Those who came from far away...
By Manuela Lynch and Maria Victoria Pintos, founders of Gestión MDQ
Our immigrants, our history.
We can all know or assume that we come from those who came from elsewhere to this place the planet. Those others who traveled before to find a new destination. Italian, Spanish, Polish, German, Portuguese, Syrian, Arab immigrants... but do we know our history? Do we know theirs? Do we understand the path they traveled?
The immigrants' journey began much earlier than imagined. It was formed in their heads, created in their uncertainties and circumstances. It was forged amid doubts, fears, certainties, ideas, hopes and frustrations. There was sadness, abandonment, loss and horizons.
The departure began when they left their hometown behind, postponing everything, including, many times, their own family whom they would never see again.
With nothing, but with the hope of a better life, they embarked on that boat trip with nostalgia, hunger and poverty. Immersed in the illusion that here things would be better for them and their families. Some with trades, others destined to build, disembarked in the port of Buenos Aires, to later be distributed, many times as in colonies to the same area.
Out of fear, out of anguish, to protect themselves from their own fears and memories, so that their departure would hurt a little less, they usually spoke little. But in our hands remains the enormous task of recovering those roots. To rebuild their courage, to know each one's personal history. If there is active and loving listening, the elders of each of our families will feel that their paths are valued and that we wish to honor their journey. Recognize the path of those who forged the history of our country, who worked our land, who created our factories, who raised their families.
Today we are heirs who are trying to recover that nationality, which leads us to obtain a benefit because we carry their blood, but it is not just a formality, but to honor their history, to transmit it and perpetuate it, so that it does not die when their voices are extinguished.
A formality, a departure, a document reveals surprising paths of our ancestors. Those that bring memories crashing down and tears bursting.
Nationality is not a passport. It is a web of roots and blood that takes us into history and projects us. They were our grandparents, they will be our grandchildren.
