I am a daughter of Mexican immigrants. My parents have taken different paths to citizenship and have worked hard to feel secure in their own home here in the United States, even if it meant giving up the comfort of their country. Their upbringing may not be the same as other immigrants’ stories of arrival, but they all share a common goal: to live a safe and prosperous life.
As I do my daily scroll through social media platforms, as anyone else does every day, I am often met with a new law proposal that affects immigrants, the heightened surveillance from Immigration Customs Enforcement and possibly a protest denouncing those actions. A sense of fear washes over me, even though I am a U.S. citizen. I think of my friends and loved ones who are affected by these rules.
My fear doesn’t come from a place of legality, but about the broader atmosphere of exclusion.
It’s not an isolated feeling; it is a documented phenomenon. Research shows that following high-profile immigration raids, the psychological toll radiates far beyond those being detained. About 30% of Latino youth report being so afraid of enforcement that they avoid daily activities like driving or going to the park. For U.S. Latinx citizens like myself, these events aren’t just news stories, but looming reminders that our community is under a microscope. Even as a citizen, seeing others being treated as a threat can be overwhelming.
This feeling is further sharpened by policies that seemed designed to dismantle families directly. For example, the recent U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development rule changes target mixed families by threatening to evict them from their homes. Unless they separate from their undocumented members, the government wants us to choose between a roof over our heads or the people we love. It can transform our home, the ones our parents and loved ones worked hard to make secure, into state-sanctioned abandonment.
The atmosphere of exclusion is fueled by a dehumanizing rhetoric that swaps human names for derogatory terms. Even the word ‘immigrant’ is constantly vilified. I often hear words of cleansing or removing immigrants, which is a personal attack on my identity. I worry for my safety when I’m out and about, scanning my surroundings, wondering if the person near me sees a normal human being or a target.
Perhaps one of the most heartbreaking scenarios, one we have encountered recently here in Tucson, is the shadow of enforcement on what should be sacred spaces. Organizations like the Society for Research in Child Development have issued statements this year warning that enforcement near schools traumatizes children and destroys community cohesion. I think of the recent ICE arrest that took place just steps away from an elementary school, a place meant to enrich and nurture the health and mind of a child. It is horrifying to know that a little kid may have been a witness to a movement that aims to permanently erase an entire race of people; those who came for the safety that was never truly granted.
My parents didn’t cross borders and sacrifice their familiar home just for their daughter to live in a state of perpetual looking over her shoulder. My fear is a rational response to an irrational climate, but it does not have to be our reality for much longer. We must demand a shift in how we speak about and legislate our neighbors. Move away from the dehumanizing language of immigrants and towards speaking up against those who defy us. We need our identities to be celebrated rather than vilified. It is time for this country to decide: will we continue to govern through the shadow of fear? Or will we finally honor the promise of the American dream? My safety, and the safety of others like me, depends on that choice.
