Somewhere We Are Human / edited by Reyna Grande / 2022

Somewhere We Are Human / edited by Reyna Grande / 2022

This is the undocumented anthology we've needed for years. Exquisitely curated, it features the voices of undocumented migrants across Latin America, Asia, and Africa and from a range of intersecting identities. It's delightfully queer forward. While I knew my friend Mariella Mendoza was featured in this collection writing urgently about their connection to Native communities and land defense work, I was stunned to find Azul Uribe's story. Azul was a Mormon in Cedar City who was persecuted by her own congregation and ultimately deported. I cried on the train when I read her story because it was too close to home. I lived in Cedar City. I can only imagine it 20 years ago, how much worse its racism must have been, how callous and inhuman it was when I knew it. Azul could've been my neighbor, my hermana if she wasn't stolen from her home. Other compelling essays include Yosimar Reyes' depiction of his undocumented community, the essay of an undocumented lawyer reflecting on the limitations of the legal system in providing viable avenues of resistance for undocumented movements. I especially was moved by and cried on the train again when I read Reyna Grande's essay about the generational distances created between families by migration. I can see the distance in worlds of understanding between my mother, my sister, and my niece all too well. The only essay that felt almost out of place was the essay by the decorated soldier, who managed to hold onto some sense of idealism about the USA despite the injustices in his own narrative. His inclusion makes sense, however, to cover a range of the undocumented experience in to demonstrate that even military excellence will not save you from the dehumanization of the system. 5/5