How #standwithpp is an #immigration issue

I’m really sad and frustrated right now. I don’t see enough immigrant activists and immigration groups publicly standing with planned parenthood as they’re attacked left and right.

Access to reproductive health services is an immigration issue as well.

Undocumented immigrants lack access to health care and oftentimes are also low income. Planned parenthood clinics are one of the few places immigrants are welcomed and treated.

Can’t they just go to another clinic?

No because in some states planned parenthood clinics are the only ones that offered reproductive health services. Undocumented immigrants sometimes don’t have access to transportation, licenses, and safe neighborhoods free of immigration agents to travel elsewhere.

We should focus on having more clinics, not defund and close those that are open.

Planned parenthood provides life saving services like sti/std treatment and reproductive health check ups and provide contraceptives. Things undocumented immigrants need without shame or stigma.

Our immigrant community faces violence and dehumanization. Accessing reproductive health care is already hard enough when you lack a social. Defunding the clinics that provide such valuable care is violence.

Many immigrants come from countries where their bodies were controlled and abused. Some of us come from countries where people dying from clandestine abortions is a common occurrence. Some of us come from countries where we knew of someone who had to leave to seek reproductive health care elsewhere. By making abortions more inaccessible (because they are inaccessible to many already) we play games with people’s lives.

Because immigrants are raped on their journey to another country. Because immigrants get contraceptives before they migrate because they know they’ll be raped.

This is a reproductive justice issue.

Immigrant activists need to show up for reproductive health care providers and groups. Because undocumented immigrants and all immigrants need these services and shouldn’t be shamed for it. Because our communities deserve to be healthy and happy.

Because part of seeking a better life is also being autonomous people. This includes having access to information and all resources to make decisions about our families and our health.

These decisions range from migrating to another country to going to a reproductive health clinic.

Reproductive health care is an immigration issue.

On being a super strong woman

I am tired
sometimes i want to crawl into a hole and hide from everyone
let go of these burdens and sleep past my alarm clock
sometimes i don’t want to be the super strong independent woman
I’d rather let you hold all this for a bit
can i trust you?

I am emotional
and sometimes it seems like others don’t want to see that side of you
the sad side
the vulnerable and weak side
the one that asks for help
and needs a hug
the one who doesn’t have answers or solutions
they’ve gotten used to marveling at your strength and being uplifted by it
they can’t figure out how to replenish your fountain
they’re used to taking from it

what do you mean you’re not a source of strength for me?

your fountain
the foundation that holds up families and communities
as you sit in the sun waiting for it to rain again
let the drops fill up your core with strength to carry through the drought
because we’ve learned how to be whole with the earth

mujer eres tan fuerte
they admire your strength
but fail to recognize that it took being broken too many times to be this thick
and sometimes
it wasn’t a choice
it was to survive

But can we talk?

But can we talk ?

Did social justice movements leave us silent?
Can we talk about these things?
Talk about how it’s hard to envision ourselves in the just and better world we hope others have

How at the end of the day we still feel lonely

How we fight for families while struggling to even talk to our own

How at no point are we addressing the trauma and pain from the past from the present

How some organizers are violent and abusive but still involved because they’re an asset

How we excuse the violence

But can we talk?

About how back to back actions leave us feeling empty while others think it’s only empowering

About how it hurts our family and friends and we can’t figure out how to solve it

About how we don’t stop to reflect because what we will find scares the shit out of us

About how it’s easier to organize out of anger because love is an uncontrollable all consuming feeling

About the harmful ways we cope

About the fear that we’re only friends during campaigns 

But can we talk?

About how we’ve left ourselves on the last slot of our priority list

The feminism I was always a part of

I never needed academics to tell me something was wrong when those in my neighborhood disappeared due to police violence, army recruiters, or deportation.

We knew about gender roles way before it formulated as a word in our vocabulary. We knew because our fathers and brothers behaved and were treated differently than moms and sisters.

We knew our brother would stay out later. Play with different toys. Sit and watch TV when we cooked.

We also knew of men who left school to help provide. About the neighbors we grew up with and learned to love who were later considered gang members. We knew them by name.

I never needed academics to tell me women are powerful.

I saw it when all the women in my community came together during natural disasters, holidays, birthdays, domestic violence incidents, arrests, deaths, and more.

I saw them come together and gossip about how dangerous men could be while cooking sancochos and moro con guandules together. I saw them house a friend who ran away from an abusive partner. I saw them care for kids as if they were their own because we all knew paying for daycare was a luxury.

I never needed academics to tell me about culture or that something was wrong when we were made fun of for speaking another language when I endured the stares and the bullying when english wasn’t allowed to be spoken at home porque no debes olvidar de donde vienes.

When dancing was part of your cultural upbringing and almost an expectation, not something you were shamed for.

I never needed academics to tell me women are powerful.

I saw them fight for each other whether at religious institutions or outside of them. They created magic from the little to nothing they had. I saw single mothers triumph.

We all knew we all needed to succeed as a unit, as a family and as a community. Not just the women not just the girls. We wanted our brothers and cousins and fathers to be safe. To be home. To thrive. We didn’t need academics to tell us patriarchy ruins their lives too. We saw it first hand as the test objects of that power and witnesses to its powerlessness.

When boys were yelled at and slapped for crying. When boys weren’t allowed to play with our dolls. We didn’t need academics to tell us about gendered expectations.

I didn’t need academics to tell me something was wrong when attending college was a luxury almost none of us could afford. When we all knew our school was the “bad school” with no resources and too many kids for one guidance counselor. We all knew we weren’t college material but the “better school” miles away was on that track. We all knew different skin color meant different treatment.

Because our novelas were never included in academia. It never included our friends and cousins who became pregnant and we all still loved them. It never included the abuelitas who raised entire villages and sold arepas y tamales to hold entire houses together. It never included those of us who want love and one day say “I do”.

I never needed academics to tell me what feminism was about as I was already a part of it passed down from generations.

i don't even know what just happened

When processing emotions of what happened last night with regards to immigration, they’ll come out in all kinds of ways.

Many undocumented loved ones will be left out of this immigration executive action. It seems like this is the only thing that’ll be done on immigration in a while. Some will benefit, some will not, some will be deported, some will get to stay. This program is imperfect. This program isn’t stable enough for people to trust it completely.

What happens when Obama leaves office? When do we stop fighting? When do we get to rest? If our loved ones do benefit and are able to apply for this executive plan, will they be able to see a doctor? to establish a career? to benefit from the services they’re taxed for? Will they be able to travel back home? To retire? What happens to the recently arrived immigrants? To those with criminal records? to the families in detention center? To the deported parents of citizen children? Will the deportation machine slow down or will it only speed up? What happens to LGBTQ undocumented immigrants? Will we continue fighting or will some of us leave the movement and live our lives now that we’ve found some ‘relief’?

Sometimes, our doubts, fears, disappointment, and anxiety come out in healthy rage, anger, pain, tears, celebration, laughter, emptiness. That’s okay. That’s normal. 

Lets be conscious of each other’s reactions, emotions, and beliefs. Lets not tell those who are hurting to be grateful. Those who are left out that “at least something was done”. For a moment. Let us hurt.

We know organizing continues and we know a lot of work needs to be done, but for a second, we also need to rest. to sleep. to cry. to process. to stop. to breathe. to regain energy. 

Elected officials aren’t the ones who have to tell their loved ones they are not eligible. That’s on community and family members. The same organizers that benefited from DACA but won’t be able to see their parents benefit.

All this takes a toll on all of us.

These executive actions impact real people, real families, real community members. This executive order does little to address huge overarching issues or root causes of immigration.

It really is a bitter sweet moment.

For some families and some individuals, it is sweet. for others, bitter. This is life changing for many. I want to acknowledge that too. We often don’t stop to think about the good. we don’t stop to celebrate the small victories. These small steps can be victories for some. 

But to say that this immigration system only benefits the lucky and privileged may be true for some instances. But maybe not for others. Many of us were only able to “benefit” from this system because of rape, assault, violence, abuse, trafficking, abandonment. These aren’t things that stem from luck or privilege. It’s worth to keep in mind when understanding what this immigration system has done to us. How we internalize and define what makes us and others worthy of qualifying for anything. 

This immigration system is all kinds of messed up. These arbitrary categories are designed to separate us and group us into deserving/ not deserving. Don’t let it happen. We are all valuable and worthy. Papers don’t define that. We will keep organizing and we need all of you to join.

Support, love, encouragement on all fronts. That’s what is needed most.

On Supporting Immigrants Who've Been Sexually Assaulted

For the past two years I’ve become outspoken about being sexually abused as a child. I also lived undocumented for 19 years. While both, undocumented and victim/survivor, aren’t identities I carry with me, they’re realities that have impacted me. Sometimes, support from other immigrants isn’t where it should be.

I’ve been in spaces where jokes are made about abuse, violence, and rape by people who are so on point about immigrant rights issues. I’ve been in spaces where victim/survivors have been questioned about their assault stories from other immigrants. What were the details of the abuse? What *actually* happened? Details. Details. Details.

It’s heartbreaking, especially from others who truly understand what it means to carry such a big secret. What it means to be undocumented and keep that to yourself. That sometimes silence is the best way of coping. Sometimes, silence is safe. Silence is best.

Details are draining. They make me feel like you don’t believe me. Like you need a play by play of what happened in order to determine if it was actually abuse or not. It’s for ~you~ to determine if the abuse was “as bad as you say it is”. Details don’t make the abuse disappear. Speaking it out loud can be powerful for some but detrimental to others. What was done to me is not a reality show for you to consume.

Now that I have a U Non-immigrant Visa as a direct result of what was done to me, I’m at a place where my immigration status and victim/survivor status connect. When I first received my acceptance letter, everyone around me celebrated this as if I had just won the noble peace prize. Very few stopped to think about what it must be like to only be eligible for a visa for being abused. About what it means to look at these immigration papers and be reminded that I was in fact a victim/survivor. What it means to fight and fight for immigrant rights in a country that defines your worth through crimes and pain. Very few stopped to ask me how the application process was and how I was doing emotionally. Very few stopped to think about the emptiness that comes with receiving papers as a consequence of your abuser’s actions. I wrote about it here.

Still, I was called dramatic, selfish, and ungrateful. Many speculated I made up the abuse to qualify for a U Non-immigrant Visa and adjust my status. Others made jokes about me and this visa behind my back, minimized my experiences, and suggested I leave the immigrant rights movement now that I “was okay”…summarizing me to immigration status only. I hope to exist in a world/movement where humanity and community isn’t measured through immigration papers. 

Still, i was told to be “thankful” for this immigration status change and that I was “lucky” for such an opportunity. I should be thankful that I was lucky enough to have been sexually abused? And for my friends who were abused abroad (and therefore not eligible for a U-Visa), you mean I’m lucky I was abused in the USA? At the right time in the right place. 

What have we internalized that experiencing violence now becomes a marker of luck? success? A reason to celebrate?

I wouldn’t want anyone to be sexually abused. I could never articulate how life-ruining it is. I would also never hope for someone to be undocumented. Similarly, It’s a frustrating and many times unbearable experience.

I’ve been in spaces where others who were also victim/survivors of crimes were disappointed they weren’t eligible to a path for citizenship, rather than being disappointed they were hurt in that way.

This system has taught us that there are specific measurements of worth to the point that we get mad we weren’t abused correctly to be eligible for something. To the point where we wish it were us that was hurt. We’ve internalized it all. The pain the stigma the standards of worth the measurements of success. We repeat reuse recycle hurtful messages and hurtful treatment of others. 

When we become stuck on obtaining immigration papers at all cost, we lack empathetic understanding of multidimensional identities, experiences, and the impact of both. This isn’t always our fault. We’ve been raised to believe these papers are everything. So much so that violence is welcomed. Because in a country that constantly dehumanizes you and your community, what is another act of violence? 

I hope we will allow ourselves to grow, learn, and become better towards each other. Because right now, we are all we have. Where will we go and what will we do if the few spaces where community actually exist also become violent and un-supportive? 

Why I refuse to forgive the man who sexually abused me

When I started walking on this path of healing I thought forgiveness was part of the adventure. I thought about forgiving past friends, ex-partners, and the man who sexually abused me. Time and time again I am asked if I have forgiven him.
“It’ll bring you peace” they say to me.
I also heard the infamous, “if you don’t forgive him you are at risk of repeating cycles of abuse.”
“You’re just as bad as he is.”
“Forgiveness helps you move forward.”
“It is part of surviving a crime.”
“Forgive Angy, forgive.”

I. Am. Sick. And. Tired. Of. This.

The only person I have to forgive and make peace with is MYSELF me yo Angy. Hello! Did we forget I was the one who has had to deal with the consequences of all this?

I need to forgive myself for all the times I said I should’ve done more, better, different. I need to forgive me for all the blaming I placed on myself. I need to forgive myself for all the times I replayed it in my mind wondering if I said “no” loud enough. If I indeed pushed him off. If I said something to start the abuse. I need to forgive myself for all the sleepless nights and lack of food. I need to forgive myself because I did do enough and I am worth more.

I exist and I am breathing for myself and me only. I am not here for you. I am not here for him. I am not here to forgive him. I am not here to let him know that what he did is okay now. It is not my job to make him feel better. It was not okay. It never will be okay. I am not here to prioritize him. Forgiveness has become a tool to control survivors. Tying our peace and comfort into his existence.

Does anyone ever speak to him about forgiveness? About apologies?

I will never be at peace and that is something I’ve come to terms with. No, I am not like him and never will be. That dark silhouette in the distance on my walk home will always make me squeeze my keys harder. Dating will always feel unsafe. I will always flashback. Those nightmares will always pop up. The paranoia I feel in bathrooms and during solo cab rides won’t disappear. This is the reality of my healing.

Forgiving myself and learning to cope with the cards I’ve been dealt is part of my survival. Learning to manage, reduce, and maybe even eliminate triggers and flashbacks are my reality. Forgiving myself is my priority.
Safety
Love
Appreciation
Laughter and happiness are all on my path to betterment. It is up to me to take care of myself. I will not sacrifice my soul and well being for his sanity. I refuse to forgive you, because I am too busy forgiving myself.

Triggers and Sexual Assault

It’s amazing how the mind works
how one smell
one sound
one touch can bring back so many memories and make you travel back in time
put you back to the exact day you felt that, saw that, smelled that

Triggers are also a curse
He sexually assaulted me many months ago

I remember it like it was yesterday and no matter how often i write about it and how often i cry about it i still have those memories buried inside of me.

I’m starting to think they’ll always be there.
His cologne was really strong
It burned my nose and stayed on my skin even after I got home

I’m sitting here listening to music randomly and Dandole comes on
That song was playing that day
and I immediately go back to that moment
the fear the fighting the adrenaline in my blood the need to escape
It’s crazy how the mind works

what to say to a survivor of sexual violence

I’ve heard it all from, “God wanted it this way” “are you sure that really happened” “but it happened a long time ago” to “you are being dramatic” and “just move on”. Everytime it hurts the same. It’s like being stabbed in the face. I wish we were more compassionate, understanding, empathetic.

When interacting with a survivor, keep in mind that while it is difficult for you to hear what they’re saying or think of a response, it’s more difficult for them. Not just surviving the violence but living with it every day and deciding to share with someone else. 

Remind yourself that it’s not about you.

So I came up with this list. Please add anything I’ve missed. 

When someone tells you they’re a survivor

(Many people read too much into this. They may be sharing with you because they need to get this off their chest. How you react to this information will determine further interactions.)

-Thank you for sharing this with me

-Wow, I don’t know what to say your bravery has left me speechless. How can I be of support?

-I’m here to listen to everything you want and need to share

-I believe you

-Things like this shouldn’t happen, thank you for sharing, you are courageous

-I am here for you, you’re not alone

-How can I be of support?

-I don’t know what to say but I can listen

Someone tells you they need support in ____________ area

-Do you want me to come with you while you make a report?

-Would you feel more comfortable if I went with you to the clinic?

-Yes, I can be here when you make that call

-Yes, I can be here with you and we can search for support groups or counseling services together

-What would be best for you? I’m here to support your decision

-I don’t think I’ll be able to go with you to the police station/clinic/support group/healing circle/[insert activity here] but I can be of support after, maybe have something to eat and talk it through?

-I’ve heard about this club/group/center/organization that provides really great support and services, maybe you’d be interested in checking it out?

Statements that include God/religion in a positive way

(Please don’t tell anyone that “God wanted it this way”)

Instead

-God made you strong and brave to overcome many obstacles

-People do bad things and sometimes it doesn’t make sense, but we have each other and God to walk on a path of healing

-Sometimes people do things that we don’t understand, we don’t have all the answers but in prayer we can find relief

-It’s hard to make sense of all this and try to understand why bad things happen to people, but we can walk on a path to healing because God made you a fighter.

I Thought #Immigration Papers Would Make it all Better

When I was younger I had this wild idea that whenever I adjusted my immigration status, everything would be okay.

I used to think that papers, that is, a social security number, work authorization, a state ID, citizenship, was the answer.

On November 22, 2013 I received my U nonimmigrant Visa approval letter. I applied for this visa in January of the same year. To be eligible for a U-Visa, one must have been a victim of a crime in the United States, be impacted emotionally and/or physically, and have helped the police/government in the investigation of said crime.

I was sexually abused by my step father for four years. Starting at the age of four and ending at the age of eight. And while the abuse happened such a long time ago, it is so present today that sometimes it feels like it happened yesterday.

I became involved with the immigrant rights movement in 2009 after realizing I wasn’t eligible for financial aid and seeing no way out. Hopeless, confused and afraid the New York State Youth Leadership Council found me when I was a high school senior. I became a member and stayed involved ever since.

I got used to the idea of being undocumented. I learned how to work with it. I learned how to apply for work without a social security number. I opened a bank account without a social security number. I traveled within the United States without a state ID. I received several private scholarships without proper documentation. I was accepted into college. I started college. I overcame many of the things some told me I wouldn’t be able to do. I became unafraid.

More than being unafraid on paper, I was living fearlessness. I attended rallies and helped coordinate some of the coming out events in New York. Was featured in several media outlets. Started the country’s first undocumented youth advice column. In other words, I didn’t let my undocumented reality stop me from doing something. From resisting. From speaking out for myself. And I learned. I learned immigration history, I learned deportation and detention practices. I learned about state laws and programs that keep funding those centers. I learned about international laws that force people to leave. I learned why Colombia was so under resourced and violent when my mother got up and left. I learned why she wasn’t able to obtain a visa and why we became undocumented. I learned about the long history of border militarization and poverty wages. And I also learned that getting these immigration papers wouldn’t solve any of this.

I found out I was eligible for this U-Visa while being screened for Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals eligibility. It came as a surprise to my mother and I. We had been screened years before, and found nothing. All of a sudden, I was eligible for a U-visa and the thought of adjusting my status became a real one. One I never had before.

None of my contributions and hard work mattered. This U-Visa strictly looked at the sexual violence I had survived. It defined me. It shaped me. It made me eligible for a U-Visa but all the violence and discrimination I faced as an undocumented immigrant in the United States for 20 years didn’t. It hurt. It continues to hurt. Everything about me had been summarized to four years of my childhood. The United States’ way of apologizing was giving me a visa. A visa that I can’t leave the country with. I can’t apply for financial aid. I can’t get health services. I can still be deported. A visa that has undermined everything I’ve pushed for and gave back without being welcomed. The simple fact of wanting to be with my family, or of attending college, or of living here for 20 years isn’t enough. I needed to be hurt. Hurt so bad beyond repair to even get on a line.

And so I sit here, thinking about this approval. About the work authorization card that came in the mail. About the social security number that followed. About the fact that in 2016, if all goes well, I’ll be able to apply for a green card….and I still feel the same emptiness.

Go ahead and call me spoiled. A brat. Dramatic. Whatever.

We deserve better than this. We deserve way better.

It was never about papers, citizenship, a social, or a state ID. It was about the ways in which we treat immigrants in this country, and around the world. About the systems we have in place that drives people to migrate. About the circumstances back home and US backing of that. About the cookie cutter requirements and categories we allow immigrants to enter under. About who gets to work, live and love here. About who doesn’t. And having papers won’t change any of this. It won’t change or make up for the 20 years we lived without them. And it won’t change the fact that the rest of my community still lives under constant threat and fear.