I have always been proud to call myself an American citizen. First it was the childish glee of walking straight through customs on the many, many times we came here on vacation, like all middle class Venezuelans. Then it was the understanding of American culture, the slight aura of worldiness that a blue passport gave. And finally, the ease with which I could move here in the middle of a migratory crisis, the largest one in South American history and only comparable to the Syrian refugee exodus because of the civil war there. I always had a bit of survivor’s guilt, though, especially knowing how so many Venezuelans have suffered to get out. I vowed I would never take my luck for granted and would try and do everything correctly to be a good citizen.

So I am here, an hour away from home, in the small town of Bartow, Florida… on jury duty.

Continue reading “Yes, Your Honor” →