“This. is. What. Democracy. Looks. Like.”
These words have been playing over and over again in my mind like a broken record. The image of scared, frustrated citizens appears alongside the words. They hold in their hands an art piece by Shepard Fairey: a Muslim woman wearing an American flag as a hijab. I went to the Anti-Inauguration March in Albany about two weeks ago. It was a parade of strong, angry human beings. Thousands of us nonviolently marched down a busy street in Albany, chanting the truth.
I am entirely stunned by Trump’s actions. We thought he wouldn’t get elected. We thought if he somehow did, he was all talk and no action. What has happened? How has this happened? What can we possibly do? We march. We yell. We protest. We use our privileged freedom. We explain. We become allies. We advocate for change and goodness.
This past week, in response to the Executive Order to ban Muslims and refugees from entering the U.S, a few students and I led a Solidarity March on campus. I am a daughter of refugees. My parents fled their country from political oppression. This is the reason I stand in solidarity with my Muslim brothers and sisters. I have heard and seen the discrimination my parents face being immigrants. Their imperfect English somehow negates their acquired American citizenship in the eyes of society. I am here today because of my parents’ bravery.
Although my parents and Muslims face varying discriminations and oppressions, I say it is a different window to the same house. I never understood many Americans’ hesitation with immigrants and foreigners. They come for a better life, for more opportunities for themselves and their children. Why would they go through the treacherous process of leaving their homes to endure discrimination and oppression if they didn’t truly want to be here?
America, a country of immigrants, is now opposed to the concept of certain immigrants. The Land of the Free is condoning freedom for some, not all. We marched at Siena to express our discontentment, furiosity, and utter disgust of the exclusivity and torture our country is endorsing. It was fulfilling to see the hundreds of students there holding up homemade signs reading, “This is what America looks like”, “Diversity is our Strength”, “Diversity NOT Division”, or “Foreign accents are a sign of bravery”. A majority of people were chanting words of strength around the Quad. “From Palestine to Mexico, all the walls have got to go!” Even if someone wasn’t chanting, he or she was walking in unison.
As Machiavelli insinuates, there is strength in numbers. Authorities, no matter how powerful, cannot take on an angry mass of citizens. That is why I felt filled with hope and courage.