TRANSCRIPT

I’m Maggie Smith, and this is The Slowdown. 

Gossip is a word with a negative connotation. I was raised not to gossip, and not to pass it along. When I think about the word gossip, I think about secrets—parts of a person’s life they don’t want shared. Tabloids and celebrity news websites have made gossip a billion dollar industry. People will pay top dollar for scandalous news about someone’s life—who they are dating, what is going on with their business, how much their house cost—and will pay even more if there are photos! 

Gossip has a negative connotation because we associate it with prying, and with taking pleasure in knowing the salacious details of someone else’s life. That dopamine hit from hearing a juicy tidbit and whispering about it to someone else: “Can you believe that she did that? Can you believe he said that?” I’m not an especially gossipy person, but have I taken pleasure in a little tidbit now and then, especially if I’m not a fan of the person? Yes. I can admit that.

Gossip isn’t just trash-talking though; it can help us make important decisions. Whisper networks can even be lifesaving. Imagine that you hear that ICE will be raiding a local business, or a school, or even your neighbor’s apartment. What you decide to do with that information could result in deportations, or in people being spared that fate.

Today’s poem recounts a story of women outsmarting immigration officials who raid their factory, thanks to “dios del chisme,” meaning “the god of gossip.” The poem repeats a Spanish phrase, “si dios quiere,” meaning “God Willing.”

poem where no one is deported
by José Olivarez

now i like to imagine la migra running
into the sock factory where my mom
& her friends worked. it was all women

who worked there. women who braided
each other’s hair during breaks.
women who wore rosaries, & never

had a hair out of place. women who were ready
for cameras or for God, who ended all their sentences
with si dios quiere. as in: the day before

the immigration raid when the rumor 
of a raid was passed around like bread
& the women made plans, si dios quiere.

so when the immigration officers arrived
they found boxes of socks & all the women absent.
safe at home. those officers thought

no one was working. they were wrong.
the women would say it was god working.
& it was god, but the god

my mom taught us to fear 
was vengeful. he might have wet his thumb
& wiped la migra out of this world like a smudge

on a mirror. this god was the god that woke me up
at 7am every day for school to let me know
there was food in the fridge for me & my brothers.

i never asked my mom where the food came from,
but she told me anyway: gracias a dios.
gracias a dios del chisme, who heard all la migra’s plans

& whispered them into the right ears
to keep our families safe.

"poem where no one is deported" by José Olivarez. Used by permission of the poet.