By Billie Greenwood
For the past several winters, I’ve attended a daily human rights class conducted in Spanish. Considering I first learned the alphabet in Spanish only when I was 50 years old, I didn’t ever expect to be learning human rights en español.
But, surprisingly, my new, broken Spanish became good enough to allow me to volunteer for the last 14 winters assisting migrants on the U.S.-Mexico border.
At the Mexican soup kitchen where I help, providing a hot meal wasn’t the only service. Migrants also learned a daily lesson on their 30 human rights.
Just as important, the migrants taught us daily, simply by being there. They showed us that human rights guaranteed aren’t necessarily rights received. Each could cite human rights they didn’t have.
So, their brave spirits impelled them to leave home and family. They sought to live where they’d find the rights I take for granted.
But, routinely, I saw my nation thwart their praiseworthy quest.
“Why?” Continue reading