There was once a time when this country reveled in the pride that comes with an immigrant’s legacy—one that tells the story of courage, and strength, and fear, and new, better, beginnings. There was once a time when we invited refugees, captives, children, mothers, the lost, the broken, the oppressed, to take our hand and lay our bricks down; we invited neighbors and friends and foreigners alike to construct community and strengthen democracy. There was time when our borders were places of promise. There was a time when the most powerful position of power wasn’t held by bigot, or a misogynist, or a racist. There was a time when the United States was safe, and liberal, and hopeful.
These times are gone.
We have entered a time where people are hurting. Some are desperate for a change and are willing to swallow all remnants of their guilt, shame, and sense of humanity, to influence that change. Some are desperate for a voice and have spent months in protest, demanding to be heard. Some are desperate for a chance. Some are desperate for protection. Some are desperate for their rights—the basic, unalienable ones, promised and then taken away. I stand with these people. I stand with every person in this country who feels threatened, or silenced, or marginalized, because of who they are and where they come from. I stand with members of the Muslim community. I stand with the immigrants.
Coming from an immigrant family grants me a special kind of understanding about what this country stood for, and should still stand for. As ironic it may seem, when you are on the outskirts of America, on a plane or boat or in a car, the road and skies and bridges behind you are often burning and it is only with the purest hope that you can swallow your terror and breathe in a chance to begin again. It is only when you have no choice but to move forward that you thank God there are open doors waiting for you. My mother came to this country 25 years ago, with absolutely nothing, and the only thing holding her together was the fact that she had come from nothing also. Guyana stands among some of the poorest countries in the world, and not only lacks political and economic stability but also lacks the encouragement and resources for people to start over. My mother—by some miracle that I’m still trying to understand—defeated what held her there and has since built a life for our family here. None of it was easy or fast but regardless of strength of struggle, there was always possibility and promise.
This country is historically, an open gate. Yet, we have come reached a point where students, doctors, fathers, residents of this country—whose entire lives lay here—being turned away. They are returning from study abroad programs and funerals to be greeted by the most inhumane attempt to cleanse this country. There are refugees, who sought solace and safety in this country—with nowhere to turn. There are Muslim people, hurting. There are women, silenced. There are races and cultures and humans alike afraid that the very things that make up who they are, are also the things that make them all that is wrong with this country; they are wrong. There is more going on than just a dislike or unrest among the masses. There is more to this social and political movement than the greatness of this country in need of restoration. Humanity, honesty, inclusion, empathy…these are the forces we need to restore in this country, and in the world, and it is impossible that we accomplish these things by standing alone. Whether it is driven by anger, or hurt, or oppression, the things that bring us together is exactly what inspires us to fight for ourselves, and to fight for each other.
To anyone taking the time to read this—I hope you’ll fight.
