By Jan Muserlian
In the year of America’s 250th birthday, I’m celebrating my 70th. I grew up believing in the American dream. That dream was about celebrating opportunity, freedom and equality. These ideals, I thought, are what make America great.
My own Armenian family fled to the United States after World War I to escape the Turkish genocide. The regime slaughtered my grandfather’s first wife and children. My father fought in World War II against fascism. When he came home, he received the GI Bill, which afforded him a home on Long Island. He worked hard to ensure that his children would go to college.
As a result, my brother and I, the first in our family to obtain master’s degrees, are proof that the American dream is possible. What happened to those ideals?
I retired as an adjunct English professor at Suffolk Community College. I am reminded of the immigrant students from El Salvador, Guatemala, Peru and Colombia whom I taught for more than 30 years. These students were some of my hardest-working, most-eager-to-learn and most-appreciative students. My American-born students and I might have taken our freedoms for granted. I recall one of my students from El Salvador admonishing her American classmates for not taking their education seriously
You are so lucky to live in a place where you are safe and free.
Now, as students with visas or dreamers are being deported without due process, I am horrified.
As I heard stories about accomplished immigrant students being unjustly and brutally detained, and then a 20-year-old honor student from my school ready to graduate facing deportation to Colombia, I was disgusted. And the final tragedy was American citizens — Renee Goode, Alex Pretti, Joan Guerrero and Lorenzo Salgado — killed by Immigration and Customs Enforcement agents. I feel compelled to say something.
Focusing on my immigrant students, I ask: what good does it serve to deport these hard-working students? Does this make our nation safer or greater?
These questions resonate with me because of the stories my students shared. Only when I listened to them and viewed them as individuals did I begin to understand their traumatic plights and gain new perspectives.
As ICE tactics take hold, surely there are more humane approaches than the cruel raids and disappearances we see today. Images of masked men dragging people into detention centers under brutal conditions, without due process, leave me heartbroken. Is this really America?
Instead of targeting violent criminals, recent policies have harmed law-abiding workers who are essential to our economy. It is bitterly ironic that wealthy leaders use every legal loophole to defend themselves, while migrants often face deportation or prison without due process.
I never thought I would see in America that due process would be ignored — guilty until proven innocent — what?
The contrast between my immigrant students’ living conditions versus my American students has long disturbed me. One of my Salvadoran students told me that her mother insisted that, at the age of 15, she must go to America, because if she did not leave, she would be raped by gang members and claimed as an enslaved person. Refusal meant death for her or her family.
She shared her story with the class about her journey to America roughly 20 years ago. Once the decision was made, her mother hired a coyote to guide her north.
Before departing, her mother trained her to run fast so she wouldn’t be left behind. On the day of departure, tears streamed down her face as she said goodbye. Her mother told her, “You are the strongest in the family. That’s why you are going first. You will help the rest of us.”
Her journey was grueling: days on buses through Guatemala and Mexico with little food or rest, crowded motels and constant fear of being caught. The most terrifying moment came when she had to cross a wide river into Texas. She could not swim. The coyote inflated two plastic bags as floats and tied a rope around her. “If you scream, I’ll let you go and you will die,” he said.
She waded into the cold water, feeling slimy creatures crawling across her legs, crying in silence. After reaching U.S. soil, she walked for hours in the dark until her strength gave out. Left behind, dehydrated and terrified, she hid behind a rock until an immigration patrol found her. They gave her a blanket and questioned her endlessly before sending her to a foster home. Weeks later, she reunited with an uncle in New York, confused and frightened, unable to understand a word of English.
When she read her essay aloud in class, my students sat in stunned silence, then applauded her courage.
Stories like hers break down stereotypes. When we meet immigrants as individuals, their struggles become real, their humanity undeniable.
This lesson reminds me of the story of C.P. Ellis, once president (exalted grand cyclops) of a local Ku Klux Klan chapter in Durham, N.C., who was forced to work with Black civil rights activist Ann Atwater during a public-speaking event in 1971. He said, “I hated with a purple passion.” But working side by side, they realized their children suffered the same humiliations at school. Ellis later said, “I found out they’re people just like me. They cried, they cussed, they prayed, they had desires. Just like myself.” If a klansman could learn to see others as human, so can we.
The only “crime” that my immigrant students committed was escaping violence and fear.
Faith leaders have long reminded us that deportation strips people of dignity, while migrants embody resilience and hope. Their courage testifies to a faith that sees beyond what our eyes can see and gives them the strength to survive brutal migration routes.
Immigrants seek freedom from fear and want, freedom of speech and worship. Their hopes echo the Four Freedoms once proclaimed as America’s highest ideals.
My most fervent hope is that the American dream lives on.
Muserlian taught full-time at Adelphi University in the Learning Resource Program, working with neurodiverse students. She also taught English classes in the College of Continuing and Professional Studies, a program for adults returning to college, as well as basic English classes part-time at Suffolk Community College. She retired in June 2024 and now substitute-teaches part-time for Nassau BOCES.
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Guest Column: In honor of immigrant students
By Jan Muserlian
In the year of America’s 250th birthday, I’m celebrating my 70th. I grew up believing in the American dream. That dream was about celebrating opportunity, freedom and equality. These ideals, I thought, are what make America great.
My own Armenian family fled to the United States after World War I to escape the Turkish genocide. The regime slaughtered my grandfather’s first wife and children. My father fought in World War II against fascism. When he came home, he received the GI Bill, which afforded him a home on Long Island. He worked hard to ensure that his children would go to college.
As a result, my brother and I, the first in our family to obtain master’s degrees, are proof that the American dream is possible. What happened to those ideals?
I retired as an adjunct English professor at Suffolk Community College. I am reminded of the immigrant students from El Salvador, Guatemala, Peru and Colombia whom I taught for more than 30 years. These students were some of my hardest-working, most-eager-to-learn and most-appreciative students. My American-born students and I might have taken our freedoms for granted. I recall one of my students from El Salvador admonishing her American classmates for not taking their education seriously
You are so lucky to live in a place where you are safe and free.
Now, as students with visas or dreamers are being deported without due process, I am horrified.
As I heard stories about accomplished immigrant students being unjustly and brutally detained, and then a 20-year-old honor student from my school ready to graduate facing deportation to Colombia, I was disgusted. And the final tragedy was American citizens — Renee Goode, Alex Pretti, Joan Guerrero and Lorenzo Salgado — killed by Immigration and Customs Enforcement agents. I feel compelled to say something.
Focusing on my immigrant students, I ask: what good does it serve to deport these hard-working students? Does this make our nation safer or greater?
These questions resonate with me because of the stories my students shared. Only when I listened to them and viewed them as individuals did I begin to understand their traumatic plights and gain new perspectives.
As ICE tactics take hold, surely there are more humane approaches than the cruel raids and disappearances we see today. Images of masked men dragging people into detention centers under brutal conditions, without due process, leave me heartbroken. Is this really America?
Instead of targeting violent criminals, recent policies have harmed law-abiding workers who are essential to our economy. It is bitterly ironic that wealthy leaders use every legal loophole to defend themselves, while migrants often face deportation or prison without due process.
I never thought I would see in America that due process would be ignored — guilty until proven innocent — what?
The contrast between my immigrant students’ living conditions versus my American students has long disturbed me. One of my Salvadoran students told me that her mother insisted that, at the age of 15, she must go to America, because if she did not leave, she would be raped by gang members and claimed as an enslaved person. Refusal meant death for her or her family.
She shared her story with the class about her journey to America roughly 20 years ago. Once the decision was made, her mother hired a coyote to guide her north.
Before departing, her mother trained her to run fast so she wouldn’t be left behind. On the day of departure, tears streamed down her face as she said goodbye. Her mother told her, “You are the strongest in the family. That’s why you are going first. You will help the rest of us.”
Her journey was grueling: days on buses through Guatemala and Mexico with little food or rest, crowded motels and constant fear of being caught. The most terrifying moment came when she had to cross a wide river into Texas. She could not swim. The coyote inflated two plastic bags as floats and tied a rope around her. “If you scream, I’ll let you go and you will die,” he said.
She waded into the cold water, feeling slimy creatures crawling across her legs, crying in silence. After reaching U.S. soil, she walked for hours in the dark until her strength gave out. Left behind, dehydrated and terrified, she hid behind a rock until an immigration patrol found her. They gave her a blanket and questioned her endlessly before sending her to a foster home. Weeks later, she reunited with an uncle in New York, confused and frightened, unable to understand a word of English.
When she read her essay aloud in class, my students sat in stunned silence, then applauded her courage.
Stories like hers break down stereotypes. When we meet immigrants as individuals, their struggles become real, their humanity undeniable.
This lesson reminds me of the story of C.P. Ellis, once president (exalted grand cyclops) of a local Ku Klux Klan chapter in Durham, N.C., who was forced to work with Black civil rights activist Ann Atwater during a public-speaking event in 1971. He said, “I hated with a purple passion.” But working side by side, they realized their children suffered the same humiliations at school. Ellis later said, “I found out they’re people just like me. They cried, they cussed, they prayed, they had desires. Just like myself.” If a klansman could learn to see others as human, so can we.
The only “crime” that my immigrant students committed was escaping violence and fear.
Faith leaders have long reminded us that deportation strips people of dignity, while migrants embody resilience and hope. Their courage testifies to a faith that sees beyond what our eyes can see and gives them the strength to survive brutal migration routes.
Immigrants seek freedom from fear and want, freedom of speech and worship. Their hopes echo the Four Freedoms once proclaimed as America’s highest ideals.
My most fervent hope is that the American dream lives on.
Muserlian taught full-time at Adelphi University in the Learning Resource Program, working with neurodiverse students. She also taught English classes in the College of Continuing and Professional Studies, a program for adults returning to college, as well as basic English classes part-time at Suffolk Community College. She retired in June 2024 and now substitute-teaches part-time for Nassau BOCES.
Related
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