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Stories From the Wall

This is the last week to view Border Cantos: Sight & Sound Explorations from the Mexican-American Border, featuring the collaborative work of photographer Richard Misrach and composer/artist Guillermo Galindo.   The exhibition’s last day on view is Monday, April 24.

 

Border Cantos has been a very impactful exhibition, and through the run of the show, we’ve heard  from many guests who have related their own stories of migration to American from all around the world.

 

One of the most moving and fascinating aspects of the exhibition is  in the nearby reflection area where guests are invited to write their personal migration stories on notepaper and stick them to a wall-sized map of the world.  I’ve gathered a few of them here.

Don’t miss this important exhibition. Admission is free!

 

My family immigrated from Armenia to the US during the Armenian genocide.

 

 

In 1922 there was a war going on in Cambodia. I was there for part of it as a young boy. My name is Heng Lim. Later I escaped to America which is where I am to this day.

 

My friend Claudia migrated to San Diego and crossed the border. She was caught and deported and now works 12 hours a day at a restaurant in Guatemala.

 

I came to the US at the age of 14 due to civil war in my country, El Salvador.

 

My best friend’s mom lived in Guatemala. She was promised a job in the USA so some men smuggled her into the States. It ended up that it was all a lie and she was sold into prostitution. That’s how my BFF was born.

 

My grandmother came to the US from Cambodia during the Vietnam War. While climbing on the plane during the excitement and rush she let go of her oldest daughter’s hand and never saw her again.

 

Thankful (for) the lawyers and judges who helped my relative enter USA the day Muslim ban was signed. She was in the air when it got signed!

 

My sister-in-law’s sister walked from Panama in order to flee Castro’s Cuba. She saw many horrors. She took shoes from bodies. She made it!

 

 

 

My family’s name was mispronounced on all immigration papers. Because we are dark they called us black.

 

 

I left South Africa during Apartheid and found a home and family in the USA.

 

I moved to the US almost 6 years ago. My wife is an American citizen and we have a little 2-year-old named Ames. They are my only family here, the rest of my immediate family still lives in Mexico. I wish they could come visit me in my new home but it is not as easy as many people think.

 

This is for my mom, that sacrificed so much so that I didn’t have to. I love you Mom.

Linda DeBerry
Senior Copy Editor / Publications Manager

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