My heart could understand when I could not understand the words.

Coming back to work today, I heard a reflected sound coming down the Capitol Mall. It was a public address system. Someone was holding a rally on the steps of the Capitol.
It took me back to my reporting days. Many times I would go outside the Capitol to report on a rally. My favorite was the day that Jesse Jackson spoke. His words resonated down the mall and reflected off the granite buildings.
As I strained to hear, I made out a word of Spanish – then another. And then I was off. What was going on?
As my late friend Clem would have said, “Let’s go check it out.”
As I walked the three blocks to the Capitol, I saw what appeared to be 300 people gathered on the steps and across the street. Walking along side of me were a dozen or two others folks. I did not look like any of them.
Many had toddlers. I would look deep into their huge brown eyes and smile wide. Some would easily smile back.
It reminded me of my fondest moments in Mexico – a place where a middle-aged man could walk up to a child and begin a conversation or play, and no one would think ill of him.
As I got closer, I worked hard to translate the words.
“Soy…” something.
I am …a worker?
“Soy Oregonian.”
The crowd roared.
I got chills.
They were saying it with more conviction in Spanish than I had ever heard in English.
Immigration certainly has its emotional discussions. Today the issue was whether undocumented folks could get drivers’ licenses.
I will leave that to the politicians.
My emotion is with people. People who want to be here. People who want to work.
I was wandering right into the center of the crowd and wondering if I was the only non-Spanish speaking person at this entire rally.
At that moment, the speaker asked a question to the crowd.
I could not translate.
Everyone raised their hand at that point in response to the question.
Hmmm.
I guess that would be a yes.
I moved around to a side that appeared to have a little space for standing.
A couple of folks looked at me in a concerned manner.
I worried that I was out of place.
Well, I was.
A gentleman pointed to the walkway and said everyone had been asked to keep a path open – and I was standing right in the middle of it.
I thanked him and stood aside to listen for a few more minutes.
As I paused to go, I bent over to the same person and said, “My heart is with you here.”
He placed his hand on my shoulder and thanked me.
I walked back to work and from my estimation, remained the only mono-lingual English speaker anywhere around.
I felt fine about it – though I could imagine others thinking how it must feel like an invasion of foreigners.
I chuckled as I mumbled, “Must be how Native Americans felt when the English arrived.”