When Donald Trump announced he was running for reelection in 2024, I immediately began to worry about what a second term under him would mean for my future as a queer woman of color. I knew that if he was reelected, so much — from reproductive rights to transgender equality — would be at stake, as it was in his previous term. To add onto my anxiety this election cycle was his promise to conduct the largest mass deportation operation in American history. Even though his intolerant rhetoric was mostly directed toward the Latinx immigrant community, this was still deeply personal to me.
Fast-forward to now, over a year into Trump’s second term: I was right to worry. The United States has rapidly become something I don’t recognize. As the Trump-sanctioned ICE raids have seemed to get worse and worse, my hope has dwindled and my despair has grown. With each new headline — from a woman being torn out of her car to a 5-year-old being kidnapped and detained by ICE — my rage and fear intensifies.Â
So many people I know have come to America for a better life. My grandmother and my mother immigrated from Indonesia seeking more opportunities; my father and his family immigrated from Vietnam to escape the war. Growing up, I saw America as somewhere that offered people a new beginning, but that’s not the case anymore. The scenes of families being torn apart, people being dragged out of their homes, children screaming for their parents as ICE detained them, break my heart — and make me terrified for my own loved ones.Â
Growing up, I saw America as somewhere that offered people a new beginning, but that’s not the case anymore
My stepfather, Martin, and his family are immigrants from Mexico. Martin came into my life when I was seven, and over time, he has become one of the most important people in my life. His family welcomed mine with open arms, and his parents took my brother and me in as if we were their own grandchildren. Martin’s family is made up of some of the kindest, most hardworking people I know. They all came to the U.S. to give their family a better life, as did the members of my family who came before me.
As I grew closer to my stepfather and his family, their culture became part of my own multicultural background. It was more than just attending quinceañeras and eating Mexican food. It was taking Spanish classes in middle and high school and immersing myself in the language so I could communicate with them. It was spending Sunday mornings with everyone over freshly made breakfast and playing LoterĂa after. It was the long trips to Mexico with my stepfather to see how he grew up in his hometown.Â
All of this became a part of me, adding another layer to the reasons why the ICE raids hit me so hard. Not only does it hurt because I’m seeing my fellow POC being abused — and because I believe in human rights for all — but it also hurt because I saw so many of my own family members in these horrific stories: a little girl who reminded me of my cousins and nieces; an older man who could’ve been my stepdad. All of this is why I believe so strongly in solidarity — now, more than ever.
Systemic racism and injustice affects us all
There are multiple moments in time that made me realize how important solidarity is, whether it was when police violence against Black communities took center stage in 2020 or when Asian Americans were experiencing hate crimes, prejudice, and racism during the COVID-19 pandemic. Now, amid these ICE raids, it is no different. The love my stepfamily has shown me transcends our cultural differences; that’s how our love for one another should be on a grand scale, too. Things such as differences in race, religion, sexuality, and who you are shouldn’t limit people from caring for others and coming together.Â
You don’t need to have a personal connection to the Latinx immigrant community like I do in order to stand with them. Systemic racism and injustice affects us all, whether we recognize it or not. It’s in every part of our lives — in the justice system, in the healthcare system, and even the college institutions we attend. It even affects white Americans as well — we’ve seen this with the killings of Renee Nicole Good and Alex Pretti. Showing compassion for others outside your community is one of the strongest forms of resistance you can take right now.