My Mother's America

When my mother first came to America, I was twelve. She was part of the over 260,000 Ecuadorians who left the country during the nineties to escape the political and economic crises and fled to the United States to pursue the ‘American Dream’.

A newly separated mother of two, she came during a time when America was still welcoming of immigrants. She was afraid of being caught and the jobs she found weren’t the ones sought after by Americans, but she was still able to work and save money, always with the goal of bringing her children to this land of dreams.

Later, she married another immigrant who eventually obtained a green card and then became a citizen. Flash forwards many years and she is also an American citizen.

After that, she started the lengthy process of applying for her children’s green cards, which includes having a required amount in your bank account for over six months, to prove that you’re able to support the people you are applying for. She saved money to pay for the expensive application fees, she learned how to fill out all the complicated forms and then waited the possible up to ten years for the applications to be approved.

By the time I came to the United States–as a permanent resident–I was twenty-nine years old. I hadn’t seen my mother in seventeen years and had never lived outside Ecuador.

But I was one of the lucky ones.

For once, I spoke the language. My mother had paid for my English classes—which I attended every Saturday morning for four years—to ensure her kids wouldn’t have to live through the same difficulties she had. Thanks to that, I was able to find a better job and have opportunities she didn’t. Eventually, I got married and had kids who thrive, and who will do big things in the world someday.

In Ecuador, my mother had endured my father’s physical and verbal abuse. In America, she was happy, safe; she was able to provide for her children, and see her grandchildren grow happy and safe as well. She achieved her ‘American Dream’.

But this is not my mother’s America anymore.

My mother lived in fear of being found, she had to learn a new language and culture; she sacrificed seeing her children grow to give them a better future, but she wasn’t chased and persecuted like a criminal. She wasn’t stopped by ICE while taking out her trash, or while working in a taco truck, or a hair salon. She didn’t have to seek refuge in a church, and she was able to go to the store for her groceries.

America is not welcoming immigrants with open arms now. Instead, immigrants are persecuted, families are separated, Latino businesses are falling apart because their customers are too afraid of leaving their homes, of going to school, of simply living.

ICE agents claim to go after criminals, but the stories that appear daily in the news show that anyone is a target now. Older people with longstanding community ties have been deported, lawful permanent residents–who underwent the process of obtaining a green card–have been deported based on mere suspicions. What’s stopping the government from revoking citizenships in a future as close as next year?

Protected under the excuse of the Alien Enemies Act, the government has swept under the rug the human rights of thousands of immigrants, shoved them into El Salvador and Guatemalan prisons and thrown away the key.

And they won’t stop there.

Because for this regime, “Making America Great” is only meant for certain Americans, and they are focused on destroying the rest.

Like my father, they see America as a frail, abused spouse, and like any abuser, they will isolate America from their allies, will close all her borders and interactions with the outside world. They will eliminate any means of education because they want her ignorant. They will repeat to her again and again that they are the only ones who know what is better for her. Until America–like a frog that is slowly being boiled alive–will adapt to this self-destruction, and then the abuser will move on, to their next victim.

Human beings have a beautiful quality called adaptability, which allows us to survive in harsh conditions. Nevertheless, that also means that we can adapt to authoritarian, fascist regimes. We start by seeing bad, scary things daily until they become ‘normal’ to us, and then we are more able to accept worse, awful things. This government knows that, and they’re using it against us.

These are difficult, terrifying times. And this is just the beginning…

Think about this future: No more Department of Education, no more Social Security, visas are only available for those who can pay $5 million. No more free access to museums, libraries; colleges closing and people are losing their jobs, while the government uses their accumulated wealth to recruit more ICE agents, to finance wars, to target those who protest.

The dark clouds that loom over the United States skies are only preceding the storm that is going to rain above our heads unless things change. In the words of the wise Lorax, “Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better. It’s not.”

It is up to us to fight for change. To make things better. To care about the human beings who are being unlawfully, inhumanely detained. To put ourselves in the shoes of those families that are being ripped apart, of the children that are left behind, of the businesses that are being affected, creating a devastating ripple effect in our economy.

Let’s use our voices to express—while we still have freedom of speech—our discomfort, our discontent. Let’s use our abilities to denounce the atrocities, to open our eyes. Let’s say ‘Enough’, because otherwise, ‘Nothing is going to get better. It’s not.’

Let’s make America my mother’s America again.