What does it mean to be a Mexican American and a descendant of Native peoples who were living in the United States before it was the United States and still, five hundred years later, be viewed as an immigrant? How might it feel to be a Mexican American and recognize your family’s face in virtually every car wash crew, business park custodial team, restaurant cook, dishwasher, and busboy, and in one out of every four stroller-pushing and bucket-bearing domestic workers…and then to be told that your own relatives are illegal and a drain on the economy?
