I didn’t pay much attention to politics growing up. When I was 14 years old, I fell asleep on election night 2016, and woke up the following day to learn that Donald Trump was elected as the 45th President of the United States. The memory of feeling an ugly and twisted knot in the pit of my stomach eight years ago still stays with me. I didn’t think I would have to feel that again.
On Nov. 5, 2024, I cast my vote for Kamala Harris. I didn’t want to believe that Trump would be re-elected once more, but as the news unfolded throughout the night, it became apparent he was once again going to be president. For a moment, I felt like I was 14 again, with the same sense of fear, anxiety and revulsion from all those years ago. In his first term, Trump opened the door wide to racism, sexism, and other forms of discrimination on a much larger scale to people like me, a woman of color, and so many millions more. This time, he was taking a sledgehammer to the door.
On Jan. 20, Trump signed an executive order in an attempt to end birthright citizenship. It was just the push notification from the New York Times that I’d seen, but I felt my heart sink into my stomach. For the first time in my life, I worried about my citizenship. I’m the daughter of a mother who was born in the U.S. and a father who is an immigrant who was brought here when he was very little.
After doing a little more research on the matter, I feel pretty secure about my citizenship, but that doesn’t mean the fear is gone.
I am fortunate enough to have met countless immigrants in my life. Hearing their stories helps me reflect on the opportunities I’ve had being born in the States, and made me a little more appreciative of my circumstances. The fear I feel nowadays isn’t as much for myself as it is for people like them — people who made sacrifices to completely upend everything to come here for a better life and the so-called “American Dream.” They’re instead in a country that is blatant about its disapproval of immigrants despite them being the backbone of America.
As it says on the Statue of Liberty: “Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, The wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”
This article was first published in the January 29 print edition of the University Times.
