Throughout my life, people have always had strong opinions about my name: Blaize. Some find it cool, peppering me with questions like, “Were your parents stoners who liked to blaze it up?”—they’re always crestfallen when I tell them no. Others are baffled, demanding I prove it’s my legal name—in more than one instance, I’ve been called a liar for not showing my ID as proof. There are even those who are downright disturbed by my moniker—my mom readily recalls the time a random woman told her my name was downright awful. But for all the conflicting opinions out there, I’ve always been a fan for a specific reason.
My name represents a connection to my mom’s family, where its many iterations—whether it be Blaze, Blase, or Blaise—span the branches of our family tree to honor my great-great-grandfather, Blaz Belobrajdic. Blaz left his home of Rava Gora in Yugoslavia, a country no longer listed on any map, sometime around 1905 as one of the more than 12 million immigrants who passed through Ellis Island during its peak years. Despite landing in a country with an unfamiliar language and customs, he was committed to building a new life here. Soon after he arrived, he met and married Mary Gasparac of Delnice, Yugoslavia—a small town which, as family lore goes, “was about ten minutes away, as the crow flies.” As the years passed, their family grew as they welcomed George, Joe, Albert, and Charles—my great-grandpa.
As a child, I’d often hear stories about their lives—tales centered around the hard work and perseverance it took for them to build a life and business here in the United States. Despite all the challenges and yes, even then, anti-immigrant sentiment, they made it—they pursued and achieved their American Dream.
To this day, their stories inspire me to dream big and take chances. It makes me proud to bear my great-great-grandfather’s name; to be named in honor of an immigrant. The courage it must’ve taken to leave everything behind to pursue a new life is almost incomprehensible. Sure, I moved away from home, but not an ocean away. Not to a place where I didn’t know the language, customs, or have a support system to fall back on. How could I not respect the journeys Blaz and Mary took to not only make it here, but thrive? Without their bravery, I wouldn’t be around to ponder questions like this.
In our house growing up, we were taught to respect the sacrifice, courage, and tenacity of our forbearers and through this education learned to respect others cut from the same immigrant cloth. Regardless of nation of origin, the qualities embodied by my great-great-grandparents are clearly represented in the immigrants of today. In my mind, they are just as deserving of the same admiration, respect, and acknowledgment as Blaz and Mary.
Unfortunately, that’s not consensus in the United States today, which should come as no surprise to anyone with a basic understanding of our history. When Blaz and Mary immigrated, the U.S. wasn’t exactly raising its arms in welcome for people of their descent. In fact, only a few years later, the Immigration Act of 1924 was passed. Through this act, there was a notable increase of visas made available to immigrants from the British Isles and Western Europe, those who fit the homogenous “American look.” Newer immigration from Southern and Eastern Europe became more limited, and those of Asian descent were excluded from consideration entirely.
Oppressing immigrants is as old as the United States itself, stretching all the way back to its early years with the Alien and Sedition Acts of 1798. This included laws allowing for the deportation of immigrants deemed “dangerous to the peace and safety of the United States.” Throughout our history, several groups have been attacked with anti-immigrant sentiment, often fueled by nativism, racism, and fear. This includes immigrants of Irish, Italian, Asian, Eastern and Southern European, and more recently, Middle Eastern and Latino descent. This is a story the U.S. has told time and time again; it’s simply updated with a new “boogeyman” with each generational telling. I’m grateful the stories I was told growing up were different.
Nonetheless, I’ve always been puzzled by those who claim superiority over others simply because of the random geographic coordinates of their birth. Or the color of their skin. Or the language they speak. Take Mary, for example. Lovingly dubbed “Little Grandma” in her later years, she spoke broken English to the end of her days. To some, this comes off as a failure—why didn’t she learn proper English if she wanted to call this country home? I, however, find it incredible she taught herself what English she could while building a successful life here. I’d also add that even a limited understanding of a second language is far more than most U.S. citizens can claim today.
She is one of the millions of immigrants who make up an undeniably important part of our country’s history. Whether it be economic, academic, cultural, artistic, labor, or any other productive act, their contributions have and continue to strengthen us. They choose to be here, to be a part of our country and to help move us all forward—it’s hard to comprehend why so many of my countrymen are against this mutually beneficial collaboration. While the vitriol directed toward the entire immigrant community based on lies, misinformation, and the actions of a few is nothing new, that doesn’t mean it’s not disappointing. Not still holding us back from what we could accomplish together.
Who knows if Blaz and Mary would have made the journey to the U.S. if this level of contempt was directed at them—even considering in their day, the process for admittance into the country was light to say the least, requiring no visas, passports, or papers at all. Among their descendants, you’ll find educators, military members, investors, writers, engineers, small business owners, social workers, and many others who work hard to contribute to the success of our communities. People who provide value and strength to whatever part of the U.S. they now call home.
I’m proud to be a part of this family; proud to be named after someone who was brave enough to face the unknown with hope and courage. How can I claim this heritage, this name, if I don’t offer support to those who come here with those same goals? Ignoring what’s happening to the immigrant community today would be an insult to my family’s legacy. But I’m lucky. I have a daily reminder of the strength and value the immigrant community provides to the United States; one that’ll be impossible for me to ever forget.
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