January 20, 2017 — I’m in a glass case of emotion, yet again.
I’m an undocumented immigrant in the U.S.
I’m a woman.
I’m a person of color.
I’m a student.
I’m a fairly educated, well-meaning, decent human being.
All of this means that my very existence is threatened by the newest administration in office as of today.
I attend college in Washington, D.C. so I’m already much closer to the action than I was 4 years ago during the last inauguration event, which I did not even pay attention to in my corner of rural Georgia. I didn’t even pay attention 8 years ago when it was MOST historic. But today, I paid attention. I had to.
Being well-positioned as I am in the heart of D.C. and at my particular institution, I certainly had the opportunity to secure a ticket to attend the inauguration. I even had the option to just go downtown and observe and be present at the moment. But I never entertained the idea. Others may talk about honoring the democratic process and the peaceful transition of power, etc. and I can respect those sentiments, but it’s the fact that the particular individual involved is so heinous and so vile that he makes my blood boil to the very core of my morals and values, and so I cannot simply focus on the “historic-ness” today. What is historic about it exactly? With the exception of just 1 out of 45, another rich, white male is being sworn in as the American president. Is it that he is the most historically evil one??
In more mature terms, my feelings on the matter were in complete alignment with Congresswoman Maxine Waters. I cannot support or condone anything that such an intolerant and contemptuous individual stands for, and I do not wish to be anywhere near him. Since everything is closed or shut down today in the city, I figured it would be quite easy to just stay in and avoid the whole spectacle — no news or social media or anything. But I couldn’t avoid it… and it was like the misery of election night all over again.
On the evening of November 8th, 2016 I sat in my dorm room alone, in front of the laptop, CNN’s live feed in the background, and reloaded the Google homepage every 30 seconds to monitor the election results. I can only describe that night as a surreal, doomsday-like, soul-crushing experience. Everyone was so sure Hillary was going to win. Knowing the precarious position that I am in, that is, I am wholly dependent on DACA for my ability to complete my college degree and go to work, friends reassured me that Hillary was going to win — “these polls show this and that survey shows this…” I, myself, was not particularly for Hillary or anyone else, I just didn’t want the next leader of America to be him. I thought, ‘Surely, there are more sensible people out there than there are Trump supporters, right???’ Well, those numerous sensible people don’t exist, or they simply did not vote. It was clear by 9 pm that he was going to be the next president. It was clear that a large number of Americans relate to him, agree with him, and believe in him. They see hope and positive change in him that will truly make their lives better, so they chose him.
I was awestruck. I know that racism and sexism exist in the ugliest forms in America, and I know that xenophobia and hatred of immigrants exist. But it didn’t actually sink in until I saw state after state turn rage-red instead of calming-blue. My immediate thought was “Wow, there are so many people against my very existence, I had no idea!” This is a hyperbolic statement, but essentially, isn’t that what was on display on election night? All of those people agree with, or at least indirectly condone Trump’s racism, bigotry, sexism, and xenophobia. Each person that voted for him — they sanction all of those things by electing him into office — no matter what rationale they use to justify themselves.
Anyway, this realization hit me pretty hard. I curled up and I cried. Free-flowing hot tears of fear and hopelessness. I was anxious and scared — for my own future, but also for my parents who might be rounded up and deported at the new president’s whim, not having any kind of temporary protection such as what my brother and I have in DACA. I didn’t even call my family. I figured it would make it worse to commiserate together; none of us had any power to do anything anyway. Our fate had always been in the hands of others, and now they had decided on it and now, we have to accept and deal with whatever comes. I dried my tears and went to bed early. I woke up, checked the internet and there it was confirmed. He is the president-elect. That happened.
I made a decision on the morning of November 9th, 2016. I was not going to be depressed and I was not going to hide. I was going to get out of bed, do my hair and makeup, wear some pretty jewelry, go to class and continue kicking butt as normal. I have waited so long to be in college and to pursue my dreams. I have come very far and have endured a lot to get to where I am now. I work hard and give my best every day to earn my success and no one is going to take it from me. I am not going backwards. I am going to fight, in whatever way that I can.
Thankfully, my conviction was bolstered by the fact that I am at Trinity — a liberal, progressive, and tolerant institution. From my first day, they have always been welcoming and supportive of Dreamers. I felt like I was in the best place on that day both as a woman and an undocumented immigrant. I received many words of comfort and support from fellow students (friends and strangers!), professors, and faculty. I was made aware that I am not alone in the fight and there are many people who will stand up with me no matter what comes. It was heartwarming and reassuring.
My brother did not have the same November 9th. He works at a Home Depot store in the “rural” Georgia that I talk about. He told me that the store was unusually deserted on that day, a typical workday Wednesday. He gathered that the majority of the population in the area were indeed Trump voters and had taken the day off in celebration of their victory. He has also had conversations with Trump supporters who try to justify their candidate in one way or another. My brother also does not hide. He has made it clear to them that his own existence is threatened by their candidate, now president. They also reassure him: “Don’t worry, nothing is going to happen you. You’re not like those other immigrants.” I can picture my brother’s incredulous, wide-eyed stare in response. For this, I truly admire my brother. He is brave and stronger than I am. I am fortunate to be in D.C. and at Trinity, where I am insulated from the ignorance and opposition. I see him on the front lines every day in that reddest of states and he doesn’t back down.
So on my end, the semester went on as normal and I finished strong, as usual.
Back to today, the day of his inauguration. I woke up and immediately checked social media. I stumbled upon the Washington Post’s live feed of the new president bidding farewell to the old president. I saw the Obamas get into the helicopter and take off. I burst in tears. I know that many folks have issues with Obama as President for the last 8 years — that he didn’t do enough, didn’t deliver on certain promises, he deported more than any other President, he did nothing to address the issue of police brutality, etc. Those arguments have validity, for sure. But from my perspective, President Obama gave me DACA, which released me from a cage and gave me the ability to live my life, plain and simple. Sure, DACA was not enough and it still left millions unprotected in the shadows like my parents and relatives. But it certainly changed my own life and I will be forever grateful. I also see him as the President who championed LGBTQ rights and promoted tolerance and respect for many other groups. He worked towards combating climate change. Data shows that he made immense progress in various areas in America — it can’t be denied. Michelle Obama is a role model of a strong, educated, accomplished woman of color for me. I cried because their time was over. I cried because all of their work towards the progress of America and humanity might be undone. I cried because we were going from them to…that.
I also cried because I got scared all over again that Trump might revoke DACA on day one, or two or three. All of that anxiety and worry bubbled up in me yet again that I was going to lose everything that I worked hard for and I wasn’t going to be able to graduate come May 2018. [cue agonized groan]
I dried those tears fast, but unfortunately, I kept myself glued to both Facebook and CNN throughout the afternoon — vacillating between feelings of anger, depression, fear, outrage, and sadness.
I saw that certain parts of the whitehouse.gov website had disappeared. It appears that the pages on climate change, disabilities, and other issues were taken down. It is alarming and troubling to me. The worst part about all of this may be that we, as a society, as the “best country on earth” that officially or unofficially sets the standards for all others, might be going back 300 years in time, mostly due to the cabinet members and “experts” that the new President chooses to surround himself with and put in charge of critical areas. [cue agonized groan]
Ok, so now that we live in a fresh hell, erm, new reality. Here are my truths:
- He is not my president. I am not a U.S. citizen anyway, so this is easy for me to say.
- I cannot bring myself to say “President Trump.” It won’t take. I will say Mr. Trump, or “the president,” or just Trump.
- I am not hiding. I am not backing down. I am never giving up. Oddly enough, when I did talk to my mom the day after the election in November, she was fine. She expressed that she did experience a period of panic and fear, but she quickly overcame it and resumed her mantle of perseverance and hope for a better future. I realized in that moment that my mom had been in this miserable, roller-coaster struggle for 17+ years now as an immigrant in America. She has also come far. She is also not going backwards.
And so, tomorrow is a new day and I am not avoiding it. I will march. Because I am undocumented, because I am a woman, because I am a person of color, because I am a student, because I am a fairly educated, well-meaning decent human being.
