Un-American
I get so frustrated when people refuse to understand why I canāt relax with a police officer near. They think Iām being āun-americanā for not trusting the people who have sworn to protect us, but thatās the thing. Theyāre not here to protect me, or people who look like me. Theyāre here to protect the paler, whiter, blonder, Americans. Or at least thatās what the recent actions of this country has made me, and thousands of others to believe.
White americans especially, they could never fully understand the fear that drowns me whenever I see those uniforms. They will never understand the utter, raw, terror I feel at the thought that those uniforms will rip my family apart. That one day, I wonāt come home to the smell of roasting peppers, hot tortillas on the grill. I wonāt see and feel the warmth of family, I wonāt hear laughter, I wonāt hear the loud blaring noise of trumpets and accordions, but that Iāll come home to a silent, dark house. That mom, dad, and sis are gone and I wont be able to see them for a long time.
There are so many fears that I carry as a first generation american, someone who can barely identify as american with the way that this country treats mexicans, and latinos in general. Ā Ā












