I know the world looks bleak. I share your grief and rage – not only that Donald Trump will once again take office, but that so many of our fellow citizens chose him and the values he stands for. But this is not our country’s darkest hour.
Our needs weren’t a box with treats for the taking. They were our necessities for survival.
It’s essential to be a good neighbor to people who are struggling economically. People living in a motorhome are often ignored and vilified. It’s so important to see them as humans, and to see them as your neighbor. They are somebody’s child and they have a family, just like all of us.
Glendora is no longer the self-imagined Shangri-la, protected from the discomfort and unattractiveness of wealth disparity, that many of its settled-in residents have always conceived of it as.
When I tell you I have hope, it’s more of a wish that this all ends very soon and we can go back to our homes in Gaza City if it still exists. I can’t speak about hope now. I can only be wishful about my family returning back home eventually and being safe right now.
It is in these moments where we consider reassessing our own necessities to ensure that the rent is paid on time. These are realities that serve the unrelenting cycle of hardship for undocumented people who are subjected to surviving low wages and endure barriers in accessing government support.
As I step outside of my home, I am constantly bombarded by an abundance of “For Sale” signs in my neighborhood. Every time I see an abandoned home, I ponder if the family that lived there left because they couldn’t afford to live in my city.
In Glendora, we do not grow up thinking deeply about economic inequality because the lullabies of financial comfort have put many of us to sleep. You assume your friends will be able to pay for their ticket when you go to the movies. You walk into homeroom and assume no one slept in their family’s car the night before.
