The clouds gently glide past beneath the plane. Outside the window, the sun was beginning to set, casting an orange glow over the landscape beneath. From up here, the border could just barely be made out as a simple line.
The children are sleeping soundly by now, though the oldest one’s face has tear marks still fresh from crying. He must have had it rough, being separated from his father without any reason or knowledge as to where they’re headed now.
The mother of the two strokes his short hair and holds onto her youngest child with her free hand. He seems to be the most at peace of the three, oblivious to the circumstances that brought them there.
Through everything she’s been through, she hopes that this new place will be a fresh start.
This is not an uncommon story. I’m sure this exact scenario has played out countless times before, and certainly, there must be at least one person reading this who has had a similar experience to this. The hardworking mother leaves everything behind but her children in hopes of a better future for them. It’s been played out many times before in books and movies. It’s such a common story that you might have even gotten tired of hearing it. But the reality of it is that it’s constantly occurring in this very country.
***
Now here’s another story that you’ve might’ve heard:
There’s a loud, terrible, screaming coming from within stretched out arms, the voice’s owner held back by a group of men wearing militaristic garments. The person being held back, someone’s child, reaches out in front of them, desperately trying to push away the men.
Just a few feet away, a father is being detained and loaded into a car. Whether they are fighting back or quietly resigning is up to you.
The vehicle drives off, the tint obscuring the child’s view of their father. Bit by bit, the engine fades into silence, and the child is left behind.
This, too, is not an uncommon story. A father, or a mother, or a beloved grandmother or grandfather, or a guardian who just so happened to find it within themselves to step up, being separated from their children. This exact scenario has played out countless times before. I have never experienced it, but I’m sure there is someone reading this who has. And if that’s not proof enough, just ask the U.S. Government and they’ll gladly boast about the statistics.
These stories have become overwhelmingly common in the past few months after Donald Trump’s inauguration, bringing him back into office after his 2016-2020 term. In his past term, Trump promised to conduct a mass deportation of undocumented immigrants, or “illegal aliens,” as he calls us. Approximately 1.5 million immigrants were deported during his first term, and as of May 2025, 5 months after his reinauguration into his second term, over 142,000 more have been deported. Right now, these numbers are just barely half of what the deportation rates were under the Obama Administration, and so one may ask, “What makes Trump a bigger threat for immigrants than Obama?” The answer comes in prejudice.
Trump’s strong anti-immigration policies influence his followers to be vocal about their views towards immigrants, fueling their hatred. Racists and Xenophobes are getting comfortable discriminating against noncitizens as Trump’s administration continues to take more actions for the removal of noncitizens, which is often, or blatantly, fueled by prejudice.
Once again, Trump promises the largest operation of mass deportations across the country. And this time, his desperation to achieve that goal is on full display. ICE agents being given the green light to raid schools, hospitals, and churches, plans to end birthright citizenship are being discussed, and even offers of $1,000 for immigrants to self-deport.
And the target for all this racial profiling and prejudice are people like me, like the mother with her two children, and the child who watched their father be dragged away. We are not “aliens,” or criminals, or drug dealers, or murderers, or rapists, or whatever MAGA says of us. We are humans. Humans who wish for better futures, who work hard, who learn, and who sacrifice everything for their children. And my parents are proof of that:
“I couldn’t put up with the mistreatment any longer,” my mother recounted when asked about her husband. For 4 years she had to put up with the domestic violence and abuse that my father put her through. At the time, I was just a few months old. “I practically left everything behind in Mexico,” she said. “[I left] all my family so that we could have a better life here in the United States.”
With the help of a few relatives, my mom was able to support both my brother and me while making an honest living working at a restaurant. She enrolled us in school and made sure we got the best treatment she could afford.
My mom grew up without a father to watch over her, and her mother was absent for the better part of her childhood. And so, for the better part of her childhood, my mom was raised by her grandparents. “Your grandma hardly ever called me,” my mom said. “On my birthdays, she wouldn’t even give me a present.” And despite the absence of a parental figure, my mom spoils us with treats and gifts and countless praise, so long as we earn it, of course.
“As a girl. I remember really wanting Oreos, but my grandparents never had the money to afford them.” This was a conversation I overheard between her and my stepdad as I snacked on a handful of Oreos. “So I want my kids to eat as many Oreos as they want because I could never enjoy them.”
My mom pushes my siblings and me to strive for the best, and whenever she gets the chance, she will tell us, “I love you.” And if she can’t tell us in person, whether she’s hard at work or out grocery shopping, then a simple snack back home will remind us of her love. Everything she does is a display of her love and sacrifice. Compared to other American mothers, she stands at the top as the “criminal” mother who influences her “criminal” children to be good people.
***
When asked what she sees herself doing had she never met her ex-husband or had us, she replies plainly with, “I don’t know because I never thought of that.” There’s a pause as she tries to think of what to say next. “You all are my motivation to keep going, always,” she says.” You all propel me to be better or try to be better. And so I don’t see a life without you.”
“If something ever happens to me, cremate me,” my mom says. “Don’t send my body to Mexico, because why would I ever want to go back?”
For a large chunk of my life, my mother went without any support to help raise my brother and me. She was a single mother, and I never had a proper father figure. That was until she met with my stepdad, also undocumented.
My stepdad is a fantastic cook, and the whole family would always get excited when it was his turn to make dinner for the day. His specialty was anything seafood-related, a cuisine he learned to master back when he began in California. Whenever it was just us in a room, he would always take the opportunity to speak about his love of Cali, his stories of his childhood, making the Golden State sound like it did its nickname justice.
“When I [got] here, I used to go biking. And I remember seeing this big, blue thing, like a curtain,” he says, recalling that he was 14 when he and his family arrived in the U.S. “And I’m like ‘what’s that? What’s that?’ I rode my bike to it, and when I got to it, it was the ocean. And I’m just like, ‘Wow…’”
Nevertheless, his family was never meant to be there, not legally, at least. Like my mother, my stepdad and his family moved to the U.S. for a better life. One day, his father woke him up, telling him that they had to go to America. And just as suddenly, he found himself at the coyote (someone who smuggles immigrants past the border) crossing through the treacherous mountains.
There was never any expectation to enroll in school, just the thought of making a living working for better pay. But laws prevented minors from working, and so his parents figured it was better for him to enroll in school. Once the time came when he could get a job, there wasn’t any pause for him to get straight to work.
“My whole family [got] deported before,” he says. One day, my stepdad came back from work to an empty house, ICE agents having found his family and sent them back to Mexico. “I was by myself. I was just lonely. And then I [started] working [even] harder,” he says with fervor. “And then I [brought] them back.” In four months, he earned the money to bring his family back all by himself, paying the coyote $2000 for each person. “They want to deport us, but they’re going to see us back. We need to have a better life.”
His father, in his final days, moved back to Mexico, leaving his family to take care of themselves. Mexico was a hazy memory for my stepdad, and it was unclear why his father moved back.
“I really don’t miss anything,” he says when asked if he misses Mexico. “I think that the only thing that I miss is my dad, but he’s no longer here.” His father raised him to be strong yet kind, for when the day comes that he has his own family, he can be there for them.
***
Now, I feel comfortable enough to call him my dad, no “step” needed. After everything he’s gone through as well as his growth as a father, he deserves it.
And yet, though having more experience than most, my dad still struggles to find work, being rejected for not having proper identification or U.S. citizenship. Our attempts at giving him a visa were met with warnings that if he were to ever try again, he would be deported.
Both my mom and dad are punished because they care. They sacrificed everything to give my siblings and me a life that they could never achieve. I grew up ready to make them proud, doing my best so that they can die knowing that at least one of their children can support the others. Yet I was denied FAFSA because I was born just a few months before we moved out of Mexico. I remember seeing my parents’ faces drop in disbelief as we were told the news. Yet they told me to continue being strong, to keep pushing, to keep being ambitious.
This article was made with the intention of making you see that we are human. Time and time again, immigrants are seen as lesser beings or dangerous beasts. But we are just like you. Working-class citizens who go day after day trying to live for a purpose.
And to those whom I cannot convince, who truly believe that we are no different than animals, know that you are affected by this too. It is not just us immigrants who will be affected by this plague that Conservative politicians will carry out, but we, the people who work every day, who go to school every day, who strive for better futures every day. It is we, as the everyday people, who will be damaged by this system. Donald Trump and his administration do not care for you, no matter your beliefs. We the people, who fight on a daily basis to give ourselves, our children, and our children’s children the best life possible, have to see eye to eye. Understand that we are people too and that we will return the favor.
How different are we compared to the everyday working man who makes an honest living working a 9-to-5? My mom works all day at her full-time job and part-time selling cakes, my stepdad has the effort and demeanor of a stern yet admirable manager yet struggles to even find work, and my brother is so charismatic that he can make friends with anyone and everyone in whichever job he works at. They do not in any way sound like the hardened criminals that Donald Trump, JD Vance, Fox News, or whatever conservative outlet wants you to believe they are. They are kind-hearted people who do their best to live. They are not “aliens,” they are human.
