Immigration and the Next Four Years: Lessons from Last Time
In 2015, I entered my Master’s program in Social Work and Latin American Studies just in time to be focusing on mental health and immigration for the 2016 election. The night of the election, as the results were becoming ever clearer, I sat on my bed thinking about my undocumented and DACAmented friends and cried as my legs went completely numb.
I spent the next six years dedicated to understanding the intersection of immigration and mental health, including creating my own program, Girasol Texas. My accidental specialization became supporting immigration legal professionals, who rarely receive trauma training or opportunities to process their own vicarious trauma and burnout.
2016-2020 was a whirlwind. Taking trips to the border to support folks during immigration bans, bringing law and social work students together to detention centers to help with the asylum process, and providing trainings and groups to attorneys, legal assistants, and organization leadership to bring a trauma-informed approach to the immigration nonprofit space.
It was exhausting. It was important. It was needed. But it led to a lot of burnout and overtaxing of nervous systems - mine included.
While things hadn’t exactly been perfect in the immigration world in the last four years, there had been somewhat of a collective breathing out. The antagonism from the federal level wasn’t at a daily breaking point. Attorneys I worked with went and got social work degrees, organizations transitioned in shape and scope, and I personally took a sabbatical focused on healing and creativity. This led to the creation of my business, Vidina Visions Consulting, where I combine my social work and creative background to help people and organizations bring their ideas to life. In the summer of 2024, I launched my immigration consulting services.
The 2024 election brought back many of those 2016 feelings for people, but with a new flavor. Less surprising, but equally devastating. It is and has always been the country we know. And the work that so many are doing to build community and defend immigrant rights is also part of the fabric of this nation. As we approached a return to four years of - well, who knows what, but it won’t be good - I started thinking about what we can learn from the last time.
The manufacturing of crisis and urgency is a tool of oppression.
It’s on purpose. It’s intentional. It keeps us off balance and without energy to plan ahead. Don't fall into the trap. Yes, immigration work often has a quick timeline to follow. Yes, urgency may be a part of that work. But let’s acknowledge that it’s manufactured. That it’s arbitrary. That it comes from somewhere. We can resist by maintaining an awareness of this fact and not letting it take over from the inside out.
Antidotes: Don’t let your nervous system be hijacked - maintain gentle awareness, let yourself feel what you need to, and find creative outlets to express anger and grief. Stay resourced and connected.
2. He will try to divide us amongst ourselves, to fight each other instead of him.
The most classic of all oppressive strategies - divide and conquer. While many of us already practice with an intersectional lens, let’s make an effort not to scapegoat each other. Nor to assume any one group is safer than another. Even in sneakier ways, let's be aware - competing for limited grant monies, local accolades, or client lists are all ways that we can be pitted against each other. Now is the time to band together.
Antidotes: Remember that my liberation is bound up in your liberation. Join coalitions as bandwidth allows, refer clients to keep your caseload manageable, learn from one another, and don’t duplicate existing work.
3. He will “flood the zone” with so many terrible things that we can’t keep any one in our minds.
This was a common strategy of the administration from 2016-2020. It keeps us distracted, off-balance, and out of our own inner wisdom and strength. You don’t have to take in everything at once. You don’t have to see every single update as it happens. You can rely on your friends and colleagues. Being in a state of overwhelm doesn’t help anyone. It won’t help you sleep better, do your work better, or fight the long fight.
Antidotes: Slow down, take a breath (start by completely emptying your lungs of air, then breathe in and out slowly), take a step back from news when needed, and hold memory collectively.
4. All of this will make us feel guilty for not being able to do enough.
Classic oppression. Create the problem, then blame the victims. Oof. This one is real, and I have worked with so many people who experience it. I’m currently feeling this myself - what is enough? When the crises are endless, how can I know that I have done my part to make a difference? But guilt like this is toxic. It fills the body, the mind, and your whole system until you lose yourself in it. You cease to be a full person and become a restless machine for justice. Here is where we accidentally step into grind culture. Often ascribed to capitalism and white supremacy, grind culture has a sneaky way of seeping into nonprofits. We accept its toxic traits because we’re “doing good,” so it’s worth it. The truth is that it’s never worth working yourself to the bone. The impacts on your mental, emotional, and physical wellbeing cannot be understated. Let’s not fall into the trap.
Antidotes: Give guilt back to the system where it belongs, collaborate across organizations to not feel isolated, feel and celebrate your wins, and remember that you are already always enough just by existing. Read Rest is Resistance by Tricia Hersey of The Nap Ministry.
5. All of this will leave us in an activated nervous system state of anticipatory grief.
A lot of us know the experience of waiting for the other shoe to drop intimately. We felt it in childhood - when the next bill would come, the next tire would go flat, the next crisis, and the next. Systemic oppression works like that too, eating away at our calm and ability to stay grounded. With policies targeting people’s identities and right to exist, it goes even deeper. 2016-2020 was also an intense collective grief experience, made even more profound by the following pandemic. This grief still lives in us.
In the immigration world, grief is a constant companion. The lost asylum case, the deportation, the family separation. These are griefs that we carry with us, personally and professionally. There are several types of grief, including anticipatory grief - a loss that you know is coming but hasn’t arrived yet. Like with a relative who is in hospice, the loss inevitable. We don’t know when the next wave will come, but we know it’s coming. That can leave us in a constant bracing position. This, again, is toxic for our nervous systems. It’s not tenable for a month, much less four years. We need to continuously complete our stress response cycles (see book below) and make room for grief if we want to make it through.
Antidotes: Create grounding rituals that calm and release stress from your nervous system (something cold on your forehead/neck, a walk outside, a hug from a loved one, a round with the punching bag) and grief rituals that hold space for the feeling of loss (an altar, a grief jar, time and space to cry, community gatherings, and storytelling). Read Burnout by Emily and Amelia Nagoski.
What’s Next?
I don’t know what is going to happen in the next four years, but I know that we will face difficult times. I know that immigrants are front and center as targets for oppression. I know that it will take community, resilience, and deeper connections for us to hold each other through this. I know that so many of you are prepared for this fight and so many of you are preparing.
It is worth taking some time now to calibrate. To create sustainable practices that will see you through to the other side. I need you to make it. I need us to make it. We can learn from the past, pass on the wisdom we gained from the first time. Build systems, rituals, organizations, and communities that are sustainable. Value and prioritize our humanity in the midst of dehumanizing policies and actions. Let’s give our nervous systems a little love today and everyday so they’re still here on the other side of this storm.
If you are at an immigration organization and looking for tailored support around trauma, secondary/vicarious trauma, burnout, grief, and more, reach out to me at https://www.vidinavisionsconsulting.com/immigration-consulting to set up a free initial call.
I’ll leave you with my poem, The Frustrating Both-And of It, which I wrote as part of my own processing of immigration work. I’m holding gentle space for all of us.
The Frustrating Both-And of It
by Ana Vidina Hernández
The Yin of it
The Yang of it
The frustrating both-and of it
The calm before the storm
The hurricane’s the norm
The rushing of the breath
The aching in the chest
The hope that feels far gone
The heart yearns to long
The cracking of the whip
The sinking of the ship
The tenderness and care
The tears that fall just there
The grief stuck in the throat
The walls inside the moat
The tired behind the eyes
The inner child that cries
The heaviness that falls
The door across the hall
The nightmares while awake
The fear of one mistake
The dread of what’s to come
The knowing that it’s done
The memories that won’t rest
The ones who knew you best
The tolling of the bell
The things you couldn’t tell
The craving for release
The rarity of peace
The Yin of it, the Yang of it
The frustrating both-and of it
The call of it
The all of it
The wonder if it’s all worth it
The care with which to hold
The bravery to be bold
The gentleness to hear
The worry and the fear
The blanket soft to land
The touch of a soothing hand
The Yin of it
The Yang of it
And always,
The both-and of it
