Salo-Salo Storytelling Feast. A Virtual Presentation. October 25, 2021.

Tuloy po kayo, welcome, I was hoping half expecting a warm welcome in August of 1972 when I landed at JFK.  

Above Manila’s 104 degree Fahrenheit tarmac voices wafted, chased by hunger pangs diseases of injustice 400+-years pummeling under colonial fists in the open air rising.

Vice President George Bush toasted President Ferdinand Marcos for his “adherence to democratic principles and the democratic process” while high school students university protesters were gunned down running towards the mountains.

“Run off.  You have to hurry.  So we don’t have to worry.” Dad had me lean on his shoulder.  “Your Mom will get you what you need when you get to New York.” Handed me a small suitcase tucked with dreams of farmers and women in saya scurrying to market each day before the sun blazed across the sky.  I could hear a high school’s sweet heart crying breaking in the shadows.  Some dried mangoes wrapped in secret pockets.

Paalam!  Good-bye my birth country! I had to turn away throwing kisses teary-eyed.

Half a heart departing, the TWA engine whirring towards half of Earth away: Two years, tops!  I promised to myself.  In two years I shall return!

I sprinted towards the red white and blue on skinny legs skimpy in mini-skirt and suitcase overstuffed with confusion, pain looking back at a school mate’s death by political protest by pillbox his 15-year-old brain matter lay sprawled his young life mattered! Our future mattered! unidentifiable on a bloody Manila street.  

Tuloy po kayo.  Welcome to your new home, to America, where hospitality on gold-paved roads awaits. But what awaited across a port of entry immigration line, cubicle after cubicle behind Honolulu glass were questions, short and glaring: “Where do you come from?” I searched for Mom’s image waiting behind the New York City greeting gate, her big hug her warmth squeezed in my memories, wrenched we were both from our ancestral farms, our maternal bond lopped by a three thousand dollar one-way plane ticket indebted.

I come from adventurous watery spirits
Who traveled far and wide
Hopping island to island
Across ocean waters salty
Hawk eyes on sea legs
Joyous laughter navigating
No destination in mind—

“Are you a communist?” “Do you have communist affiliations?  

At 16 years old my knuckles my gut I tightened across sea to shining sea longing, clinging to hope in a freshly laminated card flashing green.

At 17 newly minted working papers one hundred thirty five dollars a week on a high school diploma I jumped up and down as news flashed across 1970s dark drapes inside a temporary small walk-up in Jersey City—The Philippines descends into martial law Nixon resigns a car honks I was banking tears of yearning I was earning.

At 24 lost and shivering I clutched my pocketbook closed the flap of my trench coat and ran away from jubilant handshakes in business suits descending the steps of New York City Hall—I had reached the bottom steps alone, breathless and empty and puzzled.

“We’re American citizens!  Isn’t it great?” A smiling stocky man in a dark brown suit waved an American flag in miniature and grinned alongside me.  “Where are you from?”

“Queens—I mean, the Philippines.  

“Where is that?  In Africa?”

“It’s in Asia.  You know, where China and Japan are.”

“Oh! Everybody wants to become an American.  I think I will go see the Statue of Liberty. I love it in America.  In the Soviet Union, life is so hard.  Everything you want you can buy it here. In the Soviet Union, the stores are empty.  How long have you been in America?”

“Me?  Seven years.  That’s right.  Seven years last month—”

“Five years.  After five years I become citizen. Why you not become citizen right away?”

“I, I was working —

“I don’t know why you wait.”

“Why?  I mean—Don’t you want to go back to Russia some day?”

“Oh no. No!  I do not want to go back.”

[I had to stare, quietly.]

“If I visit I cannot come back.  I do not want to go back.”

 “I have family and friends I love back home.”

“I have no family.  Me—I want to be free!”

Stunning.  The judge in formal black robe had appeared inside the big hall beyond the heavy columns. “Welcome.” He addressed the crowd. “Welcome one and all, on behalf of the citizens of the United States of America.”

[Yankee Doodle Dandy began in accompaniment.  Tuloy po kayo.] I raise my right hand.  

“I want to stress the importance of each and everyone’s commitment to this country’s democratic ideals.”  [A flourish.]  “Everyone please form a line.”

A procession cut across my vision. A priest holding up a cross is followed by pall bearers who carry a coffin and march to Lenten music. My teenage self in black toga and cap followed, head bowed, clutching my rosary.  A Marikina farmer with rolled up trousers and white chino behind me; and so was half of the Judge’s congregation. The other half made an about-face to follow the Judge, who settled behind a table counter. 

Citizenship candidates faced the robed man, handing over documents.

“Immunization records?”  “Passports?”  “Completed application?” “Green card, please—

Anxious whispers intensified to protests through the crowd. 

“Surrender your green cards please!”  

 What if they have to go through the process again? “Have you had any communist affiliations?” “Why do you want to come to America?”  “How does a bill become a law?”

The Judge’s gavel pounded. “Everyone has been accepted!  No one will be turned down for citizenship today!” 

Right hand raised, his voice boomed.  A call, a demand, for response.
“I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America.”

[A row of blue sheets is raised to the rafters.  Like sheep the crowd followed suit.]

“… and to the Republic for which it stands.” 

 “One Nation under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.”

[A row of white sheets is raised just above blues.] A congregation in unison, a mass prayer. 

 “I hereby declare!”

“I hereby declare!”

“On oath!”

“On oath!”

“That I absolutely and entirely renounce!”

[Stiffening I stifled.] 

“I absolutely and entirely renounce and abjure all allegiance and fidelity!”

[I mouthed words.]

“I hereby declare, on oath, that I absolutely and entirely renounce and abjure all allegiance and fidelity to any foreign prince, potentate, state or sovereignty, of whom or which I have heretofore been a subject or citizen!”

 “I hereby declare, on oath, that I absolutely and entirely renounce and abjure all allegiance and fidelity to any foreign prince, potentate, state or sovereignty, of whom or which I have heretofore been a subject or citizen.”

[I muted.]

In loud cheer the crowd burst.  [A row of red sheets raised above whites and blues.] My knees shook.  Celebrants exchanged vigorous handshakes.  I heard a door slam—

Tuloy po kayo.  Tuloy po kayo.  At age 65 shy of half a country half a heart I have to witness masked men and women march up stone steps, through the pillars of the Capitol, shaking fists, loudly renouncing declaring allegiance and fidelity not to this House—

Why do you want to stay in America? 

Have you had any antidemocratic affiliations?  Anti united states for which we stand?

Are you able to read, to write to qualify for a Green card interrogation—

Dare I insist?  That citizenship be fully understood, embraced, earned, over and over and over again.  Each immigrant suitcase be re-opened re-examined re-filled on our ever-moving two-century-old conveyor belt. Re-naturalized!  

If you abjure all allegiance and fidelity to our House, keep moving . Tuloy tuloy na kayo.  Be on your way, please.  Exit this citizenship line. 

Otherwise, please stay. Tuloy, tuloy na po kayo.