My uncle who voted for him,

As the holidays approach, I wanted to let you know that I was thinking about you. In fact, I can’t stop thinking about you. You’re the first person on my mind every morning I wake up from a recurring nightmare in which someone shoots me dead. I lay in the street in a pool of my blood, picturing the look on your face when you hear the news.

But that’s not real. It’s only a dream. What’s real is black girls being told to sit in the back of the bus on November 9, Muslim girls pushed down the subway stairs, freshly painted swastikas on the walls, and the KKK holding a celebration only miles from my dad’s business. But it’s cool, my dad doesn’t look very brown.

Neither do you, I suppose. You shortened your last name to make it easier for your patients to pronounce. It took less than 20 years for you to change from an Indian immigrant, nose forever in a book, to a wealthy doctor ensconced in a Midwestern suburb and card-carrying supporter of conservative values.

How easy it is to forget.

He wants to freeze immigration, put Muslims on a list, and build a wall to block the very same undocumented immigrants you now depend on to manage your property. You voted for him anyway.

His supporters think my beard makes me look like I’m going to explode in a crowded market. His supporters think it’s time that people like me stop taking jobs away from white people. They think I am whining when I stand up for transgendered kids and disabled Americans. Your kid was born with a severe learning disability. You voted for him anyway.

His people want me to “go back to where I came from.” I’m staying right here. I’m going to help people organize, resist, and defend simple values like truth, love, and empathy.

You think he’ll make America great but I was born here, not you. I’m not going back to where I came from, but maybe you should :)

Happy Holidays,

Ankur