I keep deleting my social media apps over and over again. I want to keep up with pop culture, stupid memes, art, and friends, but I shut it all down. Within five seconds of scrolling, I read a disturbing headline. Headlines about another human that was tackled on the ground, or an Instagram Reel warning others to stay inside, or maybe a news of a person being detained regardless of their status.
Yet as much as I want to ignore it, I can’t. I am a daughter of immigrants, and feeling optimistic in these times feels like doing the impossible.
Same Place, Different Time
I am not new to these feelings of anxiety. When President Trump’s first term came around in 2016, word of mouth would say, “Don’t worry, he won’t actually do these things.” I was a child at the time, of course, I had hope. But that hope was shattered in 2020, when the President used his power to make life for immigrants difficult. The separation hit harder than a truck ever could. Suddenly, it was my last year of high school, and I had to learn how to live without my mother, stepfather, and sister by my side.
Four years later, it is now my last year of college, and I am upset because the same emotions are coming back intensified. I have to go on with my day, accepting the fact that there are new policies allowing racial profiling. I send “know your rights” Spanish-translated videos to my family members because we now have to take extra caution. I am scared to drive. I’m scared of the scenarios that pop up in my head. When I get ready, I look at myself in the mirror and think, “Does my outfit look American enough? Do I look like I was born here enough? Am I too brown?” From an outsider’s perspective, this probably looks hysterical, dramatic, or over the top, but to folks like me, it is about surviving an oppressive system targeting minorities.
Learning to Cope
Every day, there is a new violent video I see of ICE officers attacking or interrogating someone. It has been draining to see disturbing videos of people getting attacked every day. I have been carrying this weight on my shoulders for quite some time now, but it feels like the country is just now starting to realize the violent actions of ICE. I am distraught and horrified by the events happening in Minneapolis. But another truth of mine is that I am quite frustrated that it took white victims for the country to finally spur national outrage at ICE. There have been many other victims of Trump’s heavy immigration policies, the majority people of color. Aside from horrific passings, there have also been many unfair detainings in the past year. Overall, it has been exhausting to see my community under attack. There are some days when the overwhelming feelings take over. Tears are recurring visitors of mine. I feel powerless and scared. I would hug my mother if I could. I have grown a large spark of anger inside me because there is now a repeat of a dark time from history.
I will admit I’m doing myself a disservice by constantly having these thoughts in my head. There has been an internal conflict between fear and pride. I’m scared of passing by the wrong car. I’m scared of what my family could go through while I’m at school. I’m scared of my accent slipping out. I feel like a ball of anxiety some days. But I’m so proud of where my family comes from; I love the color of my skin and my last name and I work hard to make my parents proud. Instead of worrying about the news and worrying about the “next” victim, I should be living my life. An act of resistance is living and breathing my culture. To speak proudly of myself and the community that raised me. To get an education and have success in my career, because that is what my parents fought so hard for.
As of now, it is hard to find the light under a brutal administration. I can only pray for freedom to come again.