A Note on Hope

By Marilyn Kunce

These last few weeks have been heavy.

As you may know, I am Mexican. And anyone who looks like me or sounds like me has been scared to go out for a while now, even if, like me, they have done everything by the book. Because “aggressive immigration enforcement” is actually just code for racial profiling. And we are all targets. In Minnesota, police chiefs have been speaking out because they are tired of their off-duty members being illegally harassed by ICE. Proving what we already knew, they report that every single one of their people who have been stopped is a person of color.

It’s incredibly hard on parents.

Anyone with kids in this country, like me, who are mixed race or who speak their parents’ native language, is scared to keep teaching them their traditions.

When children are heard screaming on the other side of immigration detention facilities, in unsafe and inhumane conditions such as limited access to clean drinking water, spoiled or contaminated food, and inadequate medical care, it becomes impossible to look at your own children without worrying that they could be taken away, regardless of whether they are citizens and you are here legally or not.

If you want to talk about crimes being committed, lets talk about the crime against humanity that is detaining and separating children from their families. Especially when investigations have shown that federal agencies lack any comprehensive system to track detainees across transfers, leaving families desperate for answers after the kidnapping has occurred.

On top of holding my kids tighter, I want to thank every single one of you who are out there fighting this. Standing up for humanity, decency, and what is right. Fighting for the American way that is under attack. Risking your lives to stand up against something that is so patently wrong.

The idea of separation on its own is terrifying. I work from home. My kids are used to seeing their mom nearly 24 hours a day. If I disappeared from one day to the next, I am certain it would be deeply traumatizing for them.

But it becomes even more horrifying when you see what is actually happening. Disgusting reports of an immigration officer sexually abusing a mother in exchange for allowing her to see her detained daughter. An abuse of government power against someone who was completely vulnerable.

Does that woman have a husband? Do those who claim this cruelty is God ordained believe her desperation was a sin too? Because what happened was not moral. It was coercion. It was violence.

People go missing in these facilities all the time. And there is no reliable public accounting of how many people have died in immigration custody or have been transferred across borders without families being able to locate them.

So thank you again, because seeing Americans in the streets protesting and defending immigrants gives us all a sense that we are not alone, that Americans who can will use their voices when others can not. I am in awe at how brave you are. You are still out there, even after Renée Good was shot and killed by a federal agent during immigration protests in Minneapolis and Alex Pretti was killed while standing between armed agents and a woman who was being surrounded and forced to the ground.

Alex was an ICU nurse who cared for veterans. He was a son, a friend, and a member of his community who spent his life easing others’ pain.

Renee was a mother. She had three children waiting for her at home.

They didn’t have to be there, but they were, standing up for the country they love and the decency it used to have.

I want everyone to be safe. I feel sickened by this uncalled-for violence. These deaths are part of a growing list of immigration enforcement related fatalities documented this year alone.

The violence continues in Minnesota, and all I want is safety for everyone involved. To those standing up for us, your bravery matters. It is making a difference, even when it feels impossibly heavy.

As many of you know, I had a baby last year. Lukie is the sweetest bundle of joy, and he and Harvey, along with their two older brothers, fill our days with chaos and laughter. I have not spoken much about the postpartum depression I have experienced since this pregnancy. I am fortunate to have a strong support system, an involved husband, family nearby, and the ability to care for my mental health. Recently, I started moving my body again, and that has helped more than I expected.

Today, I had a realization.

What is happening in this country around immigration is giving me debilitating anxiety. I have been pushing it aside, blaming lack of sleep, exhaustion, and postpartum depression. But the news, the killings, the apprehension of children, the lack of transparency and justice, all of it has been building inside me.

I am Mexican. I came here legally. I had a work visa. I did everything the so-called right way. I have written about my immigration story before, but that is not what this piece is about.

The latest events in Minnesota sank my spirit in a way I had not felt before. And while I experience this from the safety of my home, with access to care, medication, and comfort, my mind is not a safe place. It is dark. Rage shows up sometimes, but mostly, hope feels like it is slipping away.

And then I realized something else.

This is exactly what fear and cruelty are meant to do. They want us exhausted. They want us silent. They want us numb.

We can not give in to that.

Do not give up to these forces.

Thank you for using your voices when others cannot. Your presence matters. Your courage matters. Please stay. We need you out there, protecting us

And we will need you now through election day. Lucas is not running this cycle, but there are so many who are running whose victories can change the course of history. More than anything, we need them to win so that we can turn the tide. Please help them.

Tonight, I will tuck my children in. I will speak my language to them. I will teach them where they come from. I will keep loving loudly in a world that wants us afraid. That is how I hold on to hope.

I am afraid. I am angry. I am still here. And I am not done hoping.

Hope does not look like optimism right now. It looks like refusal. Refusal to forget. Refusal to be silent. Refusal to let fear decide who we become.

Thank you for everything you do.

Marilyn Kunce