Paz-Cedillos: We must tell our stories

In a time of utter chaos — where civil rights are under siege, inhumane immigration policies are tearing families apart and state-sanctioned violence is on the rise — we must tell our stories.

Last week, Amigos De Guadalupe led a rapid response training for my team. As stewards of the Mexican Heritage Plaza, we bear a moral responsibility to ensure the safety of the diverse community that calls La Plaza home. For us, that means knowing how to respond during an ICE raid.

Sitting with my team as Amigos recounted the recent violent detention of an immigrant who was asserting his rights by requesting to see a warrant had me shaking with anger. Ulises Peña López, a father married to a U.S. citizen, was dragged from his passenger-side window, assaulted in an alley and taken to El Camino Hospital — a private institution that enabled further degradation and violation of his fundamental civil rights.

This is America — a nation that claims to champion freedom and justice yet allows families to be torn apart and civil rights to be trampled in the name of security.

I was not surprised by Ulises’ story. As a Latina born and raised in Oakland, I saw Black and brown people mistreated by law enforcement long before I fully understood the systemic injustices at play. What did surprise me was my reaction — I was shaking. I had become so numb to these stories that I forgot the urgency that anger elicits.

We are headed for dark times. The erosion of civil liberties, the normalization of state-sanctioned violence and the increasing criminalization of immigrants signal a dangerous shift in our democracy. Now, more than ever, we must tell our stories. When we do, patterns emerge. And if we refuse to succumb to the numbness of injustice, the difficult path toward justice becomes clearer. Our stories — those of our parents and ancestors — serve as warnings, showing us where we are headed and how we must respond.

For all of America’s self-righteousness, for all its proclamations of freedom and condemnation of human rights violations abroad, we are becoming the very thing my mother fled in El Salvador.

On April 8, 1975, my mother crossed the border from Guatemala into Chiapas, Mexico with her heart set on Los Estados Unidos. She told no one except an uncle in Los Angeles. Her life in El Salvador had been hard. The extreme concentration of wealth among the elite, the legacy of impoverishment among the working class and the dominance of a brutal military regime set the stage for the civil war that followed — and for the mass migration of Salvadorans seeking refuge.

When my mother left her small town in El Salvador, she had no idea a war was brewing, though she felt its causes pressing in around her. She left because she knew she would never have access to the essentials — health care, education and a living wage.

We have seen this pattern before.

History has shown us oppression alone doesn’t always lead to revolt. People endure hardship, survive impossible conditions and adapt to struggle until they hit a breaking point. Some flee, while others join movements — movements often triggered by economic factors and sparked by a crisis that shatters the illusion of stability. In America, the cracks are widening.

Whether you’re part of the elite, the working class or an immigrant, you cannot escape the trouble brewing. The elite, accustomed to stability, may soon see their wealth and influence challenged as social unrest grows. The working class, already stretched thin, will bear the brunt of economic turmoil, struggling to afford even the most basic necessities. For immigrants, survival itself has become a fight for dignity, as policies grow increasingly hostile and enforcement more brutal. The systems that divide us are failing us all, but in different ways.

We must ask ourselves: what is our breaking point? What would you do if you were a business owner and your workers revolted? What would you do if you were a working-class parent who could no longer feed your children? What would you do if you were an immigrant fleeing America, only to be dragged out of your car window for asserting your rights?

If you haven’t been paying attention, let me be clear: The U.S. government has begun transferring immigrants to Guantanamo Bay, echoing past moments in history when marginalized communities were forcibly detained under the guise of national security. Much like the internment of Japanese Americans during World War II or the indefinite detentions post-9/11, this practice raises grave concerns about human rights and due process.

This is happening in our country.

What will you do?

San José Spotlight columnist Jessica Paz-Cedillos is the co-executive director at the Mexican Heritage Plaza. Her columns appear every first Monday of the month. Contact Jessica at [email protected] or follow her on LinkedIn.