By a Maine resident
This is a guest column written by a resident of Maine. She contributed the column to Amjambo Africa, and requested anonymity, to protect herself and her family.
For some time now, masks have been falling. Around us, smiles have grown less frequent, gazes have hardened, and silences have become heavier. Those of us who are immigrants realize now that some people in this state never truly accepted us – they only pretended to accept us. And now, with the political climate offering a sense of impunity, their rejection of us has become visible, palpable, and brutal.
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We are immigrants. For some people, that status alone is enough to deny us respect, justice, and an acknowledgment of our humanity.
We came here to escape poverty, violence, and sometimes war. We came to protect our children, rebuild our lives, and live with dignity. Yet today, we are treated as intruders, threats, and undesirables.
My husband, a hardworking and trustworthy man, recently suffered an injustice that broke us. Overnight, his salary was cut and his work hours reduced. Without warning. Without explanation. Just one phrase uttered by the boss: “Accept it, or leave.”
The boss claimed the whole team had their hours and salary cut. But after checking, it turned out he was the only one who had been targeted. The only Black person. The only immigrant. A silent target they probably hoped would resign quietly.
How can one not cry out against injustice when the facts speak for themselves?
How can one not weep when a dignified, honest, hardworking man is humiliated simply because of his skin color and status?
Today, we live in fear. Threatened with eviction because our rent is late. My husband no longer earns enough to cover everything. Every night, our children fall asleep not knowing if we will still be in this home tomorrow.
We live in anxiety, humiliation, and silence. And this silence is perhaps the cruelest of all. Because around us, very few dare to speak up, very few dare to lend a hand. Society keeps moving on, indifferent to our pain.
But our suffering is real. It has names, faces, and broken hearts.
We are not asking for charity. We simply ask to be seen. To be heard. To be treated as human beings. With dignity. With respect. With justice.
