Contributed by professor Beatriz Aldana Marquez.
I remember the first time I did not belong. I was five years old, fresh from a long and terrifying journey into the United States, standing in front of a typical classroom of American children, all smiling and eating ice cream without the burden of responsibility. At the time, I was an undocumented Mexican eldest daughter, living in a small trailer next to the dairy farm that employed my father. My parents were chasing an American dream, one that my classmates were already enjoying.
While children from my class enjoyed summer breaks, I rotated a work schedule with my sister to clean houses with my mother for White American 
families who ignored us in public. Even their children knew not talk to us, as the “help” was not meant for friendship. Stark divisions followed me all throughout my education, reminding me that Latinos are viewed differently. Even popular culture taught me that Mexicans were meant for comic relief, giving my American peers permission to joke about “illegal Mexicans invading” their small town. Belonging was not about being an equal, but about playing the role of the subservient, disposable, and entertaining Mexican immigrant.
Responsibility meant ignoring the flashbacks of the border and of my abusive household. My focus became mastering English, understanding American culture, and learning all I could about immigration policies. No one noticed, and I was alone among my American friends. The differences between us were inescapable, leading me to blame myself for not pushing past the loneliness of being one the few Latino immigrants in town. Again, I did not belong. Latinos continued to be seen as suppliers of labor for White American families, and their suffering at the hands of immigration enforcement remain irrelevant outside business negotiations.
Thirty years after my arrival, the fear has never left. Fear still controls my life even when others tell me I should not be afraid. How do I explain that the fear of La Migra knocking at my door is my oldest recurring nightmare? Nothing feels secure as of lately and yet Latinos are told to remain compliant in face of violence and racial profiling. Even as a professor, I cannot escape this fear because ICE continues to look for us and target our safety.
I cannot offer a solution, only solidarity in this struggle to survive as Latino immigrants in this era of ICE enforcement. Sometimes, the first step is simply recognizing the existence of fear so that we can understand that we are not alone.