SiR— Something Foreign ft. ScHoolboy Q

It’s devastating that the Trump Administration is ending Temporary Protected Status for the 200,000 people who migrated to the U.S. after the 2001 earthquakes in El Salvador.  These Salvadorans must now leave the home they’ve known for nearly two decades, where they’ve had families, developed community ties, and contributed to our economy by working, starting small businesses, and paying taxes. As I woke up to the announcement this morning, I was reminded of the half-baked foreign and immigration policies between the U.S. and El Salvador in the 80s/90s—and the longstanding impact these policies have had on our country and beyond.

The first wave of Salvadorans entered the U.S. in the early 80s, seeking asylum from the Civil War between the military-led government and left-wing guerillas. This was a war that the United States actively supported via monetary and military aid to a government that committed scores of human rights offenses to stay in power. In its post-war report, the U.N. found that “more than 85 percent of the killings, kidnappings, and torture had been the work of government forces, which included paramilitaries, death squads, and army units trained by the United States.”

Many asylum seekers settled in Los Angeles, where they encountered the poverty of South Central and brutality of Black and Mexican street gangs. In response, Salvadorans banded together to form the violent MS-13 and Barrio 18. Against the backdrop of race-related gang violence was also the beginning of the Crack Epidemic, and Los Angeles saw a 50% increase in gang-related homicides during this time. Gang members began filling up California prisons, and non-US citizens were deported back to their home country.  For Salvadorans, El Salvador had just signed the Peace Treaty in 1992. The country was still rebuilding itself after the war. Without the infrastructure to support these deportees, the gang members of South Central returned to continue their reign of violence.

This violence still continues to plague the country today. San Salvador is one of the most dangerous cities in the world, where, in lieu of other opportunities, gang members rely on extortion and violence to make ends meet. Returning to El Salvador could be a death sentence for Salvadorans on the Temporary Protected Status. It’s also unlikely El Salvador will have the infrastructure to support this large influx of people. That’s 200,000 re-entering a small country of 6.4 million people.

When I shared the news with a friend, he responded: “Well, it’s a temporary protection. It’s not like they can stay here forever. What’s our responsibility?” In an imaginary world where the impact and consequences of our actions are neatly confined to our corner of the universe, and our corner only—um, sure, maybe. We wipe our hands clean and call it a day. However, with El Salvador, there is a very clear link between our actions and policies and what El Salvador looks like today. We are very much responsible. And today, our country chooses again to enact haphazard policies that may have irrevocable, devastating impact on Salvadoran communities here and abroad. And we are also responsible for what happens next.

In the case of El Salvador, the events are a bit more linear, closer to home, the timeline is shorter, and the impact is tangible. We’re afforded a tighter aperture to judge our actions, and it’s easier to connect the dots if you have the facts and do a little digging. That’s not always the case in other situations, and our complicated history is riddled with secrets and sins. Like say, compared to trying to comprehend what happened/is happening in Syria and the Middle East (but hey, this is a good start if you’re interested). It’s hard to sit down and parse out the nuance. Personally for me and my little pea brain, I often can’t find the mental space or emotional energy.

So what if, instead, we broke away from the minutia of figuring out who’s responsible for what and whom? What if we just flipped our mental model of how we should interact with the world beyond our borders? Start with: it’s always our responsibility. There are no borders. (Quick aside: being borderless could be our country’s ultimate reparation.) Let’s start from a blank slate on how the world could look. Perhaps then, we can begin thinking creatively about what comes next.

I’m very hopeful that what comes next is a more prosperous, inclusive world.