When I was 11 years old, President Donald Trump had just been elected to his first term. I walked onto my yellow school bus that picked me up from the very end of my street and remembered to wave a quick goodbye to my dad, who held my younger sister’s hand on the gravel road. I turned, and the first thing I saw was a little boy my age pointing at my dad.

“He’s going to get deported,” he said, picking the leather off the already-torn green school bus seat.

“No he’s not,” I countered. My mom is American. I am American. They can’t take my dad.

But the boy shook his head and explained that his dad said it would happen to all of the Latinos in our community. “Be careful is all,” he said before turning away.

My dad had just received his citizenship at the time, but I still held my breath the whole way home that day, hoping he’d be in that exact same place when I returned. I counted the steps it took to get up the street and to my house, praying that when I walked into the living room, he’d be sitting on the couch.

When I entered, my dad was still there. But hundreds of little kids in Chicago live a different truth.

It’s almost counterintuitive to push the agenda that all immigrants want the downfall of America, because I have never met a natural-born American who loves this country as much as an immigrant.

When my dad got his citizenship, we threw him an America-themed party with hot dogs, hamburgers and red, white and blue streamers.

When I got into the college of my dreams, he told me this is why people dream about America. He said it made it all worth it, and he bought a black and purple sweatshirt and hat with the Northwestern “N.” He almost never takes them off.

One of my friends from home is an undocumented Guatemalan immigrant. We met at a night program though our public school made for newly immigrated students who needed to catch up on school and English in order to graduate. Him, along with almost all students there, were undocumented.

We once painted a mural together for the program — he’s an incredible artist — and he told me about the reasons why he and his mother had to leave Guatemala. More notably, though, he emphasized what going back could mean. He talked about the violence that would be almost inevitable.

He once told me that he was top of his class during his first two years of high school back in Guatemala. He told me he dreamed of being a lawyer.

Now, he washes dishes at a restaurant in our small city in Massachusetts, and people often speak to him in the way they do to someone who is hard of hearing —  as if it’s the volume and not the language that is creating a communication barrier. 

My friend is the type of person who is forced to hide when Immigration and Customs Enforcement is even mentioned. There have been times when he was nervous to go to school. Even still, he loves this country more than anything. He loves it enough to hide.

When he graduated, he posted on Instagram with the caption “En América, todo se puede.” In English, it means, “In America, you can do anything.”

Maybe you haven’t had these first-hand experiences. Maybe immigration seems too confusing of a concept because the government creates a narrative where immigrants come into the U.S. to do harm and can leave with no repercussions. However, in Chicago, there is no excuse to claim ignorance.

Last winter, I bought hot chocolates for a woman and her three kids on the side of the road across from Millennium Park and sat with them for a while. The mother told me she was terrified of Trump being elected because she had barely escaped Venezuela with her life. She and her children fled to America after they had been found by her ex-husband’s gang. She told me if she were to go back to Venezuela, she’s sure she would die.

She was in the process of seeking asylum, a process that ICE agents take advantage of. We’ve all seen the news stories of ICE agents waiting outside of court rooms for people who are in the middle of asylum hearings. My friend’s restaurant in D.C. lost their entire kitchen staff after agents forced themselves into the building. In the district where my mom works, they have resorted to waiting outside of elementary school parent pick up lines. I sometimes wonder if that mother I met along with her three daughters are okay, and I hate to confront the idea that it’s likely that they are not.

People don’t leave their homes and abandon their languages for the sake of it or for a sheer hatred for America. People leave their homes out of fear and in search of opportunities for their children. They leave because they believe in an American dream, and it is for that reason that they love the nation the way they do.

The president feeds off fear and ignorance in order to allow him to do what he’s doing in Chicago — our city.

Don’t let him.

When he declares war on our neighbors, he is targeting all of us. When some of us aren’t safe in Chicago, none of us are. Chicago’s known for the cold, but not for ICE. Let’s keep it that way.

Gabriela Hamburger Medailleu is a Medill junior and author of “Off the Record.” She can be contacted at [email protected]. If you would like to respond publicly to this op-ed, send a Letter to the Editor to [email protected]. The views expressed in this piece do not necessarily reflect the views of all staff members of The Daily Northwestern.