I am an American citizen of Mexican descent, and like others in my community, I feel disheartened. First, it was Mexicans, then Venezuelans, Haitians, and now Puerto Ricans.
In my community, we discuss things when we disagree or don’t understand each other’s perspectives. But that’s become almost impossible in this climate of fear and hate. So, I’m writing this open letter to my MAGA neighbors.
Dear MAGA neighbor,
I apologize for writing instead of inviting you to share a cerveza—it’s hard to talk face-to-face. Maybe it’s because of my appearance or my Spanish accent, which makes us feel insecure around each other. But I hope you can understand why I think this way.
When Trump and J.D. Vance promise the largest deportation in history, starting on day one, can you imagine how that feels? How would you feel if you didn’t know whether your family would be split apart and sent to foreign lands?
The MAGA movement seems to feel they’re responding to an “invasion.” But economists see things differently. Latinos in the United States represent the world’s fifth-largest economy, contributing $3.2 trillion and driving significant economic growth. So, who are we? An alien invasion, or an essential part of the nation’s prosperity?
I bet you have some beautiful, talented people in your family. So do we. Can you imagine if 48% of the nation thought your family members were a threat?
When we cross paths, it saddens me that your gaze sometimes seems wary or even hostile. It doesn’t have to be this way. Unfortunately, since 2016, one man has fueled a nonstop campaign to make Americans fear each other.
After 9/11, President Bush said, “This is a day when all Americans from every walk of life unite in our resolve for justice and peace.” And now, we have a former president vowing to divide the nation, pledging to send 15 million of us to deportation camps.
If we could talk, maybe we’d find that our kids share a love of soccer, want to serve in the military, or hope to attend Penn. Maybe that cerveza would help us see past our differences. We might even realize that we’re both sons and daughters of immigrants.
