I said a few days ago that I feared for the Salvadoran woman who is often the server for Sara and me at Saturday breakfast. On Wednesday, having pretty much emptied out my refrigerator, I went to that restaurant for a quick lunch. The conversation I feared actually happened: this lovely woman and her family are subject to deportation under Trump’s latest immigration moves. Our conversation was heartbreaking.
How do I separate myself from the Ann Coulter and Donald Trump brand of racism and xenophobia? I can say to the Salvadoran woman that I, and people like me, deplore what is happening to her and her family. I can say I am ashamed of Trump, angry at his actions, repulsed by his followers.
But the power is not on my side. The Salvadoran woman holds out some hope that there will be a change before 2019, when they will have to leave. But if not, they will be prepared. They will, she told me, survive with their faith in God intact.
I sit here shaking my head at the mindless cruelty of it.