Henry Abbott

I recently met with the Dean for International Students to update my legal information. After multiple rounds of small talk, she congratulated me on my recent change of status and asked if I had any other concerns. Thoughts flashed through my mind, but no words came out. How do I even begin to explain what it feels like to be an international student, an immigrant, a woman of color in Trump’s America right now? How do I put into words a fear that does not always occupy my mind but seeps into every quiet moment possible—when I’m brushing my teeth, walking between classes or staring at the murky ceiling in the dark?

Am I paranoid, or am I not paranoid enough? My fear is not irrational. It is reinforced daily by reports of international students being detained, fathers wrongly deported without due process and undocumented people forcibly taken by masked U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) agents. It is reinforced by an administration that has invoked the Alien Enemies Act of 1798, a law last used to justify the internment of Japanese Americans during WWII and anti-Muslim crackdowns after 9/11. It is reinforced by a government that has granted itself the authority to unilaterally define who, or what kind of body, constitutes an “enemy entity,” wielding that power to suppress speech, sow fear and silence dissent.

The suspension of due process is not just a crisis for those immediately affected; it is a warning sign for the direction this country is heading. When political norms are shattered, when laws become arbitrary, when the fate of so many is left to the discretion of a few, we are flirting with something dangerous. For those of us who have painstakingly navigated the labyrinthine legal immigration system—enduring years of paperwork, exorbitant fees and a system rigged to favor some while obstructing others—the Trump administration has made one thing clear: Legality offers no security. You can clear every bureaucratic hurdle, believing you’ve waded to the shore, only to find that the quicksand of state power can shift beneath you at any moment. This is the strategy, and it is working.

I also recognize that the recentness of my dread comes from a place of privilege. The fear of being told we do not belong, of being denied the right to exist as we are, where we are, is one long familiar to undocumented communities, to queer and trans people, to those whose very existence is criminalized at birth. What is new to me, and perhaps to you, is not new to history.

This Wednesday, Bowdoin hosted an info session on changing legal implications for international students—an acknowledgment, at least, of the uncertainty we face. But institutions have limits, priorities, liabilities; they always take the least risk, shoulder the least responsibility and outsource answers to outside professionals while disclaiming any institutional stance. I appreciate the effort, but the truth is, I don’t have faith in Bowdoin right now.

There is no handbook for how to navigate this uncertainty. Even as I write this, I considered doing so anonymously and took the time to censor out anything that could be used against me, for fear is an effective silencer. It makes me second-guess what I say, what I post, where I travel and who I trust. I hesitate to speak openly about my stance on any political issues and instead resort to insinuation. Is it cowardice if I don’t want to be targeted or deported?

I don’t think I am alone in this. Many students feel this fear but do not voice it. Some do not know if speaking their truth could put them at risk. Others wonder if their fear is even valid—are we overreacting, or are we not reacting enough? Why do we feel the need to speak in code?

But if fear is meant to silence us, then speaking, however cautiously, is an act of defiance. I am sorry that my courage is thin. I only dare to name this fear that I hear around campus in whispers. But to those who feel the same, who perhaps also lie awake with the same uncertainty, know that you are not alone. And to those who don’t feel afraid at all: You are lucky. Consider your friends, your classmates, the people sitting next to you in lecture. It’s not an easy time for a lot of us.

I won’t call for recklessness or dismiss real risks. But to those who are better legally positioned or who are braver than I am, please do better than me and don’t let fear silence you.

Isabella Huang is a member of the Class of 2025.