Thousands join protests
Felix Rivas-Sanchez doesn’t think he had a choice.
Yes, he could have shown up Monday for his regular shift at King Kong restaurant.
He could have tried to forget the boss’s ultimatum to every Hispanic worker but him before Monday’s march to the Capitol:
Skip the march, come to work or your job may be in jeopardy.
But that would have been impossible, he says, just as it was impossible to miss the waving American, Mexican and Guatemalan flags and the chants of Si se puede! (“Yes we can!”) reverberating through downtown.
No, no choice at all.
Monday morning, he weaved through Lincoln’s largest Hispanic protest ever, past people shaking signs that read, “We Are America’s Backbone” and “Pilgrim = Immigrant” and “Who’s Gonna Build Your Fence?”
He waved an American flag. He led chants. He pumped his fist. He sweated through his nice black suit.
And when it was his turn to speak, he clutched the microphone and told an estimated 4,000 protesters that a fence to keep out illegal immigrants would meet the same fate as did the Berlin Wall and the Great Wall of China.
“Walls … do … not … work!” he yelled, stringing out every syllable and sending the crowd into a particularly frenzied Si se puede!
The march from Cooper Park to the Capitol and then to the Federal Building was ostensibly to oppose stricter immigration laws — a wall across the U.S.-Mexican border, for example, or a plan to force some illegal immigrants out of the country.
A dozen speakers exhorted lawmakers to treat legal and illegal immigrants with compassion. They chided Sen. Ben Nelson and Gov. Dave Heineman for what they perceive as those politicians’ anti-immigrant stances.
They urged the crowd to boycott Lincoln businesses Monday, a boycott put to the test at rally’s end when an ice cream truck pulled up next to Cooper Park. Some protesters got in line only to shuffle away, sufficiently shamed, after other protesters yelled at them for supporting the local economy.
But it was the crowd’s size, and its passion, that speakers and marchers said would remain as immigration issues change.
That crowd clogged city streets, backed up downtown traffic and interrupted the normalcy of a Lincoln Monday for office workers who watched the march from the sidewalk.
“We will not go away,” said Miguel Carranza, a University of Nebraska-Lincoln sociology and ethnic studies professor. “We’re not leaving this city.”
Pascal, who asked his last name not be used, attended Monday’s rally because he wants an easier path to American citizenship.
The undocumented worker is employed at Farmland in Crete, where he operates a machine that skins cattle. That machine also will cut off his finger or hand if he’s not careful, he said.
“The size (of the crowd) will make people understand what we’re thinking,” he said through an interpreter.
“We need rights.”
Juana Martinez marched because she says she wants a better life for her children, a 6-year-old and a 5-month-old.
A better education. Better job. Health insurance.
She held a sign that said, “This is for you, Papa,” meant to signify the sacrifices of the Mexican, Guatemalan and Honduran parents who strive to improve their children’s lives.
Some people don’t seem to understand that, she said.
“We’re here to work.”
For Marty Ramirez, the protest marked a turning point for the area’s Hispanic population.
The longtime Lincoln resident and activist served as the march’s master of ceremonies.
The protest was easily the largest of its kind in the 33 years he’s lived in Lincoln, he said, a visual example of disparate immigrant groups coming together and flexing their newfound political muscle.
“We can no longer be an invisible minority,” Ramirez said.
Later: “We’ve been pushed and pushed. Now we’re saying, enough is enough.”
Felix Rivas-Sanchez, who says he resigned as King Kong’s manager over the weekend, thinks Monday’s march served an even larger purpose than politics.
Nick Triantafillou, the owner of King Kong, says Felix was fired for trying to convince Hispanic workers and Triantafillou’s 18-year-old son to attend Monday’s march.
Some of his Hispanic workers may have been replaced if they had attended the protest, he said.
“You don’t like to work, go demonstrate,” he said. “I gotta protect my business.”
Rivas-Sanchez hopes the march was one small step toward what he admits is an idealistic goal: He wants people to stop building walls and start tearing them down.
“This is bigger than me.
“It’s bigger than any paycheck.”
Reach Matthew Hansen at 473-7245 or mhansen@journalstar.com.
Yes, he could have shown up Monday for his regular shift at King Kong restaurant.
He could have tried to forget the boss’s ultimatum to every Hispanic worker but him before Monday’s march to the Capitol:
Skip the march, come to work or your job may be in jeopardy.
But that would have been impossible, he says, just as it was impossible to miss the waving American, Mexican and Guatemalan flags and the chants of Si se puede! (“Yes we can!”) reverberating through downtown.
No, no choice at all.
Monday morning, he weaved through Lincoln’s largest Hispanic protest ever, past people shaking signs that read, “We Are America’s Backbone” and “Pilgrim = Immigrant” and “Who’s Gonna Build Your Fence?”
He waved an American flag. He led chants. He pumped his fist. He sweated through his nice black suit.
And when it was his turn to speak, he clutched the microphone and told an estimated 4,000 protesters that a fence to keep out illegal immigrants would meet the same fate as did the Berlin Wall and the Great Wall of China.
“Walls … do … not … work!” he yelled, stringing out every syllable and sending the crowd into a particularly frenzied Si se puede!
The march from Cooper Park to the Capitol and then to the Federal Building was ostensibly to oppose stricter immigration laws — a wall across the U.S.-Mexican border, for example, or a plan to force some illegal immigrants out of the country.
A dozen speakers exhorted lawmakers to treat legal and illegal immigrants with compassion. They chided Sen. Ben Nelson and Gov. Dave Heineman for what they perceive as those politicians’ anti-immigrant stances.
They urged the crowd to boycott Lincoln businesses Monday, a boycott put to the test at rally’s end when an ice cream truck pulled up next to Cooper Park. Some protesters got in line only to shuffle away, sufficiently shamed, after other protesters yelled at them for supporting the local economy.
But it was the crowd’s size, and its passion, that speakers and marchers said would remain as immigration issues change.
That crowd clogged city streets, backed up downtown traffic and interrupted the normalcy of a Lincoln Monday for office workers who watched the march from the sidewalk.
“We will not go away,” said Miguel Carranza, a University of Nebraska-Lincoln sociology and ethnic studies professor. “We’re not leaving this city.”
Pascal, who asked his last name not be used, attended Monday’s rally because he wants an easier path to American citizenship.
The undocumented worker is employed at Farmland in Crete, where he operates a machine that skins cattle. That machine also will cut off his finger or hand if he’s not careful, he said.
“The size (of the crowd) will make people understand what we’re thinking,” he said through an interpreter.
“We need rights.”
Juana Martinez marched because she says she wants a better life for her children, a 6-year-old and a 5-month-old.
A better education. Better job. Health insurance.
She held a sign that said, “This is for you, Papa,” meant to signify the sacrifices of the Mexican, Guatemalan and Honduran parents who strive to improve their children’s lives.
Some people don’t seem to understand that, she said.
“We’re here to work.”
For Marty Ramirez, the protest marked a turning point for the area’s Hispanic population.
The longtime Lincoln resident and activist served as the march’s master of ceremonies.
The protest was easily the largest of its kind in the 33 years he’s lived in Lincoln, he said, a visual example of disparate immigrant groups coming together and flexing their newfound political muscle.
“We can no longer be an invisible minority,” Ramirez said.
Later: “We’ve been pushed and pushed. Now we’re saying, enough is enough.”
Felix Rivas-Sanchez, who says he resigned as King Kong’s manager over the weekend, thinks Monday’s march served an even larger purpose than politics.
Nick Triantafillou, the owner of King Kong, says Felix was fired for trying to convince Hispanic workers and Triantafillou’s 18-year-old son to attend Monday’s march.
Some of his Hispanic workers may have been replaced if they had attended the protest, he said.
“You don’t like to work, go demonstrate,” he said. “I gotta protect my business.”
Rivas-Sanchez hopes the march was one small step toward what he admits is an idealistic goal: He wants people to stop building walls and start tearing them down.
“This is bigger than me.
“It’s bigger than any paycheck.”
Reach Matthew Hansen at 473-7245 or mhansen@journalstar.com.
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