September 20, 2010 02:27 AM UTC

Why I Support the DREAM Act

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• by: nancycronk

I am not a new American.

My ancestors on both sides have been American citizens for many generations. According to family research on both sides, I am Irish, French, Dutch, German, English, Scottish, Swedish, Canadian and more than likely, Native American. There may have been many other ethnicities mixed in, but the census records often indicate “Black German” or “Black Irish” — a common designation meaning “western European mixed with someone my ancestors did not want to acknowledge, probably with brown skin”. This designation sometimes meant African, Gypsy, Jewish, Native American, or a myriad of other groups of individuals who were discriminated against at the time. According to geneologists, most Americans had “Black Irish” or “Black German” listed frequently in their family trees. (The concept of race, incidentally, was a rather recently developed artificial designation. There is no genetic basis for “race” the way Americans tend to think of it. http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/nova/f…

On my mother’s side, we are reportedly descended from President Andrew Jackson’s sister, and one of my ancestors crossed the Cumberland Gap with Daniel Boone. My mother is a certified Daughter of the American Revolution, making me one as well. On both sides, they fought in the Civil War — some on one side, some on the other. Some fought in the Revolutionary War, while others fought for the British mother-land and were rewarded for it later with huge swaths of land in the Hudson River Valley. (I am told there is a Cronk museum somewhere in upstate, New York.)

My Dad’s family were related to English and French royalty back in the 700’s (if you believe one of the people who studied our family tree). Despite their royal roots, they were poor farmers during the Great Depression of the 20th century. Ethnically Irish and English, Grandpa and Granma raised 14 of their 17 children to adulthood, many times with only potatoes to eat for dinner. Of my Dad’s nine brothers, six served in the armed services like their father before them. That tradition continues; many generations of my family have proudly worn the uniform of the United States of America.

Songs my father sang to us were known among the immigrant Scottish families at the turn-of-the-twentieth century. My Dad often ate such ethnic foods as blood pudding (ick), sourkraut (ick), kielbasa, and lutefisk (big ick) growing up.

My Dad used to call us “Heinz 57” meaning 57 different ingredients. I married a Hungarian/ Polish/Russian Jew. We often joke with our kids they could win an award for being the biggest “Mutt’s”.

I like to look at the bits and pieces of my rich family geneology and wonder, “What was it like when English Catholic Frances married Irish protestant Al?” or “What was it like to leave your family in Deutchland, move to America, and marry someone with brown skin, such that you couldn’t even write their real heritage on a census document?” How did all of these people who married immigrants from other lands get along? Which languages did they speak at home to their children? Why? What kinds of discrimination did they face when they interacted? What strengths did they draw on to survive, and to stay in America and fight for their place in history?

How many of my ancestors were slaves raped by white slaveowners? I don’t know there were any for a fact, but one record, for example, lists an unknown woman having a child with a known aristocratic man. My ancestor was not listed on their official website as having been one of the ten children born to his legal wife. My ancestor was listed as number eleven or higher. When I wrote to a woman who jealously protected their precious family tree, she said, “Your ancestor did not exist”.

Pretty sure I’m sitting here today, thank you very much.

You could say my family history is the story of America. In each generation of my family, beginning hundreds of years ago, they proudly practiced the languages and cultures they were born into, while embracing the rugged spirit of America. They assimilated, amalgamated and accomodated (in my husband’s European extended family, many were exterminated). Each generation faced discrimination when they arrived on western shores. Each caused heartache and hardship for someone else, perhaps, whether knowingly or unknowingly. Each faced challenges I cannot begin to imagine.

I support the DREAM Act because my family’s story is the American story. The American story is not one of “homogenity”. It is the beautiful, rich, complicated, messy, vibrant, painful, smelly, violent, colorful, interesting and exhilerating story of generation after generation of people who came in waves after we stole this land from its rightful owners — the  Native Americans. There are chapters in our American story that cause me sadness, while others cause me pride and joy.

According to science, the first humans were in northern Africa, so even the Native Americans and Aztecs were immigrants at one time, as well.  As each wave of immigrants arrived in the west, they changed its’ fabric forever — in some positive ways, and in some negative ways. As a people, Americans have a fascinating story — one of various colors, religions, languages, cuisines, cultures, and homelands.

My ancestors have been in American for hundreds of years, but still, I am an immigrant. We are all immigrants from somewhere. We are all here because someone fought hard to feed their children and to make a difference. We are all descendants of struggle. We are all the recipients of the bounty of their pain, their dreams, their determination… of some kind. None of us are more entitled to be here than another. We are all  guests on this land.

It honors my ancestors, and it honors yours, when we welcome new waves of immigrants to our shores. It honors our ancestors to give hope to a generation of new Americans — Americans who will contribute their varied talents and skills to our growing legacy.

I bow to my brothers and sisters who are arriving to this country in my generation, and I say, “Welcome, Sister. Welcome, Brother. Welcome Cousins. May you be rich beyond measure, free beyond previous constraints, inspired beyond your own imagination. Let us work together and be one American family. What I can offer you, I freely give. It does not make me poorer. What you can offer me, I gratefully receive. It makes us all richer.”

We are stronger, wealthier, and smarter… together. This is the American Way. That is the American Dream. This is the America I know and love.

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The plaque at the Statue of Liberty bears this engraving from “The New Colossus,” a poem by Emma Lazarus:

~ The New Colossus ~

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame, With conquering limbs astride from land to land; Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame. “Keep ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she With silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, The wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”