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On the afternoon of
Wednesday, January 25, during a visit to the Department of Homeland Security,
President Trump signed two to
construct a border wall and deport undocumented immigrants. This was the first
concrete action he has taken to fulfill one of his prominent, longtime campaign
promises – the construction of “The Wall.”

The
Wall. It’s disconcerting to imagine that it might be real. On the campaign
trail, reporters found that even many of Trump’s most ardent supporters assumed
it was a metaphor. My own annoyance—and, I assume, their disbelief—is due primarily to the fiscal irresponsibility of the plan: Though estimates
vary, some suggest it will . And ������Ƶ promise that the Mexican government will
somehow repay the US taxpayers for the cost of the wall—when
Mexican delegates and officials have repeatedly said “�Ũ�Ĕb�ǰ�������
on the impossible. Not to mention that it may not actually deter a significant
number of immigrants from crossing the border illegally. After all, where
there’s a 40-ft wall, there’s a 41-ft ladder.
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Ultimately, however,
it’s neither fiduciary irresponsibility nor simple impracticability that got to
me. Watching Trump, then Sean Spicer, then Trump summarize the plans for this
wall shook up a strange cocktail of shame and anger in me, sentiments stemming
almost entirely from my sense of what this wall will stand for, and what this
wall will portray to the rest of the world. If US taxpayers foot the
multi-billion dollar bill to have this thing constructed, we are shouting, “we
don’t want you, you’re dangerous, and you don’t belong here” to all of our
southern neighbors. This wall will be a tangible representation of our nation
spending time, money, and resources prioritizing the formation of barriers
rather than bridges.

The President’s remarks
during to the
Department of Homeland Security were not entirely negative. The construction of
the wall and his plan to hire thousands of new border patrol officers would
provide many Americans with much-needed jobs. His emphasis on cutting down on
drug-related crime entering the United States via Mexico could certainly make a
difference. And while it is true that some US-born citizens have been victims
of crimes committed by undocumented immigrants, ������Ƶ remarks to the family
members of these victims came at the wrong time, in the wrong place. The words
that he intended as comforting and sympathetic were merely an extension of the
hypocrisy and racism present in the rest of his speech. Every life lost as a
result of a criminal is sad and wrong, but ������Ƶ insistence that this wall is
the only way to keep us safe from criminals entering through our southern
border is a blatant example of his jingoistic belittling of “the other.”
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Since ������Ƶ campaign,
the rhetoric surrounding this wall has focused on creating a clear division
between two groups: US-born Americans and everyone who has entered this country
from the south. The former are always portrayed as rightful, entitled citizens
and victims, while the latter are the criminals and “bad hombres” intent on
wreaking havoc on our nation’s soil.

I don’t think I have to
spell out how ridiculously racist and single-minded this division is. I don’t
need to defend the millions of hardworking immigrants who have entered this
country selflessly seeking to create a better, safer life for their children.
Nor need I point out the obvious fact that we are a nation of immigrants, a
country comprised of people claiming this land as a gateway to a more hopeful
future. This rhetoric, and the executive actions that have followed it, are a
danger to the values this country—my country, our country—were founded upon.

My own connection to
these questions is deeply personal—as, I suspect, is each of ours in different
ways. A few months ago, I returned to the US after living for a year in an
impoverished community on the outskirts of Guayaquil, Ecuador, that is largely
ignored by the government. It was the Ecuadorian culture of hospitality that
got to me most, and most fully. I spent my year as a gringa, and
outsider, being welcomed into the homes of my Ecuadorian neighbors, friends,
and co-workers. They extended a level of selfless, immediate welcome that
derived, I think, from a broader devotion to family, relationships, and
enjoying life with those around them.

During the Spring of
2016, while I was spending time with a close friend in Ecuador, a visiting
American student asked her what she knew about Donald Trump. My friend’s
response was a simple: “Well, I know he wouldn’t like me.” At the time, I
wanted to immediately soothe her feelings and refute this belief that he
wouldn’t like her just because she was Ecuadorian. This was one of the first
moments during my time as a guest in South America when I felt a deep shame
because of my nationality. Here I was, sitting in my friend’s house,
facilitating a conversation between her and a group of American students, whom
she had graciously agreed to host, and I was at a loss for words as I tried to
disprove her belief that the potential next leader of my country wanted nothing
to do with her. If I struggled to express that the United States truly is a
land of opportunity and fresh starts then, how can I possibly defend this
country with a freshly constructed, multi-billion dollar wall standing in the
way?

With the construction of
������Ƶ border wall, we will be sending a message loud and clear to this same
group of people that we, as a country, don’t share that spirit of openness.
Where I, like so many others before me, was welcomed into a world not my own,
we would close our doors and turn our backs. The creation of this wall will
mean telling the rest of the world—and ourselves—that building a nation of
immigrants is nothing to be proud of. We will be turning away from our own
history in the most entitled, elitist way possible. The wall is telling our
neighbors: while our ancestors and founding fathers may have been good enough
to create a home here, you dangerous strangers certainly are not.

To be clear, it’s the
symbolism of the thing that matters, and the symbolism of this wall is what
makes it so important and so dangerous. Coming from a man who has built his
fortune as a hotelier, this call to immediately begin the construction of this
wall seems to be the extreme antithesis of hospitality. While his businesses
are built upon providing people with a place to sleep or create a home, his
obsession with this wall sets an example for Americans to be closed-off and
exclusionary.  

While some may dismiss
the possible negative ramifications of this wall by negating the power of
symbolism, I argue that we are already a nation built on symbols. New York’s Statue
of Liberty, Washington DC’s Lincoln Memorial, and Arlington’s Tomb of the
Unknown Soldier are all deeply moving and meaningful sites to both US citizens
and those who visit our land. While these memorials and monuments stand for
hope, valor, and opportunity, ������Ƶ wall would portray division, fear, and
detachment. The executive action that President Trump has signed only
accelerates the degradation of this country’s fundamental values, and I don’t
want the burden of tearing down a literal wall and rebuilding proverbial
bridges to be placed on my generation’s shoulders.

During his address to
the Department of Homeland Security on Wednesday, President Trump told the
families of victims of crimes committed by undocumented immigrants, “We hear
you, we see you, and you will never ever be ignored again.” That is an
admirable promise, and I applaud our President for comforting those families. I
want, however, to be a part of a nation whose values and infrastructure express
to all people who are hurting and in search of a better home, “We hear you, we
see you, and you will never ever be ignored again,” regardless of where they
are from.