My Family

that the Mexicanos

were responsible | for the whole thing.

I mean, they were taking up | a lot of jobs...

jobs that were needed

for what they called | "real Americans."

I have to get home | to my children!

Por favor, senor. | Please.

So La Migra made some big sweeps | through the barrio,

and they rounded up | everyone they could.

No! I live here.

No! I belong here.

Senor, por favor. | Senores.

I can't help you, lady.

Move it!

It didn't matter if you were | a citizen, like my mother.

If you looked Mexicano,

you were picked up | and shipped out.

She had just been | out shopping.

She wasn't allowed | to come home.

My father was never told.

She was all alone, | and she was pregnant.

All these things really happened.

The year was 1933.

Lock her up!

Back!

Okay, roll her out!

The Southern Pacific Railroad

made the US government a deal.

For $14.75 a head,

they took the Mexicanos

all the way back | into Central Mexico,

hoping they would never | be able to get back.

Maria?

I remember the day they buried | El Californio in the backyard.

He left a will and left | everything to my father,

but he made it very clear

he didn't want to have | nothing to do

with the pinche church | or the pinche government.

He wanted to be buried | right behind the house,

under the cornfield.

Agh!

And El Californio said | exactly what he wanted

written on his grave marker.

"Don Alejandro Vazquez, | El Californio,

died 1934.

When I was born here, | this was Mexico,

and where I lie, | this is still Mexico."

My mother kept her promise,

and when my brother Chucho | was old enough,

she set off | on her long journey home,

but the rains came early | that year.

She had gone too far | to turn back.

Ay.

No!

No! No!

Aah!

Senora!

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