Dearest Senator Sanders,
You have truly done it.
I have not been one to get heavily involved in politics, but this year, I couldn’t help myself. The reason is you, Bernie Sanders. You have reminded me that I have a voice, and my voice is heard.
You need to know, Mr. Sanders, in the past my voice shattered when I spoke. I stuttered badly as a child because I was not secure in my skin. I grew up in an upper-middle-class neighborhood in California as part of a working poor class family. My family and I were considered strange – Mexicans that were a nuisance who would not amount to anything (even though we were Argentine; no offense to anyone who is Mexican or Hispanic reading this). I did not feel accepted, liked, normal, and especially, heard.
I had no voice then. It was not until decades later that I realized what had happened to me and to my family. Thank you, Bernie Sanders, for speaking for immigrants and the working poor. Thank you for reminding me that my voice matters, that our collective voices matter.
I am a first-generation, Argentine-American who is now a United States citizen. Like most of the masses of people in this country, I believed that what I witnessed in the world around me and what I had experienced first hand was all there was or will ever be. I believed that no one had the courage to fight for what we need, what we want, what we should have, and what we deserve as citizens of this country or of the world.
I believed there was no way to change the corrupt system we endure year after year. I believed with every cell of my body that there was no way to change a system that has been in place for decades, even centuries. I believed that I would not see significant social change and significant betterment of society in my lifetime. You, Bernie Sanders, have taught me that I was wrong. I owe this to you and only you.
As the eldest of three children, I watched my father devolve from a fun-loving, gregarious, and funny man who was usually the life of the party into a silent, despondent, depressed alcoholic until his untimely death of a heart attack at the age of 59. Dad worked in a bookbinding factory in an assembly line with no air-conditioning or heat for very little pay (he was a legal immigrant who did not speak English) and with an unrealistic production goal from management.
My father was the sole breadwinner in our family and would often have to work overtime, sometimes as much as sixty hours per week. He eventually secured a job working the swing shift so he could avoid the heat from the sweltering summers and meet the production assembly-line quota. Because of this change of schedule, we only saw an exhausted version of dad on weekends. My mother was left to care for me and my siblings and hardly spent any time with her husband. We were the working poor class. Dad sacrificed his life working his ass off getting paid minimum wage or less doing a job that would drive anyone insane. I am now part of the middle class because of my father’s unrelenting dedication and sacrifice. I acknowledge that sacrifice and commitment from my Papa. I have never forgotten that.
Like my father, Bernie, there are many other fathers (and mothers) in this country working menial jobs where the pay is not enough to even survive month to month. This is the result of the unregulated, corrupt capitalistic system we have in place where greed flourishes and people are viewed and treated like machines for production. This is unacceptable. No one should have to work in deplorable conditions and earn a meager income.
YOU, Bernie Sanders, are the only politician in a long time that has even addressed, (and much less cared about) the condition of the working poor or the immigrant, and I thank you for that. I thank you for standing up for working-class families and fighting for an increase in the minimum wage in this country.
June 24th would have been my father’s 82nd birthday. Below is a picture of him working at the factory. I often imagine what his life would have been like if he had been treated better at work. I wonder if he had been sober if he would have not died so soon. I imagine how different my childhood might have been.
We have a long way to go in this country (and worldwide) to change or improve the systems in place that abuse and oppress people. It is your vision, Mr. Sanders, your courage and your passion that ignites the fire within each person to step up and do their part in changing our country for the better, not only for the plight of the poor and the immigrant but also for all the other problems facing this country that you address.
Thank you for your courage, your diligence, your inspiration, your unwavering conviction, your honesty, and your trailblazing spirit. You are the inspiration that we all needed to fight for change, to fight for freedom, to wake us out of our slumber. It is people like you who change the world for the better. You are our voice and have helped us rediscover our own voices.
I sure hope you will be elected our next president, Bernie Sanders, but if you should not, I want you to know how truly grateful I am for you. And, if my father were alive today, Bernie, I picture him shedding a tear (or two) knowing there was a candidate running for president that would have heard his voice. He would have felt the Bern, and he would have been SO INCREDIBLY GRATEFUL.
From one inspired immigrant who speaks for other immigrants,
Thank you, Bernie.