History doesn’t repeat itself exactly, but it does rhyme.
Immigrant. It’s a loaded word. Honestly, it took a few months for me to assume it as mine. Its three syllables need to cover a crisis, a trauma, and a common name for more than 5 million Venezuelans. But it’s not just attributed to us. It’s also the reality of my grandparents, who had to leave Spain due to the economic crisis after the Spanish civil war. It’s also true of for millions of displaced refugees from the Middle East, or even of a young person moving to Los Angeles to try his or her hand at showbiz.
As the Uruguayan singer-songwriter Jorge Drexler sings, “Somos una especie en viaje.” We are a species of travelers. And he is right.
“In the end, that’s a good description of those of us called migrants. We end up becoming a little part of everywhere we go. But also we end up feeling like we are from nowhere.”
Madrid
I still remember my first week in Madrid. When new to a city or a country, you feel like a weird figure. You are not fully part of it yet, but also you are not really a tourist.
For a Venezuelan in Madrid it also meant having the chance to see old friends and family. I saw how big our exile has become. We have small pockets of people everywhere. By my first week in Madrid, I saw some friends I hadn’t seen in years. And I got lost in one of the most beautiful cities in the world.
But I was lucky: With decent economic support from my family, I escaped through the airport. Many Venezuelans go on foot to other parts of Latin America or even making the long walk up to the United States. It’s absolutely heartbreaking to see, especially when you hear the xenophobic tales that Peru’s Pedro Castillo and Bogotá’s Mayoress Claudia Lopez tell about us. It is hard to see some of my people being treated like carriers of the plague.
But still, in the end, we are just one more instance of people being displaced by the cruel tide of history. Just as my grandparents escaped Spain to get away from the destruction of a civil war started by a dictator, I moved to Spain to run away from a crisis created by one of the cruelest dictatorships in the world. It’s a weird cycle. And who knows, maybe my grandkids will be running away from here to try and find a better life.
In the end, that’s a good description of those of us called migrants. We end up becoming a little part of everywhere we go. But also we end up feeling like we are from nowhere.
The most important thing you end up learning is that no place is really stable. Also, history doesn’t repeat itself exactly, but it does rhyme.
For now, I’m just one more piece of the Venezuelan diaspora, looking for his place like anyone else.
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