The Life in My Years

May 5, 2025
It ‘s Cinco de Mayo and I suspect that, unlike St. Patrick’s Day, when many people, Irish or not, hoist a mug of green beer and proclaim that “today everyone’s Irish,” there are more than a few white American folk who, after downing a few tequila shots, stop well short of proclaiming “today everyone’s Mexican.”

When it comes to the celebration of Mexico’s victory over the French at the Battle of Puebla, it’s fun and it’s lively and a good excuse for tequila in excess, but in the end, let’s be real, it’s still, you know, Mexico; cartels, illegals, drug dealers and gangs. They really need to go back to where they came from because like the man said, “they’re not sending their best.”

I suspect that next year at this time if all things tariff haven’t changed, Patron, Mexican beer and guacamole will be painfully expensive. And Donald J. Trump will blame it all on Mexico (or Biden) and say something like, instead of five shots of Patron, maybe they’ll have to make do with just two. Or if you want three just get the well stuff.

Cinco de Mayo 2025, in America, was different this year than in years past. In cities and towns celebrations were muted. In South Philadelphia and Chicago the annual Cinco de Mayo parades were canceled outright. The reason? La Migra, which translated literally means immigration but in slang refers to ICE and the U.S. Border Patrol, has been on a rampage. It was feared that the large gatherings might provide too much of a target rich environment for La Migra.

So while white America celebrated victory at Puebla, brown America found itself threatened, uneasy, and in many cases, hunkered down.

Yesterday, there was a large Cinco de Mayo celebration in nearby Richmond, California which is home to a vibrant Latin community (along with Asian, and Asian-Pacific Islander). I considered going in order to support the community but by the time I was ready to go I figured that parking would be problematic and so I passed. It was gratifying to learn later that the celebration was a success and apparently, and thankfully, La Migra also passed.

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poem where no one is deported

By José Olivarez
now i like to imagine la migra running
into the sock factory where my mom
& her friends worked. it was all women

who worked there. women who braided
each other’s hair during breaks.
women who wore rosaries, & never

had a hair out of place. women who were ready
for cameras or for God, who ended all their sentences
with si dios quiere. as in: the day before

the immigration raid when the rumor
of a raid was passed around like bread
& the women made plans, si dios quiere.

so when the immigration officers arrived
they found boxes of socks & all the women absent.
safe at home. those officers thought

no one was working. they were wrong.
the women would say it was god working.
& it was god, but the god

my mom taught us to fear
was vengeful. he might have wet his thumb
& wiped la migra out of this world like a smudge

on a mirror. this god was the god that woke me up
at 7am every day for school to let me know
there was food in the fridge for me & my brothers.

i never asked my mom where the food came from,
but she told me anyway: gracias a dios.
gracias a dios del chisme, who heard all la migra’s plans

& whispered them into the right ears
to keep our families safe.

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