As a Latin-American born and raised in the United States, I used to believe in the promise of this country. I believed that if I worked hard, followed the rules, and stayed informed, the system would at least try to protect me. That this was a nation built on ideals — of freedom, equality, truth.

But now I know what James Forten felt as he fought for liberty in a country that barely saw him as human. I know what Benjamin Banneker must’ve felt, writing letter after letter, begging this country to live up to the values it claimed to hold sacred. I know what James Armistead Lafayette must have felt — giving everything to a cause that would celebrate him with words, then deny him with laws.

Now I know what it's like to watch your country turn against itself — not in fire and blood, but in slow, seeping ignorance. In the casual shrug of a neighbor who says, “Well, that’s just politics.” In the smirk of a bystander who says, “It won’t affect me.” In the silence of friends who claim to care — but only when it’s convenient.

Now I know how "normal" German people allowed the Nazis to rise. It wasn’t all fanatics. It was teachers, bakers, factory workers — who said nothing, who chose comfort over conscience, who decided that truth was optional as long as their gas was cheap and their ego unbruised. They let evil win not because they loved it — but because they didn't care enough to stop it.

And we’re doing it again.

We are watching lies replace facts, fear replace empathy, and cruelty be repackaged as “strength.” We're watching a nation tiptoe toward fascism, and the scariest part isn’t the politicians. It’s the people who normalize it. The ones who say, “They’re just saying what everyone’s thinking,” or “Don’t be so dramatic.” The ones who joke about book bans, laugh off family separations, and casually parrot conspiracy theories because it’s easier than facing the truth.

History isn’t repeating — it’s rhyming, and the beat is getting louder.

So no, I don’t feel “lucky” to be an American right now. I feel angry. I feel betrayed. I feel awake.

But I also feel called. Called to resist. Called to speak. Called to remember that silence is a choice — and complicity is a legacy that lives long after the flags are gone and the monuments fall.

I will not be another "good German" in N### germany.
I will not be another silent bystander.
I will not let my children grow up wondering why I didn’t do more when the warning signs were clear.

Because now I understand — and I refuse to pretend I don’t.

• ☹️ 1

  👍 0 ❤️ 0 😂 0 😁 0 ☹️ 1 😠 0 😮 0
• 0