Official Congressional Record
Mr. Speaker, Lorenzo Salgado, como cualquier papa, debio haber llegado a su casa, recibido por su esposa y sus hijos en la tarde del 7 de Julio. Debio haberse sentado en su patio, como lo hacia cada tarde, escuchando su musica, y jugando con su perro. Pero Lorenzo no regreso ese dia. Fallecio a manos de ICE. Lorenzo tenia 52 anos. Paso 35 de esos anos construyendo casas en Houston--casas que para muchas familias, fueron su sueno Americano. Lorenzo abrio su propio negocio. Y cuando alguien tocaba a su puerta buscando trabajo, Lorenzo le daba trabajo. Su hijo lo describe como un creador de empleos para mucha gente, trabajadores, igual que el. Tenia tres hijos: un maestro, un ingeniero, y un joven que estudia ingenieria. El siete de julio, Lorenzo se levanto antes del amanecer--como cada dia de su vida. A las siete de la manana, ya estaba trabajando: manejando su van llevando a su equipo a un sitio de construccion. Lorenzo Salgado, like any father, should have arrived home, greeted by his wife and children on the afternoon of July 7th. He should have sat in his backyard, as he did every afternoon, listening to his music and playing with his dog. But Lorenzo didn’t return that day. He died at the hands of ICE. Lorenzo was 52 years old. He spent 35 of those years building houses in Houston--houses that, for many families, represented their American dream. Lorenzo owned his own business. And when someone knocked on his door looking for work, Lorenzo gave them a job. His son describes him as a job creator for many people, workers, just like him. He had three children: a teacher, an engineer, and a young man studying engineering. On July 7th, Lorenzo got up before dawn--as he did every day of his life. By seven in the morning, he was already working: driving his van, taking his crew to a construction site. And then, an ICE officer shot him. He wasn’t even the man that they were looking for. And 7 days later we have no body camera footage, no dash camera footage, and zero accountability. We don’t even know the identity of the officers who were involved, but we do know that he was a father of three who worked overtime to provide for his family. He was killed on his way to work, and this administration expects us to take their word that this was a justifiable killing. Desafortunadamente, no podemos hacer nada para curar el dolor la familia de Lorenzo. Ni el dolor de la familia de Renee Good--madre, ciudadana estadounidense, asesinada en su carro en Minneapolis. Ni por la familia de Alex Pretti--enfermero que cuidaba a nuestros veteranos, ciudadano Americano, matado mientras defendia a una mujer en la calle. Ni por la familia del joven que ICE mato ayer en Biddeford, Maine--un joven cuyo nombre todavia ni siquiera conocemos. Pero alguien, en este momento, lo esta esperando en casa. Y no va a llegar. Unfortunately, we can do nothing to heal the pain of Lorenzo’s family. Nor the pain of Renee Good’s family--a mother, an American citizen, killed in her car in Minneapolis. Nor for the family of Alex Pretti--a nurse who cared for our veterans, an American citizen, killed while defending a woman in the street. Nor for the family of the young man ICE killed yesterday in Biddeford, Maine--a young man whose name we still don’t even know. But someone, right now, is waiting for him at home. And he’s not coming. We were told that this was about dangerous, violent criminals, that Trump’s immigration enforcement was going to target the worst in this Nation, but instead it has made everyone unsafe: Latinos, for the way that we look, and any American who dares to stand in between them. ``Nobody,’’ ``nadie’’ is safe when armed agents answer to no one. This administration says Lorenzo was shot because he looked like someone they were searching for. Well, in America, there is no death penalty for looking like someone else and driving to work, and yet here we are. Yo vengo de la frontera y de una familia de inmigrantes, y conozco a los Lorenzos de este pais--en Texas, en Nuevo Mexico, aqui en Washington, y a traves del pais. Se levantan antes del amanecer. Pizcan el chile en Hatch. Cuidan el ganado en nuestros campos. Construyen casas en Las Cruces, Albuquerque y Houston. Y a esa comunidad, no le voy a decir solamente ``los veo.’’ Las palabras no detienen las balas. Les digo: vamos a pelear por ustedes. En esta camara. En las cortes. Y marchando a su lado. Lorenzo Salgado debio haber llegado a casa a su familia. I come from the border and from a family of immigrants, and I know the Lorenzos of this country--in Texas, in New Mexico, here in Washington, and across the nation. They get up before dawn. They pick chili peppers in Hatch. They tend cattle in our fields. They build homes in Las Cruces, Albuquerque, and Houston. And to that community, I’m not just going to say, ``I see you.’’ Words don’t stop bullets. I’m saying: We’re going to fight for you. In this chamber. In the courts. And marching alongside you. Lorenzo Salgado should have been home to his family. Lorenzo cried out, ``Me estan matando,’’ ``They are killing me.’’ The ``they’’ were ICE agents. The ``they’’ was paid by your tax dollars. The ``they’’ answers only to this administration. It does not answer to the people. Later today, many in this Chamber will have the privilege of going home to dinner with their loved ones. Lorenzo Salgado Araujo should have had it, too. En su honor--y en honor de Renee, de Alex, y del joven que perdimos ayer en Maine--no vamos a descansar hasa que cada familia en este pais pueda esperar a los suyos en la mesa, sin miedo. Y hoy doy este discurso en Espanol e Ingles, sin miedo, para reforzar que somos una nacion de inmigrantes, y vamos a seguir siendo una nacion de inmigrantes. In his honor--and in honor of Renee, Alex, and the young man we lost yesterday in Maine--we will not rest until every family in this country can wait for their loved ones at the table, without fear. And today I give this speech in Spanish and English, without fear, to reinforce that we are a nation of immigrants, and we will continue to be a nation of immigrants.
