So you’ve learned to trill your “r” in the Spanish word for parsley. They don’t care. ¿dónde está tu país?
You were born in the Dominican Republic; everyone in your family–dating back to 1929–has a lot of Dominican in them. You call yourself Dominican. You feel Dominican. You speak like a native-born Dominican. They don’t care. ¿dónde está su casa? Naciste dónde? ¿When? Ten years ago? They tell you that’s just not good enough.
Dominican. The word is written in blood, your blood. The word filters through your veins, delivering borrowed memories to your heart. Si usted nació aquí antes de 1929, you’re so good to go, you can stay. If you were born in the Dominican Republic, say way back in 1928–that would make you 85 years old. At 85, no one expects you to have any babies. If you’re 85 and up, you’re safe. You can breathe now.
¿Hablas kreyòl ayisyen? Good, because now you have been elected maestra de vocabulario for children who don’t know the other place and don’t speak the other language. They’d never set foot on the other soil. They have to learn the other ways quickly. Here’s the vocabulary you have to teach : Dominican. Illegal. Immigrant. Citizenship. Revoked. Stateless. Homeless. Crisis. Paradise. Lost. Big concepts for children to learn, but you have to start teaching your lesson. You have to use every strategy you know. Teach them to make connections: Text to self; text to world; text to text: Haitian. Not. Illegal. Teach the children why the word Antihatianismo has been in their common core for a long, long time. Teach them before putting them to bed at night. When morning comes, maybe they’ll think it was all just a dream. A dream from far away. Far like paradise. A dream that must be forgotten. Fast.
Mañana, los niños dominicanos salir de la cama, y descubre que el idioma español era sólo un sueño.
I wonder what would happen if the United States of America ruled to revoke the citizenship of all individuals born to foreigners dating back to 1929. There would be an exodus of biblical proportions.
Three days from now, it will be October 2nd. Perhaps that would be a good day to revoke the citizenship of all “Americans” whose parents came to the country illegally.
I wonder if it’s by coincidence that the citizenship of second generation Dominicans (with Haitian heritage) is now stripped. In just a few days, it will be the anniversary of one of the bloodiest Saturdays in History: October 2nd. El Corte, the cutting, the massacre of Haitians mandated by El Jeffe, Rafael Troujillo, was carried out expertly. Tens of thousands of Haitians lost their lives. The year was 1937. Today’s cutting comes by the strike of a pen, not a sword . . .Nou dwe sonje sa. C’est assez.
I have read many books by Dominican authors, and have yet to find one story where the word Haitian was not used to describe every evil thing, person, place, and idea. I might have to put those books down for a little while. C’est assez.
There’s a major crisis in a paradise where the sun never shone on us anyhow. The same sun shines across the border, too. It beats hard on backs like in the Batey. What will you do now?
Will the Haitian government send back the Dominicans living in Haiti–even if they trill their “r”s like nobody’s business?
A Dominican Court rules to strip Dominicans of Haitian ancestry of their citizenship
Dominicans with Haitian blood–reaching back to 1929–are no longer Dominicans. Their citizenship has been revoked by a court ruling. The decision CANNOT be appealed.