I don’t normally ask for recs for my diaries but this time I’m going to ask for them on behalf of a new friend of mine, Angelica. She’s the 15 year old daughter of a family who came to the Orlando #KeepFamiliesTogether protests on June 30th. And she has penned the following essay which I offered to publish for her. I find her voice and her sincerity to be sorely needed in these troubled times, and it’s the drive and passion of her and her generation that gives me the greatest hope that America will see its way through this darkness.
Please read, and support. She will be reading your comments. I’m encouraging her to also join the community, but that, of course, is up to her.
With no further commentary, I offer you Angelica’s essay.
The Day I Joined The Human Race
It was June 18, the last time I felt like, well, me. I was going about my regular nightly ritual: brushing my teeth, preparing for the next day, etc. The week had just started, and I was already feeling overwhelmed by my schoolwork, chores, Tae Kwando, tennis. I was deep in thought when suddenly I was rudely jarred out of it. I heard sounds that could only be described as primal wailing, and there was absolutely no mistaking that there was pain and suffering behind it.
I don’t even remember how I got there, but I found myself in front of the TV, hypnotized by the unmistakable, unfettered sounds of babies wailing, begging for their “Mama”, for their “Papi”. As I stood in front of that TV, I felt frozen, sickened. I tried to discover what the cause of the wailing was. I felt the instinctual need to somehow try to help soothe the children’s pain.
What do you think of when you hear a baby cry? Sadness? Maybe a little pain? You don’t usually think of desperation, anguish, heartache. Those emotions were what I felt when I heard this desperate crying out, I felt all these emotions running through my veins, chilling me to my core. That night, Monday, June 18, changed my fundamental, 15-year-old, self-centered world, forever.
I discovered that this crying out was as a result of our government’s newly enforced “Zero Tolerance Policy.” This policy can only be described as an inhumane assault on the sacred fabric and sanctity of families, parents, and children. It exploits a provision in our immigration laws to break up families and basically hold them hostage as a deterrent to illegal immigration. As a result, children were being ripped away from their families and being held captive in cages, where they didn’t know anyone, didn’t speak the language and didn’t know how, when, or even if their nightmare would ever be over.
Despite the president being forced to reverse this policy through an executive order, largely due to the unforeseen backlash, 2,500 - 3,000 innocent children have already fallen victim to this barbaric policy. Despite the fact that Federal Judge Dana Sabraw, has mandated the immediate return of all children under 5 within 14 days, and all the remaining older children within 30 days, there is a real possibility that some of the children, especially the youngest ones, may never be reunited with their parents due to the parents having already been deported without their children, and also due to an inadequate tracking system.
It is difficult to accept that this crime against humanity could happen anywhere in today’s world, but to discover that it was actually happening in my own country, was as sickening as it was unbelievable. Yet, there it was loud and clear. I didn’t understand how any American could stand by and allow this kind of horror to happen in the land of the - free?
As I continued to learn about these horrors happening to families, I became increasingly outraged. I learned that this policy was directly attributed to our own president! Why did these families deserve to be torn apart? What was the difference is between my family and those families, or between them and the president’s family?
I found myself with an unfamiliar, unrestrainable energy and desire to do something, anything, everything, to try to right this wrong. The angst that was building inside me compelled me into action. This was simply unacceptable! Something had to be done.
I searched for outlets to express my outrage and was grateful to find out about the National Families Belong Together March, and I immediately recognized that this was something I needed to be a part of, a platform where I could make a difference, however small. This was a whole new world for me as I had never partaken in any form of protest, beyond protesting my bedtime hours and my little sister invading my privacy. This was different. For the first time in my life, I saw my problems and concerns fade into the background and suddenly seem somewhat secondary and even trivial - I felt a change come over me.
As this was my first protest march, I was simultaneously very excited and eager to do my part, but I was also a little nervous, as I didn’t know what to expect and this was very unfamiliar territory. When my family and I arrived at the march, we found so many people already there, all with similar ideas and opinions that I had. It was inspiring to see so many people gather for the same cause. They were just as fired up as I was. Also, I was pleased to see how many people were there, as it was raining, and therefore I expected a low turnout. Soon it started pouring, and I feared that the crowd would dissipate, but to my surprise, no one left and the crowd stayed strong and grew even more united. Everyone there was giving up his or her Saturday, to stand up for the defenseless, speak up for those who cannot and to make a difference instead of just feeling outraged from the comfort of home.
That day, I joined a large group of strangers that came together with one purpose, standing up for our fellow brothers, sisters, and children. In those hours, we all became a family, claiming membership to the human race, quite aware of the privileges but more importantly fully accepting of the responsibilities and obligations that come with it. That day was the day that I officially and consciously joined the human race, and I finally understood what it meant to be a part of something bigger than myself.
As the protest wrapped up and we all started to leave, I realized that I could never un-see what I have seen or un-hear what I have heard, and at my core, I now understood that it is up to all of us to make a choice. Whether to stand by and watch the world become an ugly cruel place, or take on that responsibility directly, the obligation that each of us share as a member of the human race to make the right choice, especially when it is the hard choice, and even more so when it is the most innocent among us that are being hurt. We have to get off of our comfy couches and make the choice to get up and fight against injustices. Because at the end of the day, wouldn’t we all want to live in a world where we can count on each other to do the same for us and our families?