An Illegal Immigrant's Odyssey

My writings are almost always political or philosophical, and this blog will not be different in that regard. However, I am going to tell a little story about this particular political issue, rather than just make dry ruminations. This is a story about an illegal immigrant from Greece who left his country to find a new life for himself: an immigrant who became my father.

My father, whom I'll call Zorba, was born in a secluded mountain village in the northwest Peloponnesus, not far from the town of Kalavryta, the flashpoint of the 1821 Greek war for independence. Greeks have always detested the Turks for holding them down. Apparently, that yearning for freedom- perhaps a vestige of Socrates or Pericles- was in all Greeks' blood, and Zorba was no exception.

For him, it was a typical rural Greek childhood, helping his father raise their herd of goats while living in a three room cottage with three siblings, both parents, and a smattering of aunts, uncles, and older relatives. Zorba was not a very well behaved kid, though, which caused his father to prepare to send him to military school. At the age of 14, rather than face the rigors of a militaristic life, he yearned for his freedom, and so ran away from home. He literally left his jacket behind in the hands of his mother as she tried to hold him back by his collar.

In a somewhat clichéd turn of events, Zorba took to the seas, becoming a sailor on a small Greek freighter. He knew not where he was going, but at least knew he was not staying behind. After sailing the long way to America, around the Cape of Good Hope, across the Pacific, and through the Panama Canal, Zorba's ship arrived, tempest-tost, in New York's harbor. He had an uncle who lived somewhere in the city- a man who had come to America illegally in order to sell hot dogs on the street. Here, besides the imposing figure of the Mother of Exiles, he entered America's golden door- by swimming. Zorba jumped ship and paddled his way through the murky harbor to shore.

The life that awaited him was, not surprisingly, not the great American way of life that had been advertised. Homeless, penniless, and totally ignorant of the alien land, Zorba soon became a streetwise rascal and hardly a model citizen. Despite constant scrapes with the law, lax immigration standards (hardly the same situation as today) ensured he was never deported. Eventually, though, the so-called Land of Opportunity did actually yield some chances, and Zorba made his way south to Philadelphia, where, at the wise old age of 18, he married my mother.

Things picked up for Zorba- he reconciled with his dreadfully missed family, started his own, and after the birth of his second child (who you all will know as the writer of this blog), became a naturalized citizen. He managed a restaurant and soon came to own one for himself. Life was good, and despite his divorce, he was happy and proud of his new life- it was an acceptable, though sometimes painful, compromise of living well in America with his own family and loving across the sea his old one.

My father strikes me as an often contradictory figure- a onetime illegal immigrant strongly denouncing those who continue to sneak across our borders. But he should take a look at his own life, and see that the pursuit of happiness is a God-given, unalienable right. Borders, fences, and immigration officials should hardly be allowed to stand in the way.

Of course, times have changed since my father arrived in America- back then, illegal immigrants weren't as strong a strain on the country and its economy. But we Americans really need to remember our own ragged immigrant roots, and be more accommodating of those who are only doing what our own ancestors did generations ago. They will be assimilated, like my father, and their children will be far less Mexican, Cuban or whatever than American. Every wave of immigration this nation has seen was greatly protested by American citizens, but each has greatly benefitted the country in the long run.

I agree that it is unacceptable that illegal immigrants take advantage of American social programs while legal citizens miss out on the benefits. Rather than a border fence, and rather than blanket amnesty for illegal immigrants, our government needs to find a happy medium. I think, as a partial solution to the economic problems of illegal immigration, the Fair Tax needs to be seriously considered. It would enact a national sales tax of 23% on all goods, and replace the income tax, which illegal immigrants don't pay. Everyone, including illegal aliens, has to buy things to survive, and in this way, illegal immigrants would be helping to pay for their transformation into productive and valuable members of American society.

Zorba’s life journey was, and is, a veritable odyssey. An odyssey replayed every day by tens of thousands of other illegal immigrants. The original Odyssey ends after an intense endeavor to find safe harbor. We need to ensure that the promise of the contemporary illegal immigrants’ destination was worth the struggle.