Constantino Diaz-Duran is a fellow at the Center for Social Cohesion at Arizona State University. He is chronicling his walk from New York to Los Angeles to celebrate his eligibility for American citizenship. Follow Constantino’s progress.

I’ve always loved looking up. In New York City, the sight of skyscrapers towering toward heaven inspires me. It reminds me of the greatness of the human mind, and all we have achieved. Here in the South, I have fallen in love with the sky. I also love that it’s February, and I can still walk around in just jeans and a t-shirt. I know it’s cold up north, so I made this video for y’all—a window into summer, to maybe warm your day up a little.

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*Photo by Constantino Diaz-Duran.

Constantino Diaz-Duran is a fellow at the Center for Social Cohesion at Arizona State University. He is chronicling his walk from New York to Los Angeles to celebrate his eligibility for American citizenship. Follow Constantino’s progress.

I took a short trip to Montgomery a couple of weeks ago. I wanted to see the city that was both the first capital of the Confederacy and arguably the birthplace of the Civil Rights Movement. I wanted to pay homage to one of my heroes, Rosa Parks, and walk down the streets where she pronounced the “no” heard around the world.

Montgomery is an interesting city. Its economy seems to have been hit hard, and you can see large, abandoned buildings, including a mall that I’m told used to be very popular. On the other hand, it’s being revitalized. My friend Tim took me downtown, where there are several new restaurants, a great new ballpark, and a charming promenade along the Alabama River.

One thing I have come to love about the South is that here you find complete integration of history and daily life. There’s no pretending down here. Past and present collide everywhere, and ghosts walk hand in hand with reformers. Did you know, for example, that Parks boarded the bus that made her famous almost directly across the street from where the telegram was sent authorizing the bombardment of Fort Sumter? Or that her bus ride must have taken her right by Court Square, which was once the site of the city’s slave market?

If you go to a game at Riverwalk Stadium, home of the Montgomery Biscuits, you’ll find yourself at the site of a former Confederate military prison. And if you walk just one mile toward the Alabama State Capitol, you’ll go right past Dexter Avenue Baptist Church, where Rev. Martin Luther King got his start. It was in the basement of that church that people met to organize the Montgomery Bus Boycott following Parks’s arrest.

As you walk through the doors at the State Capitol you will be taken by the beauty of the twin cantilevered staircases that rise to the top. The structures spiral up towards large chandeliers, and seem to float in the air, with no central support. They are the brainchild of a talented, yet somewhat unknown architect by the name of Horace King. He was born a slave in South Carolina in 1807, but his genius for bridge-building helped him rise to prominence across the Deep South. He purchased his freedom the year before he turned 40, and following the Civil War, at age 61, he was elected to the Alabama House of Representatives.

Southerners don’t dwell on the past, but they also don’t pretend it’s not there. Bless your heart if you think people here are naive or ill-informed.

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*Photo courtesy of Constantino Diaz-Duran.

Constantino Diaz-Duran is a fellow at the Center for Social Cohesion at Arizona State University. He is chronicling his walk from New York to Los Angeles to celebrate his eligibility for American citizenship. Follow Constantino’s progress.

If I had walked a straight line across the continent, I would probably be home–or close to it–by now. But the walk South and the stay in Alabama have been worth the delay. I’m still headed south for a few hundred miles more (I can’t miss New Orleans), but I’m now ready to start the westward trek. I’m fixin’ (that’s Southern for “getting ready”) to leave Tuscaloosa, and I’m hoping to be in the Big Easy for Mardi Gras.

The logistics of the walk, from here on out, will be a little different. For starters, I will no longer be burdening my hips with the weight of the backpack. In order to walk the longer distances that will be demanded of me going forward, I got myself a bike trailer equipped with a handle. I will use it to carry my gear. It holds up to 100 pounds, so I’ll also be able to bring more food, clothing, and supplies.

Several people have pointed out a conundrum I’ll face as I head into the more sparsely populated West. The main point of my walk, as you all know, is to find out “what it means to be an American.” I want to paint a portrait of the American people in the early 21st century. As I said from the beginning, I’m out to hear your stories, your hopes and fears, your view of our country. I’m guessing I won’t be getting much input from cacti. So, what to do about those stretches where I could face a week or more of walking without meeting a soul? Should I allow myself to hitchhike or accept occasional rides in order to maximize my chances of meeting new people? I hadn’t thought about this, and now I’m torn.

Spending the holidays in Alabama was a great idea. I’ve had some personal worries in the last couple of months which would have been hard to face alone. I was glad to be in the company of friends. It has also been a true privilege to get to know the guys in the roofing crew. I could (and may) write a book based just on their stories. They have truly inspired me, and I think they represent America at its best.

I look forward to the journey ahead. I face it reenergized, and already a different man than I was on July 4th, 2011. I plan to post more frequently as I go on, and hope you will continue to follow me.

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*Photo courtesy of Constantino Diaz-Duran.

Constantino Diaz-Duran is a fellow at the Center for Social Cohesion at Arizona State University. He is chronicling his walk from New York to Los Angeles to celebrate his eligibility for American citizenship. Follow Constantino’s progress.

“We all got a hillbilly bone down deep inside, no matter where you’re from, you just can’t hide,” sings Blake Shelton. Well, I’m getting ready to hit the road again after the holidays, and as I see my days in the Deep South numbered, all I can say is that I’ve taken to it “like a pig to mud, like a cow to cud.”

You haven’t lived, you see, until you’ve had pasta sauce made with meat from a deer the cook shot himself. And there is no sky more beautiful than the southern sky on a sunny day. If anyone ever doubted that the Earth is round, all they’d need to do is come down to Alabama and look up—here it is clear that we live on a globe; here you see the vast sky curve.

That I like country music is no secret, but here I’ve become an even bigger fan. George Strait’s “Here For A Good Time” has become the anthem of my stay in Tuscaloosa. It’s a feel-good song that perfectly captures the spirit that drove me to this journey: “Folks are always dreaming ’bout what they like to do, but I like to do just what I like. I’ll take the chance, dance the dance … Life is too short to waste it, I say bring on anything.”

The people here have made it hard to leave. I’ve made friends I know will last a lifetime. There’s Tracy and Sandra, who hosted me in Oxford. Also Tracy’s brother, Charles, and his charming wife, Lynn, who got me tickets to my first ’Bama game. In Tuscaloosa, I’ve met Mike and his old friends, Robert and Sherry. You won’t meet nicer people. Robert and Sherry got me into my second game, and let me partake at a few of their tailgates. And it is to Robert that I owe my roofing job.

Speaking of tailgating: I know I’ve mentioned it before, but the food is so good I think I need to highlight some of my favorite treats. There’s Sherry’s grilled salmon, for one, busting the stereotype that southern food is unhealthy. Then there’s Lynn’s tailgating dip—I don’t know what was in it, but that alone is enough to bring me back to T-Town next fall. And I have to mention the brownies that Lynn’s friend Jane made for the Tennessee game—remember I mentioned gaining a few pounds my first weeks here? Well, at least a couple of them came from the trayful I ate that day.

Going back to the people, I must say that my respect for my boss, Jay, has only grown since I met him. He takes a genuine interest in his employees, and even takes on something of a parental role with the younger guys in the crew. They get mad at him sometimes, but they recognize that he’s a good role model. Jay better watch out for 19-year-old Tyler, though—he’s getting a business degree and plans to take over the company. I’m glad to see this ambition. And then there’s Brian, who was born the same year I was. The lives we’ve lived since 1979 could not be more different, but scratch the surface, and you’ll find that we’re in many ways alike. I’m proud to call him not just a coworker, but also my friend.

Finally, there’s my family here, Patrick, Alina, Gary, and Lydia. They have made this time a treasure, and they are the reason I decided to stay until Christmas. I have known Alina since our intern days in Washington, D.C., when we shared an apartment in Northern Virginia. We stayed up late many nights back then, talking about foreign policy. Now our talks are about parenting. She and Patrick have three precious children, Max, Micah, and Milla. And I, while still childless, know that fatherhood will be the next big journey of my life.

I can’t stay in the South forever. My home is New York, and I miss it. I also can’t wait to see the rest of the country, and “I got a long, long, way to go.” But for now, quoting Strait, “bring on the sunshine, the hell with the red wine, pour me some moonshine!”

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*Photo courtesy of Constantino Diaz-Duran.

Constantino Diaz-Duran is a fellow at the Center for Social Cohesion at Arizona State University. He is chronicling his walk from New York to Los Angeles to celebrate his eligibility for American citizenship. Follow Constantino’s progress.

Last week I attended an event in Birmingham that launched a campaign to repeal Alabama’s anti-illegal-immigration law, HB-56. What I found most interesting about the rally was the coming together of veterans of the African American Civil Rights Movement and Hispanics pushing for immigration reform.

The event took place at the historic Sixteenth Street Baptist Church, site of the infamous 1963 bombing that killed four young girls, sparking a series of riots that led to two more deaths. The speakers included U. W. Clemon, the first African American to serve as a federal judge in Alabama. Clemon, who marched with Dr. Martin Luther King in Birmingham in 1963 recalled hearing King’s calls to action from the same podium where he now stood. “Injustice anywhere,” he reminded us, “is a threat to justice everywhere, so now—even as senior citizens—we must put our marching shoes back on.”

A high school student who identified only as Y. J. told the audience that he is here illegally, as are his parents. He doesn’t remember crossing the Rio Grande as a toddler on his father’s shoulders, he said. In fact, he claims, he has virtually no memory of his native Mexico. His English is perfect—better, I suspect, than his Spanish. “This is where I grew up, this is the only home I know,” he exclaimed into the microphone. “How can you look me in the eye and tell me I don’t belong here, tell me I need to go?”

As a legal immigrant who is soon to be an American citizen, I could not help but be moved by Clemon and Y. J. Regardless of what you think of the decision made by Y. J.’s parents, his is a plight that he did not choose, and the fear under which he lives now is as unjust as the fear under which Clemon lived as a teenager. Hearing them, just days before Thanksgiving, reminded me of all I have to be thankful for. I have never suffered the injustice that this gentleman and this boy have suffered. And the way they’ve refused to let victimhood take over their lives has inspired me to face my comparatively smaller troubles head on.

America is my country, and I love it dearly. I even dislike it when people call it my “adoptive” country because the word implies that there is some other country to which I might hold allegiance, and that is not the case—like Heidi, the German immigrant I met in South Carolina, I believe that “you can’t sit on two chairs at the same time.” I have but one chair—the one I have chosen, not the one I was born with.

I have worked hard to get where I am, and I won’t pretend that I’m not proud of my achievements. But hearing Y. J. humbled me. It reminded me that I have in a sense been lucky to be able to legally call this my home since the day I arrived. Much like the native-born Americans who take for granted their citizenship, I am guilty of sometimes taking my legal status for granted.

People like Y. J. keep me honest. He reminded me of an important person in my life, someone who I admire, and someone who was once in Y. J.’s situation. One of the smartest men I know—a doctor with an undergraduate degree in Math from MIT, a medical degree from Columbia University, and now a resident at Cornell—was brought here by his parents when he was a young child. My friend, his brother, and his parents—Christian immigrants from the Middle East—were here illegally well into my friend’s teenage years. I see what he has achieved, and what I’m sure the future holds for him, and I think of what a loss it would have been for the U.S. if his teenage fears of not getting his papers before going off to college had come true. Thankfully, he was able to get a green card just in time, and he is now a citizen.

Just like the plight of people like Clemon helped open the eyes of other Americans in the 1960s, the situation faced by Y. J. and others like him is opening the eyes of many legal immigrants and native-born Americans. It makes sense, then, to see the black community here in Alabama advocate for the people that are being unjustly targeted by HB-56.

Professor Mike Innis-Jiménez of the American Studies Department at the University of Alabama told me he sees the rally at the Sixteenth Street Baptist Church as the marriage of the Black Civil Rights Movement and the immigration reform movement. I think he’s right, and I look forward to seeing how the alliance develops. There is very little precedence of collaboration between blacks and Hispanics—if anything, the two groups have traditionally been at odds. Only time will tell how much of the rhetoric at the leadership level will trickle down to the rank-and-file (most Hispanic immigrants I have interviewed have expressed an antipathy even toward President Obama), but the good news is that things seem to be moving fast here in the slow-paced South—I’m sure we’ll have answers soon.

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*Photo by Constantino Diaz-Duran.

Constantino Diaz-Duran is a fellow at the Center for Social Cohesion at Arizona State University. He is chronicling his walk from New York to Los Angeles to celebrate his eligibility for American citizenship. Follow Constantino’s progress.

The Alabama Coalition for Immigrant Justice held a rally Monday to launch a campaign for the repeal of Alabama’s anti-illegal immigration law, HB-56. I attended the event, held at the historic Sixteenth Street Baptist Church, in Birmingham. Approximately 2,000 people attended, according to the organizers. Here are some pictures.

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*Photos by Constantino Diaz-Duran.

Constantino Diaz-Duran is a fellow at the Center for Social Cohesion at Arizona State University. He is chronicling his walk from New York to Los Angeles to celebrate his eligibility for American citizenship. Follow Constantino’s progress.

One thing people who know me in person know is that I’m very much an introvert. I’ve never been one to dominate conversation—I’m more of a listener than I am a talker. And I’m usually quite shy. So when people come up to me who recognize me from the news, I always feel a little awkward.

When a Dominican family recognized me as I was crossing the George Washington Bridge the day I left New York, it really took me aback. They had seen my interview on CNN that morning, and came up to me while I was taking pictures of the Manhattan skyline. Since then, a few other people have come up to me and asked if I’m the guy who’s walking across the country. Others have said, “Oh yeah, I’ve seen you in the news,” when I tell them what I’m doing. And there was that kid I mentioned a couple of months ago, who followed me on Twitter after seeing me on TV, and came out to meet me as I was approaching his town of Berndardsville, New Jersey.

It happened again in Birmingham a few weeks ago. I was having brunch with my host and a friend of his, when a girl came up to our table and asked if she could take a picture with me. My host’s friend said “I didn’t know we were eating with a celebrity.” I didn’t know either—and I don’t think they were. I’m sure I was red as a tomato in that picture.

Here in Tuscaloosa it has happened more, probably thanks to an article that ran in the Tuscaloosa News. When I went trick- or- treating with my friend and her kids for Halloween, a lady at one of the houses we visited said she knew who I was. And it happened at one of the local Episcopal churches, where I attended a service. Some of my friend’s friends have heard about me before she has even introduced us. I need to get better at not blushing.

The nice thing is that it’s an instant ice-breaker. It gets people to want to talk to me and share their thoughts on what it means to be American in the 21st century. It has also awarded me some cool opportunities. This week, for example, I got to give a short talk to the International Student Group at Shelton State Community College. With some 7,000 students, including approximately 3,000 full time, Shelton State is one of the largest two-year colleges in Alabama. The students and the administrators who attended the talk were interested in the logistics of the walk, and in what I have learned.

In any case, if you ever see me on the street, or the side of the road, or a coffee shop somewhere, please feel free to say hi. Just don’t laugh if I turn red.

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*Photo by Constantino Diaz-Duran.

Constantino Diaz-Duran is a fellow at the Center for Social Cohesion at Arizona State University. He is chronicling his walk from New York to Los Angeles to celebrate his eligibility for American citizenship. Follow Constantino’s progress.

[View with PicLens]

Be a part of Constantino’s journey.

Follow Constantino on Facebook and Twitter.

See Constantino’s entire route.

*Photos by Constantino Diaz-Duran.

Constantino Diaz-Duran is a fellow at the Center for Social Cohesion at Arizona State University. He is chronicling his walk from New York to Los Angeles to celebrate his eligibility for American citizenship. Follow Constantino’s progress.

A girl goes off to a good college—the state’s flagship university. She falls in with the wrong crowd and starts doing drugs. A year later, she’s failing most of her classes and is forced to drop out. Her parents bring her back home. It’s a mother’s worst nightmare and a young woman’s biggest humiliation. And yet, a few years later, she’s back on her feet. She’s attending a smaller school in a different city, she has a job, and she’s on her own.

“America, to me,” says her mom, “is the land of second chances.” And I think she’s right. I won’t say that this is unique to the U.S., but there is something about how this country has been populated that I think makes us more willing to grant people clean slates. Whether you have made mistakes and want to right them, or simply want to start over in a new direction, most people here will encourage you—or, at the very least, stay out of your way.

A few weeks ago I met a man who, 30 years ago, was addicted to cocaine. He hit rock bottom when his wife left him. He sobered up, asked for her forgiveness, and now runs a successful, multi-million dollar company. I met a younger friend of his, who just four years ago found himself penniless and in jail thanks to his addiction. Now, he also is a successful businessman. He owns a beautiful house, and is making plans to marry. Both of these men spend much of their time helping others who have screwed up get their lives back together.

I had a good talk the other day with a guy my age. His mother was shot and killed when he was nine years old. “Two weeks after my mother died,” he says, “I was getting high.” He took to the streets and spent the better part of the next two decades “getting in trouble.” He sold drugs—not to make money but to support his own habit. And in that world, he committed more crimes. “Man, I’m telling you, I did some really bad things, man,” he says. But he has now been sober for several years, and, although he still has some demons to fight, he has managed to keep a steady job, support his children, and marry a doctoral student. He’s a good guy and someone who I think I’ll be friends with for a long time.

I have learned a lot from these people. As an immigrant, I, too, took advantage of America being the land of second chances. That is what everyone who comes here from a different country is here to do—to get a new start. This drive and ambition of people who appreciate getting a new chance is part of the motor that keeps our country going strong. It doesn’t matter why you fell—whether you did it to yourself or circumstances tripped you. When you push hard to get back up, you almost always bring others up with you.

It is often said that America has been populated and has kept going thanks to immigration. People like to point out that most Americans need only go back a few generations to find an ancestor who came here from a different country. This, it is argued, has had an impact on our culture and, in spite of the fringe nativist movements we hear so much about these days, has made Americans, by and large, a welcoming people. I think this is all true, but lately I have been thinking about it differently. Most American families have had at least one member who has benefited—through immigration or otherwise—from a second chance. This, I think, makes us a kinder and more humble nation. This, I think, is what makes us root for the guy who has fallen but is getting back up—lending him a hand, or at the very least, staying respectfully out of his way.

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*Photo by Constantino Diaz-Duran.

Constantino Diaz-Duran is a fellow at the Center for Social Cohesion at Arizona State University. He is chronicling his walk from New York to Los Angeles to celebrate his eligibility for American citizenship. Follow Constantino’s progress.

A recurring joke over the course of my walk has been that “if you’re walking like an American, you should be driving!” Well, for the next month I will be doing just that. My ride is an SUV borrowed from my host. Pretty American, right?

I get up at 6 a.m. to be at work by 7. I’ve discovered at least three country music stations on the dial in Tuscaloosa. I’m totally into it. I alternate between “The Bear” and “The Bull”, but my mind couldn’t be further away from Wall Street and the markets. I stop at a gas station every morning and run in to grab a cup of bad coffee—the awfulness makes me wake me up and utter a four-letter word with the first sip, though, so I guess it’s doing its job.

I’m working for a roofing company. The crew is pretty cool. Half of them speak English, and the other half Spanish. One of the English-speakers asked me today if I can give him some lessons after work. I used to moonlight as a tutor, so I’ll be glad to help him out. Since I’m still learning the ropes, I mostly just carry their ladders, help load and unload the truck, and hand them stuff. The boss got insurance for me yesterday, so I’m now allowed to climb up with them. I’m still figuring out how to keep my balance on pitched roofs, but I have thus far avoided this.

One thing I’ve learned is that tailgating is so much fun. And there’s so much food. And it’s all so good. This is a bye week for the University of Alabama, but LSU is coming to Tuscaloosa on November 5. That’s going to be a good game, and I hear that Tigers fans are “brazen,” so I’m sure the town will be crazy that weekend. I don’t have tickets to the game, but I have three tailgate parties to attend that day, so all is good.

I am forced to report that I have gained a few pounds in the last 10 days. But worry not, I’ve already found a gym that let me join just for the month. I still fully intend to enjoy everything the South has to offer and leave with a flat stomach.

On a more serious note, I’ve decided to do a few short road trips to other parts of the state while I’m here. Some Mexican immigrants I met said I must go to a town north of Birmingham called Cullman, where the immigrant population claims the Ku Klux Klan is active, and targeting them. I want to see how much of that is true. I also want to have more conversations with immigrants, legal and illegal, to learn about their lives under the new law.

In the meantime, I will keep on working, learning, and writing for y’all. Roll Tide!

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*Photo by Constantino Diaz-Duran.