Do Something

Help your immigrant and refugee neighbors

Yasmine Mustafa provides several ways ordinary citizens can standup for the immigrants and refugees living in their communities

  1. Get to know your elected representatives and get involved. Studies show that calls from constituents can significantly influence lawmakers’ decisions, especially when coordinated in large numbers.
  2. Check in with your immigrant / refugee friends — a simple text or call can go a long way — and share with them their rights and other resources.
  3. Be and act in the community. Find a cause you care about, connect with local organizations, and channel your frustration into action. Seek connection in times when division is being manufactured.
  4. Challenge misinformation
  5. Take a bystander intervention or de-escalation training class to learn how to safely intervene when witnessing discrimination or harassment. Not only is it a useful skill for everyday life, it will also prepare you to support immigrants in public spaces or if ICE raids occur.
  6. Offer financial support to organizations that provide legal and civil rights support for immigrants and refugees.
  7. Dine at an immigrant-run restaurant and tip the staff well.

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Guest Commentary

I Was an Undocumented Immigrant …

… and didn’t know it. A local tech innovator and former refugee had no place to call home for 30 years. Here’s how she suggests helping our immigrant neighbors.

Guest Commentary

I Was an Undocumented Immigrant …

… and didn’t know it. A local tech innovator and former refugee had no place to call home for 30 years. Here’s how she suggests helping our immigrant neighbors.

Terrible things are happening outside. At any time of night and day, poor helpless people are being dragged out of their homes. They’re allowed to take only a knapsack and a little cash with them, and even then, they’re robbed of these possessions on the way. Families are torn apart; men, women and children are separated. — Anne Frank

I was 15 years old, starting to apply to colleges, when I learned that I was considered an undocumented immigrant. I had lived in the United States for seven years at the time, since my family was abruptly resettled here when Saddam Hussein invaded our home country of Kuwait. Because my baby brother happened to be born in the United States, the embassy came to rescue him — and they brought us along as well.

None of us knew that we had overstayed our refugee visas, or how difficult our lack of status would make our lives. School the day after I found out was an out-of-body experience: Already I was different from my classmates in Royersford, PA because of my accent, name, and family’s occupation (we owned a local 7-11 store across from our school). Now I felt truly “othered,” with a secret I could not share with anyone.

We applied for citizenship immediately, but in the meantime, we had to survive. After high school, I took any job I could find that paid under the table, often juggling two or three hospitality jobs at once, scraping by on just $5 an hour. I had no power to speak up — not when bosses forced me to work double shifts, withheld my wages, sexually harassed me, or forced me to come in when I was sick. They knew exactly how much control they had over me. Who could I turn to? Certainly not the police, not when the threat of deportation loomed over me. Sadly, my story is far from unique: 76 percent percent of undocumented immigrants experience wage theft, 37 percent are paid less than minimum wage, and 70 percent face workplace abuse.

If you have wondered what you would have done at different moments in history, here’s your chance.

I spent the next 16 years in a constant state of uncertainty. If you have not experienced this, it’s hard to imagine what it’s like carrying this burden around: Who could I truly trust with my story that wouldn’t use it against me if they became upset with me? When would immigration officials knock on my door? Where could I go when my workplace was (inevitably) raided, or how I would eat if I couldn’t go back for a few days based on my already meager wages? Would I come home to find a family member gone, as so many others did? And what would happen if I was deported?

I desperately wanted to be American, but it felt like America didn’t want me. I was caught in a system that refused to acknowledge my true identity, leaving me uncertain of where I truly belonged. My family is Palestinian, yet despite my parents being born in Palestine, they held Jordanian citizenship — a consequence of a system designed to deny Palestine recognition as its own nation. Though I was born in Kuwait, I, too, was granted Jordanian citizenship, tethering me to a country I had never set foot in. For three decades, I carried a passport that defined my status but not my home. And none of it was my choice.

Yasmine Mustafa, a Palestinian woman with curly bobbed brown hair, crosses her arms and smiles in a portrait photo. She is wearing a gray blazer and white top. The background is purple.
Yasmine Mustafa. Courtesy of ROAR.

For us, and for many Arabs, the path to citizenship became even more uncertain after 9/11. What should have been a 10-year process was stalled indefinitely, stretching into 16 years before I finally became an American citizen on April 19, 2012 at 10:39am — at 30 years of age. When it became official, could I then call the U.S. my home. Even then, it took me another three years to share my story publicly. When I did — on a TEDx stage — I experienced something I never expected: the overwhelming relief of shedding a secret I had carried for decades, going from just five people knowing my truth to thousands.

That moment of release fueled my purpose. I founded ROAR, a company that provides wearable duress buttons for workers — primarily women, many of them immigrants — in hotels and hospitals, so they can call for help when facing threats. My experiences shaped my mission: to ensure that no one feels powerless or unheard.

The events of the past two weeks have resurfaced the trauma, fear, confusion and anxiety I felt. When Immigration and Customs Enforcement targets immigrants waiting for documentation, those brought here as children, or individuals fleeing violence, they are targeting people like my family, our friends, and the very individuals who help keep our society running like the jobs my family held — those preparing our meals, cleaning our homes, and performing countless other essential yet often unseen jobs.

My story is not unique. In fact, you can read countless stories immigrants are posting right now as they grapple with the injustice of today’s administration — children whose parents brought them to the U.S. illegally expressing dismay and defeat at their languished state, folks making plans if family members are arrested or deported. There are stories of those being threatened with deportation as they speak their native tongue in public, or preparing for or experiencing ICE raids — including those who are naturalized.

If we remain silent, millions of families will continue to live in fear, communities will be torn apart, and the core values of freedom and opportunity that define our nation will erode.

Immigrants enrich our culture and deserve dignity and protection. Recent executive orders issued by President Trump, such as the attempt to end birthright citizenship and policies that increase mass deportations, have been widely condemned as unconstitutional. These actions not only undermine the rights of individuals born in the U.S. but also instill fear and uncertainty among immigrant communities. Deportations particularly affect industries like agriculture, hospitality, construction and healthcare, where immigrants make up a significant portion of the workforce.

If we remain silent, millions of families will continue to live in fear, communities will be torn apart, and the core values of freedom and opportunity that define our nation will erode. Now is the time to stand up and take meaningful action.

Some ways you can help:

1. Get to know your elected representatives and get involved. Studies show that calls from constituents can significantly influence lawmakers’ decisions, especially when coordinated in large numbers:

    • Call your legislators and urge them to oppose anti-immigrant policies. Use apps like 5 Calls to streamline advocacy — input your zip code, tick off the causes you care about, and they take care of the heavy lifting by showing your reps and even providing scripts to help with your call.
    • During elections, ask candidates about their immigration policies and hold them accountable.
    • Follow the money — research organizations and PACs and how they influence policy, even eroding our democratic rights, to make informed decisions about who you vote into office.

2. Check in with your immigrant / refugee friends — a simple text or call can go a long way — and share with them their rights and other resources.

3. Be and act in the community. Find a cause you care about, connect with local organizations, and channel your frustration into action. Seek connection in times when division is being manufactured. Here are some local organizations doing great work in the immigration space:

4. Challenge misinformation:

      • Engage in conversations to debunk myths. Here are some common ones, explained.
      • Participate or encourage those who are misinformed to participate in initiatives like the Human Library where people can “check out” real-life stories from other people.

5. Take a bystander intervention or de-escalation training class to learn how to safely intervene when witnessing discrimination or harassment. Not only is it a useful skill for everyday life, it will also prepare you to support immigrants in public spaces or if ICE raids occur.

6. Offer financial support to the following organizations:

7. For an easy lift, dine at an immigrant-run restaurant and tip the staff well.

What am I doing? I take action in different ways. Push notifications I set up from the 5 Calls app remind me to pressure my representatives to protect immigrant rights. I volunteer with REST, helping Arab refugee families rebuild their lives. I protest when I can, raising my voice against injustice. I share my story on stage to expose the harsh realities of our immigration system and foster empathy. And through my work, I focus on protecting those most at-risk — the majority of which are women and immigrants — because safety and dignity should never be a privilege, but a human right.

While billionaires fuel division to tighten their grip on power, we must come together and take bold, meaningful action to protect those most vulnerable. Solidarity is our strongest defense against policies designed to divide and dehumanize us. If you have wondered what you would have done at different moments in history, here’s your chance. The time for meaningful action is now.


Yasmine Mustafa is the CEO and co-founder of ROAR.

The Citizen welcomes guest commentary from community members who represent that it is their own work and their own opinion based on true facts that they know firsthand.

MORE COVERAGE OF IMMIGRATION

Photo by By Annette Bernhardt for Flickr / Wikimedia Commons.

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