Recently, my neighborhood of Woodlawn was chosen to house asylum seekers at a temporary shelter in a closed elementary school at 6420 S. University Ave. To my neighbors and my Chicago community who oppose this shelter, I’d like to share a different perspective: I am that immigrant you fear.
My family fled Colombia in the 1980s to escape the pillage of our private property. And with no less than three uncles executed on the same bridge as a warning, my mother believed our options were limited. Through the trauma, tears and turmoil of immigrating to a foreign land, with no resources and minimal support, we somehow, by grace, achieved the American Dream.
I am proud to be an American and of what I’ve accomplished professionally so far. But I have more pride in what I’ve been able to give back since becoming a U.S. citizen. I have worked with the homeless in Dallas; raised money for people with disabilities with an organization called Ability Connection; served on numerous non-profit boards to help bring more minorities to the STEM fields; worked with asylum seekers in Geneva through the World Economic Forum; employed southern Africans through Africa Culture Journeys, an initiative I helped launch with my husband in 2021; and much more.
All I have wanted all these years has been to give back, provide value and “prove” my worthiness. In the words of Jay-Z in “My 1st Song:” “When I was born, it was sworn, I was never gon’ be s—. Had to pull the opposite….” I yearn to give back to this country, and to others, more than what has been shown to me.
I risk a lot by sharing this, as I know there will be no lack of vitriol thrown my way. But I’d like people to understand what happens when you give someone an opportunity. Also, I wonder, who can speak for these asylum seekers, who cannot speak for themselves, in one of the most vulnerable moments of their lives? I weep thinking of their trauma and what lies ahead of them. I weep because I know the mountain of challenges, including the mental health problems they’ll undoubtedly encounter.
I don’t have all the details and information on what’s happening with this temporary shelter. But what I do know is this: comments like “place migrants in a part of the community where they won’t feel like strangers,” or “it’s unfair…to provide all these resources for the immigrants, but we disregard the people that are already here,” are in line with comments made to justify separate but equal and apartheid.
I wonder. Why do you fear me? Why do you fear us, immigrants? Just us being here demonstrates that we have the grit, perseverance and determination to do more. Could you look at us as an opportunity to do things differently?
I admit there are some valid concerns. The mayor’s office committed a foul by not consulting with our alderperson beforehand. But then again, it’s not as if Texas Gov. Greg Abbott gave Chicago any warning when he sent migrants to our city during Christmas.
Let’s focus our efforts on the right opponent. Because I can imagine those ultimately responsible, like Abbott, are sitting back and laughing. Laughing at us for playing into their hand, laughing with delight at their power to control people.
Let’s show them that NIMBY-ism (not in my back yard) has a new meaning. Not in my back yard will I allow bigotry. Not in my back yard will I allow others to sow the seeds of discontent. Not in my back yard will I allow others to “win” by doing either one. This is the message that we should send to those who think they can use human beings as pawns in political games. This time, it’s different.
Because we are the South Side. We are one Chicago. And we will focus on fighting you instead of each other.
My name is Paola Andrea Gean. I go by Paula. And I am that immigrant you fear.
Paula Gean lives in Woodlawn and is a member of the Loyola University Chicago Advisory Board.
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