The concrete walls of the José Martí hotel room in Ciudad Juarez, Mexico, held the innocence of my childhood the night before my mother and I crossed the border to reunite with our family in the United States. 

The desert air suffocated us as we walked toward the American border. We crossed over the bridge leading to the gate, the river rumbling beneath us. We only paused at the point where the Mexican and American flags faced each other as equals. Taking a deep breath, our feet rushed until we reached the gate, where American border guards stood under a sign that read, “Welcome to the United States of America.”  

An officer greeted us and asked for our passports when my mom whispered, “We are Cuban. We are requesting political asylum.” What followed changed the trajectory of our lives forever. We were taken to a volunteer organization called Annunciation House in El Paso, Texas, where we were awaiting parole. There, we experienced firsthand the hardships of migrating and fighting for a chance at the “American Dream.” 

Teenagers, entire families, couples, elders, children, and single women lined every corner of the house, where volunteers offered hospitality to migrants and refugees. Like us, many had crossed the border by foot, and others crossed the river. Many were injured. But all were looking to provide a better life for themselves and their families. They came here to work, find new opportunities, and reunite with their families—none intending to make this country worse.

The Faces of Trump Deportations are Ones You Know and Shape This Country

In the years following my crossing of the border, my life flourished. I learned English, graduated from a top university in the U.S., worked for an international non-profit, and built a career elevating the voices and stories of Latinos in this country. 

Last week, as Trump took office, his administration closed the very border I crossed twenty-two years ago for asylum seekers and began deporting migrants who have called the United States home for decades. No, these were not the criminals he promised to eradicate. He wasn’t clearing prisons. Federal authorities were showing up at schools, churches, homes, and places of work to round up immigrants and take them without judicial hearings. 

This “expedited removal” process includes procedures to deport undocumented immigrants without proof of residence in the U.S. for two years or more. Before January 21, ICE and CBP were only allowed to use expedited removals against people within 14 days of arrival and 100 miles of the border. The new plan expands to the entire country, and per a DHS announcement, this could even be used against people who entered the country through a parole program. 

Although deportations and arrests are not new to the U.S., under the Joe Biden administration, 1.49 million immigrants were deported, and Barack Obama was known as the “deporter-in-chief,” a new directive to remove “sanctuary sites” is making it all even more terrifying.

Additionally, the Justice Department instructed legal service providers to halt their work supporting immigrants, leaving many without legal counsel to navigate the immigration system on their own. 

But just as these measures take place, the country is seeing the effects of what an immigration crackdown looks like for a country built on the backs of immigrants.

The United States needs immigrants—even the undocumented—for much more than just growing produce, building homes, and doing manual labor. Latinos are a pivotal part of American society, contributing nearly $3.2 trillion to the economy. 

Immigrants are essential to the U.S. agricultural workforce. Yes, the ones that collect your strawberries, pomegranates, oranges, and eggs so that you may feed your family, and in exchange, they may give their descendants a better future. Latino immigrants make up 61% of farmworkers, 42% of them undocumented, a 2022 U.S. Department of Labor survey states. 

While other demographics’ economic gains declined during the COVID-19 Pandemic, research shows Latinos thrived. From 2019 to 2022, the Latino GDP was 4.8% compared to 1.5% of the broader U.S. economy. At the same time, Latinos were responsible for 41.4% of the growth in real U.S. GDP, even though we only comprise 19.2% of the population. 

Even more, with the elimination of immigration enforcement protections in churches, schools, and hospitals, migrants face the harsh reality of persecution, leaving immigrants no choice but to keep a low profile while raids continue. 

In the last few days, we’ve seen the rhetoric of “they’re taking our jobs” and “they’re eating the dogs, they’re eating the cats” go out the window as the country realizes when Latinos don’t show up for work, the country suffers. 

Without immigration enforcement protections, people like my mother and I wouldn’t be here today

I’ve never known a life where I wasn’t an immigrant. Leaving Cuba at such a young age, the United States has been my home longer than any other country in the world. Unlike most immigrants, my family and I had the privilege of gaining legal status in the United States through the “Cuban Adjustment Act,” also known as the “wet-foot, dry-foot” policy. It was the reason thousands of Cubans risked their lives in the treacherous Florida strait or the border as they hoped for a better future away from the Castro regime.

As a child waiting for parole at the border, I often wondered what made me so different from the other children whose parents were also seeking a better life. The little baby whose pregnant mother crossed alongside her other two young children. A girl my age with brain cancer whose parents sold everything just so they could find better medical care for her in the States. Or Laura, a 21-year-old who crossed with her grandmother hoping to find work as maids so she could send her son back to Mexico City to private school.

My own family left everything behind to start over so that my cousins and I could live life as we wanted. So that we may live without fear in a country with endless opportunities. 

Even when faced with adversity, Latinos have found hope in the crevices of building a better future for themselves and, in turn, a better country for all of us. People like my mother and myself benefited from sanctuary places like Annunciation House, where the law protected us for as long as we needed to be.

Now, there is no place of sanctuary available for immigrants.

As acting Homeland Security Secretary Benjamine Huffman said in a statement,  “This action empowers the brave men and women in CBP and ICE to enforce our immigration laws and catch criminal aliens—including murders and rapists—who have illegally come into our country,” it read. 

“Criminals will no longer be able to hide in America’s schools and churches to avoid arrest. The Trump Administration will not tie the hands of our brave law enforcement, and instead trusts them to use common sense.” 

This begs to ask the question—are children criminals now? The sick? Since when do murderers and rapists hide inside churches and schools? And if our police force is brave enough to enter schools where children are learning, how come they can’t do the same when there’s a mass shooting?

As far as I know, the Federal Bureau of Prisons states that 29.2% of the inmate population in the country is composed of Latinos, with 69.4% of all individuals arrested being White. Additionally, the FBI reports that of all crimes committed in 2019, white individuals were arrested more often for violent crimes than individuals of any other race and accounted for 59.1% of those arrests. 

Of those arrests, none were children.

With statistics such as these, it makes me wonder: is this administration truly targeting criminals, or is it turning Latinos into the enemy for the sake of running a political agenda?

As Latinos, supporting each other is more important now than ever

Immigration may seem like a bipartisan topic, but it’s not. It’s a human issue. Since the dawn of time, people have migrated seeking better conditions, and today’s world is no different. We may be inclined to play the blame game, fight our relatives who support deportations, or even feel helpless and paralyzed in this situation. But falling apart as a community now will be to our detriment. Our strength lies in supporting each other. 

Even though things may be coming toward us at a rapid pace, there are ways to help. For one, seeking legal counseling. Whether it’s a private attorney or nonprofit organization that employs U.S. licensed attorneys or Department of Justice accredited representatives, know you have rights and can seek help. 

You should also create a safety plan for yourself and your loved ones. Provide emergency contacts for your child’s school, authorization for emergencies and legal decisions for your children, and memorizing phone numbers in case of arrest. It is also pivotal to keep your documents in a safe location and take a copy with you. 

Above all, contact your local state representatives, rally, and support Latinos being deported. Even if you’re not being affected today, it doesn’t mean you won’t be in the future. 

Karla Montalván is a seasoned editor, writer, and sex coach with over a decade of experience. Her work has appeared in renowned publications such as People en Español, People Magazine, mitú, Cosmopolitan, HipLatina, and FIERCE. In 2022, driven by the lack of accessible sexual education for Latinas, Montalván launched the Detrás de Kama podcast. Through this platform, she fearlessly delves into intimate topics, offering valuable insights and empowering her audience to embrace their intimate wellness with confidence.

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