mostly Mexican but also American, Honduran, Guatemalan, and Salvadorian.   The streets were ours.

After taking an observant look at the group of protestors, I thought about all the sad stories that we all had. When I saw peoples' faces, I could see the sadness in their eyes, it was enough to tell me what they had been through. We were all immigrants, we carried stories of leaving our families behind to find opportunity in a foreign place. Ours were the stories of poverty and hunger, and the stories of hard work with little pay. Seeing the young people reminded me of my father and how all the young people out here are probably here in honor of the hard labor that their parents do. Seeing mothers reminded me of my own mother and how it's been seventeen years since my father and I left El Salvador to find opportunity. As a kid, my father would tell me that I would never understand what hard work really means, his probably right, just like many people will not understand what struggle really means. That's why they will create and support policies that will target the struggling people of this country.

Humility radiated from the group. We marched through the cold and rain, with our heads up, not asking for anything more then we deserve. It wasn't for better pay, it wasn't for land, it wasn't even for equality, it wasn't even about ourselves. When I talked to other protestors about it, they either said, “We're marching for our parents,” or “We're marching for our kids.”

As the group entered deep into downtown we came across a group of African Americans that rejoiced with us as we passed by. Three females in the group chanted with us, and one of the males stood on top of a bus bench and started jumping while shaking the bus stop pole. His face was filled with joy and it almost seemed like he was holding back tears. Perhaps this black man understood the frustration that we were feeling.   I'm sure he did, after all discrimination is nothing foreign to a black man.

America is now in a different place because of the protests', the world has seen the struggling people of America, people have manifested in unexpected numbers, and the new civil rights movement has begun.

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