Letter from friend

A local artist and art teacher sent me this email today. Thought it was worth sharing.

This is a letter of mine that my daughter put on her blog.
As a mother, teacher, artist, and citizen I feel very strongly about this issue. Would you be comfortable passing it along? You could present it with a full disclaimer so you don’t have to take any heat from it.
If this makes you uncomfortable in any way, please know that I am WAY OK with you refusing to do it. I have other ways of getting the message out.
In case you can’t open the attachment, I’m including the letter in the body of this email below.
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An Open Letter:
Estos palabras de mi corazon son para mis mijas y mijos,
These word from my heart are for my daughters and sons, of all races, all countries of origin, all socio-economic groups, and all cities in all states who protested the new laws about illegal immigration, I am so proud of you. In your youthful enthusiasm, idealism and courage, you did what “We The People” have forgotten how to do. Like the forefathers of our forefathers, you protested.
By the thousands, in high spirits with endless possibilities shining in your eyes, you made the pilgrimage to City Hall. You know that this country is the land of milk and honey, the place where dreams come true. Your parents brought you here, mostly at great risk to themselves, knowing that if you are born in this country , if you are willing to work hard enough can make a good lives for yourselves. As soon as you were old enough to understand they told you, “Get an education in this country, my love, and the future can belong to you.”
Your parents have worked hard ever since they entered this country. They have done whatever they had to to keep you healthy, fed and in school. Sometimes that means you don’t see them often; sometimes that means you have to grow up too fast and do the things they would do if they only had more time at home.
In History and Civics classes you learned what the spirit of this country is all about, and that was inspiring. Though you may be young, you already have learned the lesson that in many places in our world, there are no inalienable rights. Speaking one’s heart may be rewarded with torture, jail or death. There is no right to congregate or bear arms. Anyone seen in the streets after curfew can be shot. There is very little health care, education, programs to provide food for the needy. In an economy where the needy serve as the foundation upon which the country operates, there are simply too many for whom to provide. You read about the Tea Party held in Boston and you were excited. You read about the protests in the 60’s, the sit ins and marches that erased forever the notion that this country was only for a certain few. And perhaps you thought, “If ever I saw injustice, that’s what I would do.”
And then injustice invited itself right into your home and sat right down with your family as if it had the right to participate in your goals and dreams. This government is trying to pass laws that will affect your family and your future without even consulting you – without even understanding your situation. Your parents may be legal or illegal aliens, but you are citizens. And in this country citizens have rights.
So you came by the thousands to protest without weapons or fists, just your amiable willingness to engage in dialog.
In the news I heard about the principals of your schools punishing you by eliminating prom. Freedom is never achieved without consequences. And it is those consequences that make it such a sweet reward. But I believe we missed a huge opportunity to show you the importance we place on the traditions that in the past won for us our taken-for-granted freedoms. The consequences could have been that you were charged to create art, poetry, drama, and music about this dilemma. You could have been taught a universal socially acceptable voice.
We have forgotten that our country was built on the right to protest. How have we have come to regard protesters as fringe lunatics?
We are so comfortable in the illusions we have built on credit so we can appear like we belong to the ruling class, that we have forgotten to keep our eye on the ruling class.
If protest were part of our active vocabulary of responses to governmental interference with our inalienable rights, we would have turned out en masse the day after George Bush, Jr. won by thievery his first presidential election. We would have raised our voices and let them know that we won’t tolerate any more funny business. No Nepotism. No hanging chads. No Polling improprieties.
If we weren’t afraid of awakening out of our sleepwalk, we’d protest. But we seem to have forgotten that if we are subjected to no shrill actions, then we are merely reciting out of our hypnotic trance.
If we weren’t logey with excess, we’d have noticed by now that what we thought was merely the nibbling of mice at our core values and rights, is really the work of large deforestation equipment. We turn over in our complacency and pull up the cozy covers while our standing in the world community goes into the wood chipper, piece by piece.
If we weren’t so self absorbed, we might wrest our gaze from the mirrors and looked out the window, noticing that the mountain tops are being lopped off and the rivers are running red with the blood of our mother earth. The glaciers are melting. Our four legged brothers and sisters are fleeing their homes only to find that there is no where to go. With out knowing which species hold the cures for cancer, Alzheimer’s, AID’s and other human health maladies, we stand by and even invite industry to decimate scores of species a day. A DAY! All so we can hold in our sweaty grasp a fistful of freshly minted, newly designed dollars.
We are distanced from the ones who speak out.
We think of ourselves as too fragile and sensitive to bear the truth.
We don’t even vote. Is that apathy or what?
I want you to know how much I admire your action. You will make great citizens and I hope in the coming weeks we respond to your protest in ways that encourage you. We need your fresh perspective and your passion.
Write poems and songs about your families that came here for better lives. Paint you ideals in oils and acrylics and hang them on our walls so all may have the privilege of seeing the world through your eyes. Write and perform plays about how the government of this country sometimes looks frighteningly like the ones your parents fled. Show us, please, with your idealism and enthusiasm, what we no longer have the innocence and objectivity to perceive. Make us angry; make us feel guilty; make us remember what it feels like to be alive and belong to the family of man.

Any thoughts?
I still laugh when I think that 63 percent of Israel turned out to vote in their latest election. Over 75 percent of Iraqi’s voted – with bombs going off around the country. We think we need to bring democracy to the U.S.? They should be bringing it to us.