Dear Vermont,
With everything going on in this country and the rise of ICE and fascism, we are all a little on edge. Community awareness is growing as well as the fear this authoritarianism brings. I’d like to offer my perspective as a way of asking you to reconsider social media and chat thread posts about seeing ICE vehicles without a clear understanding of how harmful these words (especially when un-vetted and unconfirmed) are to vulnerable folks in our community. It is re-traumatizing and lacks care & compassion for those most vulnerable to ICE. The reality is we cannot begin healing from this trauma because the threat is still active. Please learn how to properly identify, confirm, and report ICE/CBP/ERO/DHS. Please learn how to get involved in fortifying, protecting, and safeguarding our communities.
My mother and I came to this country when I was a small child. We came from nothing. We brought nothing. We had nothing. We flew to Jamaica with the money my uncles gave my mother. Then we took a motor fishing boat (the open kind you take on the lake) from Jamaica to Miami in the middle of the night. The waves would rise high above the boat higher than any building in Montpelier, and then the boat would rise up higher than the entire earth. As a child I didn’t realize that was water. It looked more like a black blanket as we went by moonlight. I often wonder if my family knew the racism and xenophobia we would encounter, would we still have made the journey? I think she would have because the United States military and corporations like Coke were and still are destroying us. I think she would have because Guambino people are not known to shrink. Looking back, I don’t know how we made it through that night, but we landed in Florida and then we flew to my aunt in New York City.
We were undocumented which meant we couldn’t have a bank account, sign a lease, or feel safe. My mother was the head nurse on the floor of the hospital she worked at in Colombia. Here she washed dishes, she scrubbed toilets working 12-16 hr days 6-7 days a week but eventually became a licensed nurse in New England, did hospice work and even received commendations from the governor for her amazing care.
Growing up, if we saw uniforms we hid. We hid in clothing racks when buying shoes for school. We hid behind boxes in the back of warehouses and if the kids made noise, we’d get pinched or slapped. Most days after school I’d go to the library and then my aunt’s house until my mother picked me up after work. I knew on the days that my mother picked me up from school that a white person found out where we lived and now with all my belongings in the trunk (but not always) we lived in a new place. Dingy, musty basements, burned out apartments waiting repair, living room floors until we could afford another apartment. I could never let anyone know where I lived. I could never have close friends. I could never tell anyone who I really was.
We would see INS (Immigration and Naturalization Services) come into our neighborhood and beat people, yell slurs, and threaten us for fun. After neighborhood raids, some kids would be left without families and some of the Puerto Rican families in the neighborhood would have to take them in until they could be relocated or find resources to pay their way. Often times they’d have to quit school and start working in the back of restaurants or factories. As kids, we always lived in fear that we would be one of those kids.
When we moved to Vermont, it seemed like it would get better here. My mother had a green card and could get real jobs with full pay. However, she was often accused of stealing and fired without pay. People would throw things into her adorable afro and laugh. People would yell slurs and threaten to kill us if they heard us speaking Spanish or even sometimes when our accents were noticeable. We could never be out after dark for fear of the pick up trucks. And on one occasion my cousin visiting was beaten so he could barely walk but the police said it was his fault because he was a [slur]. In school, one of my teachers called me breeding stock because that’s all I would ever be but I wouldn’t even be that if I had an accent, she said.
Because I was undocumented, going to college was never an option, even though my intelligence gave me a scholarship to one of the most distinguished boarding schools in New England. After I graduated high school it was hard to get work in central Vermont even though I had a green card. No one in Vermont would hire me because of my green card. I worked for cash at the end of the day and sometimes wouldn’t get paid. Working up to 95 hrs a week. When I did finally get a job, I was denied a promotion of the closing manager because my peers were afraid that a Colombian would slit their throat at the end of the night. In order to get my citizenship I had to move to New Hampshire, where the racism was more blatant but they would at least look us in the face. They lied about forms and fees, they made us re-file several times and it was very costly. When my mother complained she was met with racial slurs and told to leave. Often times I would make white friends and they would bring me to their parties so that they could practice their college Spanish or to ask me questions about Colombia, cocaine and about being so ethnic but never about me. Often in these spaces, I would meet someone that had never met a South American and would be very racist towards me and the well meaning host would make excuses for them because they are so good and would ask me to alter myself, speak clearly, or leave. It is isolating and painful. I still avoid parties or spaces with small talk because my nervous system doesn’t let me anymore. When I do, I get overwhelmed and cry in my car…but this doesn‘t happen in global majority spaces.
In 2004 with the formation of ICE and DHS half my family left the country. I was also very familiar with Steven Miller’s speeches about people like me. I didn’t have local peers to discuss this with because it wasn’t a concern in Vermont.
During Trump 1.0, I cried almost every single night and had nightmares about Steven Miller that would wake me up, screaming. In my town, I was followed by cars with confederate flags, my home windows were smashed, my house was shot at, and I couldn’t report it to the police because I went 8 months with the police pulling me over ever time I left the house (after I was heard speaking Spanish to my children).
I’m rereading this laughing hearing you say, that’s not the Vermont I know. And you are correct but not because I’m exaggerating. On the contrary, I am avoiding telling you the most painful parts because the children of those that harmed us are so much more powerful than me. And you should know that among immigrants and refugees, this is not uncommon. Since then Burlington took in many refugees and the area is now more diverse but it’s not always kinder. If you enjoy the diversity and the yummy food and the culture, music, joy that has sprung up and how much the economy in Burlington has improved…thank refugees.
Still to this day, uniformed officers scare me to my core, UPS uniforms will also rattle me. I often times will sit in my car, crying because it’s frightening and I can’t breathe. When driving, I am hyper-vigilant and often become irritable with people in the car because we might draw attention. I can’t focus at work. I can’t sleep. I have nightmares.
I am highly reactive when it comes to ICE. I am highly reactive when it comes to the racist words of Donald Trump. I am highly reactive to the bigots that drive their pick up trucks through town with their flags. I am highly reactive to every un-vetted ICE siting. I know I’m not the only one. Each time and un-vetted vague cry about ICE goes out in the community we are triggered. Again I say, healing can only begin when the threat is lifted…but the threat is every day.
So now it’s Trump 2.0 and Vermont is feeling the fear that me and people like me feel every day. I get that it’s new to you. I get that it seems like it came out of nowhere even though it’s always been there. I hear people talk about how they’re OK with legal immigration even though I know for a fact, there hasn’t been legal immigration since the 90s, arguably never. Minnesota happened and now Vermont realizes that it can happen to people here too. I am comforted by all the people that want to do their best. But please, be aware of what you are doing.
Please stop making social media posts and chat thread posts about ICE vehicles without proper information or context. It’s scary! It makes it hard to sleep. It makes it challenging to regulate the nervous systems. It makes it so difficult to think of anything else. ICE has always been here. It’s just that now you are aware of it too.
Please learn how to properly report ICE sightings. (ALERTA or SALUTE)
Please learn the proper channels to send info to. If you see someone in immediate threat of being detained, call the Migrant Justice emergency line (802-881-7229). For all other reports, contact the VT Asylum Assistance Project (bit.ly/report-migra-vt).
Please look within and challenge these American views of what an immigrant is. Instead of seeing us like laborers, please start seeing us like people. Please challenge the white saviorism that is rising. Please learn to listen and hear. Please don’t pity us. Please recognize this goes beyond “no one is illegal on stolen land”
Please recognize that we have been living with these fears. We need support, community defense, and humanization. Please attend a rapid response training, please get connected, please and thank you.
Your neighbor