When the presidential election results came through in November, my anxiety led me to start making plans. As a Latina and a child of immigrants, I began creating an exit strategy in case it isn’t safe to live in the US come January, when Trump takes office.
And I wasn’t alone.
According to The Hill, as Election Day was coming to an end, Americans wasted no time researching what it would take to move abroad. Searches on Google for “moving to Canada” and “immigrate to Canada” surged 5,000 percent around the time of the election. New Zealand and the United Kingdom were also popular destinations.
The American Psychological Association reports that 77 percent of Americans are stressed out about the future of the US; I’m among them. I have found myself really considering what my life would look like if I decided to move to my parents’ homeland in Peru. I’ve had to ask myself: where would I feel safer as a woman of color . . . Peru or New Jersey?
Other Latines have already taken the plunge, like Yarii Iglecias, a Mexican American from Texas who shares her journey of living abroad on TikTok. Or Cielo, a Mexican American from San Diego who moved to Barcelona three years ago, stressing that “it wasn’t easy, but it was so worth it.”
Eva Longoria recently chimed in on the topic of living abroad, importantly recognizing that not everyone has the privilege to do so. She told Marie Claire, “I’m privileged. I get to escape and go somewhere. Most Americans aren’t so lucky. They’re going to be stuck in this dystopian country, and my anxiety and sadness is for them.”
But I can so clearly see why these Latines have left. I don’t feel safe around Latines who voted for Trump. So, can you imagine living under his administration? Trump has given a voice to racist people and helped incite a violent attack on the Capitol in 2021. He’s a convicted felon who will likely pardon his allies when he takes office. One thorough look at the timeline of his alleged crimes and convictions makes it baffling that anyone feels safe with him in power.
It wasn’t that long ago that my family was of mixed status. I have friends who are naturalized citizens who are also worried about their futures. Even citizens who have been here for years will be under scrutiny if the Trump administration goes full throttle with their denaturalization plan. I grew up in a Latino-dominated immigrant hub in New Jersey. To me, this isn’t simply a problem for my friends or family; this is affecting my fellow Latine community, and that is enough to have me in an uproar.
I have fewer rights now than my grandmother did, thanks to Trump’s attacks on reproductive healthcare. Moreover, he ran an entire campaign on promises of mass deportation – something that research shows will undoubtedly hurt the economy, according to the Center for Public Integrity. But the rhetoric itself also stands to harm my community. Trump has branded 11 million undocumented immigrants as criminals and a threat, a generalization he’s very familiar with, having called Mexicans “drug dealers, criminals, and rapists” in 2016. According to the American Immigration Council, at least 8.5 million US citizens live with at least one undocumented family member, and 4.1 million children have at least one parent without legal status. Families are going to be separated, and children might be coming home to no one.
Trump also wants to shut down Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion initiatives, which would only create more barriers to workforce entry for people like me.
All of these factors have made me seriously consider leaving the US. What’s more, experiencing Peru without seeing it through my parents’ trauma has been a game changer. The country offers affordable living and healthcare. It serves some of the best cuisine in the world, and I’d be able to live close to nature. That said, it’s not all perfect. Driving in Lima can be a nightmare, and petty crime is rampant. But even with those challenges, it still feels like a place where I could really see myself living.
Ultimately, those of us working on our contingency plans would likely rather move to another country in order to not live in fear. If any sector of the population knows that feeling all too well, it’s us. Many of my family members living in Peru don’t understand why I am “going back” after they’ve worked so hard to come to the US. They think their sacrifices don’t matter to me anymore. But I’ve tried to explain to them that fundamental human rights are now at stake, and if I have the option to leave, I will explore that possibility seriously.
For me the process of moving to Peru would start with securing dual citizenship, which is a natural step given my family roots there. I’d move back to my grandparents’ land, settling into their cozy two-bedroom cottage with my cat and turtle in tow, and my mom would probably join me as well. Work-wise, I’d be in good shape because I’ve been working remotely for five years now.
While part of me feels empowered by looking out for myself in case the worst happens here in the US, a deep sadness comes with considering this possible move. I was born and raised in New Jersey. I went to college at Rutgers. I love my community. I am a true Jersey girl at heart. I would want to stay and help in whatever way I can, but as I’ve learned in the past, I have to look out for myself first. This isn’t selfish; it’s self-preservation.
If there’s one thing I hope you take away from reading my story, it’s that if you’re a child of immigrant parents, chances are you can get your dual citizenship through them. Once you get your Latin American passport, you can move to Spain. The key word here is options. Start slowly by getting a US passport or making sure it’s renewed.
Leaving the country our families worked so hard to get to might seem like you’re rejecting the favor, but you must check in and see what is right for you. Over the years, I made it a point to visit Peru on my own terms, and I’m so grateful I did. Spending real time in Peru allowed me to explore where I could live, work, and even settle down. The idea of relocating permanently has crossed my mind before, but Trump returning to office – along with the fear and instability that comes with him – has made this feel less like a distant possibility and more like an urgent, life-changing decision.
It would be an adjustment. But to me, it’s better than living in fear.
Cindy Y. Rodriguez has spent 17-plus years crafting powerful stories. One of her proudest achievements is hosting and producing the Webby-honored and Emmy-nominated five-part docuseries “Hay Dinero,” which offers practical financial planning tips for the Latine community and highlights the deep connection between culture and generational trauma. Cindy’s commitment to creating diverse and impactful content shines through in her work, especially when addressing topics like identity, culture, and race. Her work includes co-launching Vivala as well as HuffPost’s Latino Voices, and cofounding the award-nominated feminist podcast “Morado Lens,” which features conversations spanning sex, culture, and spirituality.
