On Executive Orders and Christian Callings

Painted with the Skin of Oppression, Tainted by the Accent of Otherness, Resolved to Practice Solidarity

On Tuesday January 21st, a day after the presidential inauguration, I asked my community organizers friends in DC to send me all the information they had summarizing the new executive orders affecting immigration and the LGBTQ community. I had managed to disconnect from the news the day before because I wanted to preserve my mental health for the long fight ahead of us as social justice activists. But on Tuesday at 5am, I began to review the information I needed to protect the faith community I serve in Oakland, CA, Ministerio Latino, a faith community composed of primarily Latine LGBTQ immigrants. Many of them are asylum seekers, others don’t have documentation or access to legal processes toward a way to stay in the country. My heart sank as I read statement after statement put out by the White House with the intention of excluding, persecuting and deny basic human rights to these communities so close to me.

I am an immigrant myself, and for the first three years of my life in the United States, I was undocumented. I was warned to walk away from any white person in a raincoat which was a sign they could be ICE officers. Living in Long Island, NY at the time, it was difficult to avoid white people in raincoats, so I remember walking around with the constant fear of being picked up, incarcerated and deported. I was just 14 years old at the time I entered this country illegally through the Mexican border, a journey that took a month to complete before being reunited with my mother in New York. I understand what it means to live in fear that a force is going to take you away from your family and send you back to a country that you left because it was necessary. In my case, we were fleeing the civil war in El Salvador. My aunt Maria was the first to come to the United States and open the doors for the rest of the family to come.

Reading about the horrific arguments that will strip children from their birthright to American citizenship because of their parents’ status depressed me. Even if the president doesn’t have the authority to change the constitution and the 14th amendment that guarantees this right, the threat, the express intention to deprive children of their rightful belonging to this nation is an act of blatant racism being used to create chaos and panic and to garner the enthusiastic support of those, who because of their own biases and fears, wish this could be possible. The order was immediately met with lawsuits by the American Civil Liberties Union and other organizations maintaining that birthright citizenship is protected by the constitutional language which includes “all people born in the united states and subject to the jurisdiction thereof.” The cruelty and racism behind this executive order doesn’t surprise me, but it does break my heart because it penalizes children and rules them out as not belonging since birth. Given that 60% of white men and 53% of white women voted for President Trump, I find myself asking, how can you do white America? But I know the answer.  The country is being led, as it has always been, by white supremacy and as nation we are rooted in a history of dominating and enslaving those bodies without white skin. White supremacy is alive and well and now has one of its best representatives in power. 71 million people in the United States thought it was right to elect as leader someone who believes white straight Americans are the only ones with the validity to exist freely.

As I kept reading the different orders, I was stuck by the violence and ignorance of this new government that says it will only recognize two genders: male and female, while also conflating gender and sex in ways that we know are oppressive and damaging, and blatantly untrue.  Again, I felt overwhelmed thinking of all my queer, gender non-confirming, trans siblings who now stand illegitimate in front of a government that wants to invisibilize them, erase them, and tell them they are not allowed to claim who they are. This regime of silence and repression, applauded by many Christians, is sinful.

In seminary, I learned that sin is what creates a separation of our spirit from the Divine. Hate, fear, and ignorance are bigger barriers than the border between Mexico and the US, blocking us from the greater love of God. What this administration is doing is sinful because it denies the divine essence of God’s creation. No matter where we are born or what our gender expression is, we all bear the image of God, and not just a white male god that excludes because he needs to maintain his grip on power and exploit others for economic gain.

Throughout history, those who believe in freedom resist, fight back, and put their lives on the line to defend the intrinsic rights of our humanity. This time is no different from others when tyranny rules at the expense of those at the margins. It is not different from other moments, and yet not less painful and tragic, as those who have devoted our lives to fight for immigrants, LGBTQ people, brown and black people, and women grow tired of seeing history repeat itself. But this is the calling of our faith – to love one another as Jesus loved us – and that call is not for the faint of heart. Embodying a love for justice means having the courage to give up privilege and comfort and risk radical and sacrificial solidarity because we understand that none of us are free until all of us are free.

I am now a US Citizen. I hold privilege because my two graduate degrees and middle class belonging give me a glimpse of the immigrant’s “American Dream.” Still I walk through this life wearing brown skin and a sweet accent that immediately places me as “other” in white America. From now on, I have to carry my US passport with me for all my travel, domestic and internationally. Why? I fear racial profiling and having to face discrimination because of the green light to hate this administration offers. But I am privileged and I know it, and because of that, I have a responsibility. I know firsthand what it means not to have validity under the oppressor’s eyes. I often say racism is like a paper cut: almost invisible to the eye, but still deep and hurtful.

This is a moment where we will each be called on to define who we are by what we do, by what are we willing to give up to foster the common good. My wife cautions me “we don’t have bail money.” She knows me and knows that my spirit is being challenged to show up for those who are facing the worst that is to come.  My prayer is to have the resolve and courage not to stay silent and comfortable. May the holy spirit anoint me, and all of us, with the determination and persistence required to create a more just world for all.

“Though we tremble before uncertain futures
may we meet illness, death, discrimination, and adversity with strength
may we dance in the face of our fears.”

― Gloria Anzaldúa

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