I do not know when I became this afraid. I do not know when fear took a hold of me, but it did. I do not know when things started to feel unsafe. I do not know who taught exactly me this fear.
Maybe it was my country’s government, that allowed and did very little to help the hungry kids I saw in the streets and later saw in my classrooms. I was not just a spectator, I was their friend and I saw their reality very near to my own. I saw them as no different than me, except a paycheck or two away. I saw them and I saw myself, what could be and what was.
Maybe it was that policia who stopped me in Nashville, Tennessee. He spoke to me in broken English, as if mocking the fact that he knew that I knew that he was faking it, that he was mocking me, that he was exploiting the power he had due to his badge and he could. It was the way he paced slowly towards me, knowing I was growing more and more fearful because the color of my skin meant something to me which was antithetical to what it meant to him.
Maybe it was when my alma mater, Vanderbilt University, refused to become a sanctuary campus upon the election of Donald Trump. The letter sent out by the president of the university read something along the lines of: we are doing enough. As if things had not changed, because the terms of the new president mandated a response but it was looked at as if things were not at stake, as if students were not fearful.
I do not know when I became this afraid. I do not know when fear took a hold of me, but it did. I do not know when things started to feel unsafe. I do not know who taught exactly me this fear.
Maybe it was when Mike Brown was gunned down by a police offer. Seeing his Black body on television, aired without any consideration of his family made me sick. When we know that statistically Black and Latinx folks are persecuted by law enforcement unjustly and at astronomically unequal rates compared to white folks, yet there goes another killer cop, free.
Maybe it was when a grown man looked at my young brown body and called me UGLY, with a snide look. I was given social cues my entire life about being rejected, not wanted, looked down on, perceived as inferior. I was given the tools to learn to erase myself, like bleach for my hair and skin, but I was not given the tools to learn how to love myself till much MUCH later.
Maybe it was when I saw the backpacks along the deserts in Arizona. I saw children backpacks everywhere throughout the desert, and clothes, rosaries. I saw remnants of people crossing deserts to survive. I saw the relics they left behind in hopes of access to health care, leaving abusive partners, job opportunities that could pay better than maquiladora jobs, or just starting over somewhere new where their sexual identity would not result in their deaths.
I do not know when I became this afraid. I do not know when fear took a hold of me, but it did. I do not know when things started to feel unsafe. I do not know who taught exactly me this fear.
Maybe it was the day that Donald Trump talked about Latinxs as Mexicans, and then preceded to call us rapists and murderers. Hearing the crowd cheer. Hearing the crowd holler in agreement, I was afraid. Maybe it was the day that Donald Trump talked about grabbing women by their pussies, without their consent. The way that many people came out to his defense saying it was harmless banter, the way that people defended him for his incriminating confession of sexual assault. Maybe it was the way he talks about migrants, refugees, and non-citizens as disposable.
The day that he passed his executive action concerning the Muslim Ban, I was afraid. And then we began to receive a flurry of tweets and news concerning people being detained at airports, getting their green cards revoked, and not being allowed into planes, and I started to panic. And I do not know when I became this afraid. And I do not know when fear took a hold of me, but it did. Furthermore, I do not know when things started to feel unsafe. And I do not know who taught exactly me this fear. But it’s been years, maybe since birth, but some people only know fear filled with moments of relief. I have been afraid, and it is not getting any better. Today I write from that place of fear, maybe tomorrow I will write of hope and resistance.
Help us Prepare for Trump’s Day One
Trump is busy getting ready for Day One of his presidency – but so is Truthout.
Trump has made it no secret that he is planning a demolition-style attack on both specific communities and democracy as a whole, beginning on his first day in office. With over 25 executive orders and directives queued up for January 20, he’s promised to “launch the largest deportation program in American history,” roll back anti-discrimination protections for transgender students, and implement a “drill, drill, drill” approach to ramp up oil and gas extraction.
Organizations like Truthout are also being threatened by legislation like HR 9495, the “nonprofit killer bill” that would allow the Treasury Secretary to declare any nonprofit a “terrorist-supporting organization” and strip its tax-exempt status without due process. Progressive media like Truthout that has courageously focused on reporting on Israel’s genocide in Gaza are in the bill’s crosshairs.
As journalists, we have a responsibility to look at hard realities and communicate them to you. We hope that you, like us, can use this information to prepare for what’s to come.
And if you feel uncertain about what to do in the face of a second Trump administration, we invite you to be an indispensable part of Truthout’s preparations.
In addition to covering the widespread onslaught of draconian policy, we’re shoring up our resources for what might come next for progressive media: bad-faith lawsuits from far-right ghouls, legislation that seeks to strip us of our ability to receive tax-deductible donations, and further throttling of our reach on social media platforms owned by Trump’s sycophants.
We’re preparing right now for Trump’s Day One: building a brave coalition of movement media; reaching out to the activists, academics, and thinkers we trust to shine a light on the inner workings of authoritarianism; and planning to use journalism as a tool to equip movements to protect the people, lands, and principles most vulnerable to Trump’s destruction.
We’re asking all of our readers to start a monthly donation or make a one-time donation – as a commitment to stand with us on day one of Trump’s presidency, and every day after that, as we produce journalism that combats authoritarianism, censorship, injustice, and misinformation. You’re an essential part of our future – please join the movement by making a tax-deductible donation today.
If you have the means to make a substantial gift, please dig deep during this critical time!
With gratitude and resolve,
Maya, Negin, Saima, and Ziggy