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Stories from the Portland Bus Denver, Colorado, 9-26-03: Heroes Last night, the lights of Salt Lake City waved to us from below the Olympic Village. Today, throngs of people are waving to us as we pull into Denver. We're at least an hour late, and it's been a long day, but we're so glad to be here. We walk off the bus and receive a hero's welcome from the people of Denver. We march in like WWF wrestlers, como luchadores, with our heads high, chanting "Si se puede!" (We can do it!) The energy level in this room is so high, and the Denver greeting so heartwarming. By the time we've reached the stage, we're shouting, "Immigration built this nation!" And I'm shouting "Immigration builds this nation!" because it's true. I'm shocked that so many people are still here, and that the press is still here. I'm so tired and so hungry, but my spirits are reenergized by the love and support that Denver has poured forth. My friend Laura speaks tonight, and she's
brought her two young kids on stage with her. She's crying as she
raises her daughter's hand and proclaims, "To the legislators,
this is what family is!" Her daughter is crying too, and so
are people in the audience. To the good people of Denver and the people all over who have opened your hearts and your homes to us, I thank you from deep in my heart. You have been such a comfort to us as we travel the road to freedom. Caroline Fan
Salt Lake City, UT, 9-25-03: My seatmate Oscar is glued to the window. As a Mormon, he has never traveled to Salt Lake City, so this is something of a pilgrimmage for him. He's never been outside of Oregon before. When I ask him if he wants to speak today, his face shines and he nods enthusiastically. We pull up to the State Capitol, and my fellow
Portland Freedom Riders spill out, joining our twin Seattle busriders
and San Francisco riders (for the very first time!) We're here to
support mineworkers who were fired not two days ago for protesting
the horrible conditions in what is called "the most dangerous
mine in Utah." Later, we march to the Federal building, a glass and conrete box. It houses the INS offices where a scrap of paper determines people's lives. A man is yelling at the building itself. Soon, it's Oscar's turn to speak. His words are full of fire, pride, and sorrow, and they come from his heart to the sky above. I talk with a reporter who has walked over from the Capitol with us. I tell her about Oscar, who the crowd just loves. He works in the fields and his patrones, or employers, sometimes don't give them water, even though he is out in the sun for 8-9 hours a day. Sometimes they don't let them use the restrooms, so they go in the fields. These are basic human rights, I tell her. "How much does he make?" she asks. I reply, "eleven to fifteen cents a pound." "They still make eleven cents a pound?!?" Her voice is full of outrage, but her eyes hold my attention. It's as if a sliding door has been pulled away inside. I'm looking into a new and different pair of eyes. I go over to hug Oscar, and I tell him, "You rocked!" His friend says that he's seen him speak before, but that Oscar's in rare form today. I glance at the crowd, and see the reporter standing alone. She's visibly shaken. I don't get to speak with her before the rally is over, but I remember how her face looked when she found out that the people in America who put food on our tables make so little. People find it strange that Oscar is a Latino immigrant who is a Mormon. Even fellow Freedom Riders are surprised. For me, he represents the best of America, and for him, there is no idiosyncracy. "Thank you," he says to me when we get back on the bus. "My dream has come true." Caroline Fan _________________________________________________________
© 2003 Hotel Employees and Restaurant Employees International Union
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