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It’s easy not to care if you’re not Hispanic. It’s easy not to care if you didn’t grow up on the border. It’s easy not to care if you’ve never stepped foot inside an immigration shelter or if you’ve never spoken to an immigrant.

But for many of us Hispanics, Trump’s return to the White House and his obsession with the border poses an imminent threat — regardless of our immigration status.

Since his political debut, much of Trump’s platform has centered around dehumanizing immigrants, especially Hispanics. His relentless rhetoric in his first campaign, in which he called Mexican immigrants rapists and drug dealers, has continued this cycle with inflammatory speeches about immigrants “poisoning the blood of our country.”

Vice President-elect J.D. Vance has echoed these harmful views, repeatedly referring to Haitian immigrants in Springfield, Ohio, as “illegal aliens”, despite their legal status. He has also accused them of eating household pets, repeating a baseless claim Trump advanced in a debate. More recently, a Trump rally speaker described Puerto Rico as “a floating island of garbage.”

While some might chalk these comments up to reaction-seeking rhetoric, there is no doubt that these bigoted statements’ impact is real. With mass deportations on the horizon, the worst is yet to come.

I am scared. For people who look like me, for those living in border communities, and for U.S. citizens who don’t speak English — including my family members. I am scared that an entire population will be terrorized, profiled, and questioned by law enforcement with little accountability, simply because they look a certain way. And I am terrified that communities and cultures filled with love and compassion will vanish, transformed into groups of people wondering whether today will be the day they’re torn away from their homes, families and friends.

For those who think this vision of the future is extreme, I can tell you firsthand that it is not. As a child, my father was often pulled over for “speeding,” usually by a white sheriff. At one point, he received so many tickets in New Mexico that he had to appear in court to avoid being banned from driving there for a month.

Another time, in rural Texas, we were stopped for simply not having a front license plate. The officer then asked us if we were American citizens. I was just a kid and didn’t understand why we were always stopped. Now, I do.

I’m lucky that we drove a relatively nice car and all spoke English. This was 15 years ago, and I fear that these experiences — being pulled over for minor or fabricated infractions and questioned about our citizenship — could become all too common amongst law enforcement trying to weed out unauthorized residents.

But why should you care what happens to undocumented immigrants?

These people aren’t aliens — they’re human beings like you and me. They aren’t criminals, rapists, or drug dealers. They’re families seeking a better life, escaping persecution, or looking for safety.

If you care about keeping families together, then you should care about mass deportation too. More than 22 million people in the U.S. live in a mixed-status household and over one in 20 families that are at risk of losing a loved one. During his first presidency, Trump demonstrated through his zero-tolerance immigration policy that he was willing to separate families without hesitation. Despite ongoing reunification efforts, hundreds of these families remain separated to this day.

Undocumented immigrants are also key to economic growth and sustainability in the U.S., contributing nearly $100 billion in taxes yearly and keeping labor-intensive industries afloat. At the same time, research suggests that the short-term costs of mass deportation exceed $315 billion.

Our country is in desperate need of immigration reform. But mass deportation and closing the border is not the solution.

As a young Mexican man, I feel deeply disappointed with Trump’s exit polling among Hispanics, particularly men. To Hispanic men: Remember that our families, just like others, once immigrated to this country. It pains me to see so many of us abandon our shared values and support a candidate who has shown nothing but hatred and racism toward us. We’ve failed to protect our communities.

I genuinely believed that Hispanics would turn out for Harris. I thought moral clarity would guide us to the humane choice. I was wrong.

A second Trump term means that millions of people in the U.S. will continue living in fear. To those who voted against mass deportation, thank you. But to those who supported it, or viewed it as a dispensable policy to secure Trump’s agenda, I urge you: Don’t just pay attention to the numbers of immigrants who will be deported.

Hear their stories. Recognize their humanity.

David I. Gonzalez ’25, a Crimson Editorial editor, is a double concentrator in Psychology and Economics in Kirkland House.