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Immigration, imperialism, and CF
Wow, quite the tangent, but let me explain:
One of the things that interests me most are immigration patterns. How one can be born on one continent and end up living on another. I think this draws my attention, simply because I come from a family of immigrants. My Mom is from Venezuela, and her Dad was from Italy. My great grand parents on my Dad’s side were all from Italy. And, I live in the US.
I also studied political science in undergrad, and the crux of my studies was rooted essentially in the development of the West and its ways of reaching global hegemony. Which, historically and currently is brutal; and immigration patterns are often not willing choices. That coercion, warfare, and murder are a core part of this process of global hegemony.
I promise there’s a point related to CF.
I remember being in Spain a few years ago, feeling strange walking through the cobblestone streets of Sevilla. A city that once was a supposed peaceful blend of Christians, Moors, and Jewish backgrounds. Until Christian King Ferdinand III of Castile and Leon and seized the city, and either forced conversion or brutally murdered those who were not Christian. The Spanish took this approach in setting into the New World. Landing in what is now Santo Domingo, Dominican Republic — and all throughout Latin America.
They were brutal.
And along with their horses, weaponry, and unfamiliar disease. They also brought with them mutated chromosomes, the ones that people with CF are so familiar with. df508 can be traced to the Basque country (study linked below), a region in northern Spain.
And while, I’m just making shots in the dark, I can’t help but wonder — with the colonization of South American by (mostly) the Spanish. Is this how Latin America also got CF? Did we also land in genetic warfare way before that was even a thought of possibility?
Immigration is inevitable in this world and its reach is beyond our comprehension, I think. It influences everything. And while often brutal, it’s also beautiful. Our entire lives are the outcomes of immigration: the good, the bad, the horrific, and the happiness.
And here I am, in a cafe. Italian blood running through my veins. Spanish at the forefront of my heart and mind, and English coming out of my mouth.
And weirdly enough, texting in Portuguese. Another Cysta in Brazil.
1. How weird is the world?
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