“I’m American Too”

Lillian Brion

Filipino | Eagan, MN | she/her/hers | Public Sector

It was April 19, 1995; my first day as an American. It was also the day America lost its innocence. That day Oklahoma City was bombed by militia movement sympathizers resulting in 168 dead, many of whom were children. Hundreds more were injured.

It started as a cold, dreary spring day. The sun was barely out when our family entered the Immigration and Naturalization Service (INS) Office, a former federal agency, in Bloomington. Phillip, our lawyer and friend, greeted me with a reminder to answer the questions directly. I saw Father Austin, our parish priest at Holy Redeemer, standing outside the courtroom and gave him a grateful smile for his time and support. He knew this day was huge for us, the culmination of years of working towards getting our American citizenship. I knew I wanted what was best for our family.

The Philippines was in chaos after years of martial law and the eventual exile of Marcos. The new government of Cory Aquino was shadow boxing, trying to figure out how to stabilize a free-falling economy. My auntie Goring was hacked with a machete inside her own house; the perpetrator was never found. A cousin of mine was thrown into jail for writing anti-government articles. My father-in-law had been hunted down by Marcos’ supporters for throwing his support behind Aquino despite being a high-profile administration official for years. Our relatives advised us to stay away. My husband, Barney, and I decided to file for refugee status to allow us to stay in the US. 

On April 19 the decision was made. The judge listened as I caught my breath telling our story. After what seemed like hours, the judge said, “Congratulations! You have convinced me that you will be an asset to the United States of America.”

It hit me that we would no longer live in fear. I buried my head in Barney’s shoulders and felt relief and excitement for what our new lives would bring. As I hugged Phillip and Father Austin. I glanced at the sunshine outside and sensed a bright future.

We stopped by a restaurant near the Mall of America and noticed a crowd gathered around the TV – their faces etched with disbelief; eyes shot with bewilderment. I caught the words:

“Oklahoma”

“destruction”

“terrorists”

“foreigners”

As I relive those moments, I feel sad that blame was seemingly, immediately, and hatefully directed towards people who were different – to those not native born, to those not white. I sensed some accusatory glances our way. I felt like waving my documents and proclaiming, “Hey, I’m not white, but I’m American too! Don’t look at me.”

#MinneAsianStories Series