(no subject)
Jan. 24th, 2026 03:22 pm"So did you see the news today?" I asked Maximo, as we were out and running errands.
He gave me a grim look, like, yes.
We talked about it, briefly, just like — this is what's happening, truly, and I said out loud the thing I have been thinking for a long time but haven't wanted to give voice to, because giving voice to it makes it somehow real:
"I'm glad I'm not working outside the house right now. I'm glad we're in [OUR COUNTY] and that it's rural enough and white enough that raids have been limited to specific employers. If we were elsewhere..."
"If we were elsewhere you'd want to carry your passport, and even that might not be enough."
"Yeah." A pause, then: "If we were elsewhere, we'd be getting grocery delivery and I wouldn't be leaving the house. I have my fucking Real ID, but —"
"Yeah, they've arrested people even with Real ID."
Just exchanged a bleak look, like.
Cool.
Whenever I mention anxiety to him, it is with the hope that he will tell me that what-I-fear will not come to pass. Being able to basically feelings-barf on him and go, "I know this probably isn't real, but..." helps a great deal.
I don't get that this time.
I have never been ashamed of not being white. The way that I was brought up, I was supposed to denounce that part of myself, to pretend that I was something other than what I was, because we only look like those people, we are not Those People, as though the ones that divide everyone into Us and Them on the basis of skin color care about whether or not you are, in fact, One Of The Good Ones.
I have never been ashamed. I have tried to reclaim heritage, to reclaim pride, to feel proud of who I am and where my family comes from, what ties we have to what parts of land. I learned Spanish despite my dad telling me I didn't have to; I have tried to research tribal affiliation and piece together where my family is from, because none of them will talk about it. Arizona, but what part. Montana, but what part. California, but what part. Mexico, but where and when?
I remember being told that my English was "very good, considering".
I remember well-meaning people asking if I was sure I wasn't "something else". Indigenous, Chicana, okay, but what if you're actually southern European? Are you sure your mom's family isn't from, oh, Italy? Spain?
I always said, no.
Up until recently, I also would have said that I wasn't afraid.
Now, I'm trying not to be.
He gave me a grim look, like, yes.
We talked about it, briefly, just like — this is what's happening, truly, and I said out loud the thing I have been thinking for a long time but haven't wanted to give voice to, because giving voice to it makes it somehow real:
"I'm glad I'm not working outside the house right now. I'm glad we're in [OUR COUNTY] and that it's rural enough and white enough that raids have been limited to specific employers. If we were elsewhere..."
"If we were elsewhere you'd want to carry your passport, and even that might not be enough."
"Yeah." A pause, then: "If we were elsewhere, we'd be getting grocery delivery and I wouldn't be leaving the house. I have my fucking Real ID, but —"
"Yeah, they've arrested people even with Real ID."
Just exchanged a bleak look, like.
Cool.
Whenever I mention anxiety to him, it is with the hope that he will tell me that what-I-fear will not come to pass. Being able to basically feelings-barf on him and go, "I know this probably isn't real, but..." helps a great deal.
I don't get that this time.
I have never been ashamed of not being white. The way that I was brought up, I was supposed to denounce that part of myself, to pretend that I was something other than what I was, because we only look like those people, we are not Those People, as though the ones that divide everyone into Us and Them on the basis of skin color care about whether or not you are, in fact, One Of The Good Ones.
I have never been ashamed. I have tried to reclaim heritage, to reclaim pride, to feel proud of who I am and where my family comes from, what ties we have to what parts of land. I learned Spanish despite my dad telling me I didn't have to; I have tried to research tribal affiliation and piece together where my family is from, because none of them will talk about it. Arizona, but what part. Montana, but what part. California, but what part. Mexico, but where and when?
I remember being told that my English was "very good, considering".
I remember well-meaning people asking if I was sure I wasn't "something else". Indigenous, Chicana, okay, but what if you're actually southern European? Are you sure your mom's family isn't from, oh, Italy? Spain?
I always said, no.
Up until recently, I also would have said that I wasn't afraid.
Now, I'm trying not to be.
