By Irlanda Ruiz Aguirre
I heard a whistle.
I heard a car horn.
I heard people shouting:
Close the door.
Stay inside.
They're here.
My phone won't stop ringing.
WhatsApp is going crazy.
The same messages keep popping up in the groups:
Protect your families.
Stay safe.
I read the news.
I read the comments.
The Border Patrol is closing in—
they’re on the corner,
stalking the Latino community.
People are running.
Businesses are closing.
And I wonder:
Is this experience real
or is it fear that’s taking over?
Social media is exploding—
, rumors, fear,
, and hatred running rampant.
I read the comments,
one after another,
adding fuel to the fire:
“I don’t care if the children are caged.”
“I don’t care if parents and children are separated.”
“Let them take them all away
and lock them up.”
My heart is racing.
My hands are trembling.
I refuse to believe
that hatred is so powerful,
that cruelty will be repeated,
that evil will grow stronger
and compassion will disappear.
I wept inconsolably.
I am distraught—
for my neighbors,
for my friends,
who remain in hiding today,
with their dreams on hold.
I received an email:
We have turkeys.
Arrange transportation and we'll deliver them.
A halo of light.
A ray of hope.
The turkeys were delivered.
A moment of trust.
I smile silently.
I find my whistle again—
a signal,
a warning,
and so we say:
here we are,
standing tall,
brave,
and facing forward,
we are the resistance.