My First Protest Ixel Aguilar

My First Protest

When I woke up on April 11th, 2014, there was only one thing on my mind: it’s field trip day! I put on my favorite neon orange shirt that had a soccer ball dead in the center and my favorite pair of jeggings… yes, jeggings. I was a fifth grader at Ridgetop Elementary, a small and predominantly Hispanic school, who happened to have the best teacher on the planet, Ms. Adams. My class was fortunate enough to have had her for three years. I 100% believe that she influenced my passion for activism and learning about human rights. Because our school was so small, we didn’t always get the funding we needed for extra activities, but when you had a teacher like Ms. Adams, there was always a way.

So what did we do? We took the city bus downtown to the University of Texas. I remember feeling so grown up walking down the street with all of my friends to the bus stop, hearing the laughter of twenty little hispanic kids and “stay on the side of the road!” from Ms. Adams.

Once we finally got on the bus, relieved from the Texas heat, the mood took a turn. As we all sat down we began to talk about the things we were going to do and why it was important for us to really comprehend the situation we were in. We were about to be a group of 5th graders protesting deportations under the Obama administration. Like myself, many of my friends came from immigrant families. As ten and elevenyear-olds, this topic could feel like a heavy weight on our shoulders, but it was important for us to acknowledge why we were there and who we were there for.

When we arrived, we saw hundreds of passionate activists, and one scene particularly caught our attention. A group of four hispanic college students gave a speech by the MLK statue. As they were talking, they asked my friend Gerardo and me to chain them up all together around the statue. This felt like a very surreal and powerful moment. I specifically 56

remember one of the activists saying, “I want to show my community that I’m here for them, that I will fight for them.”

Once the march was about to begin, there was a moment to reflect on what we were about to do. The leader of the group asked us to think about someone specific or to think about the families who have been impacted. In this moment of silence I began to feel sick to my stomach.

“SILVIA!” I shouted my mother’s name. As everyone lifted their heads to see that this voice came from a little girl, they all began to shout the names of their own loved ones.

Ever since I was little, I was told to never cause a scene that would cause an officer to interact with me. Initially I grew up afraid of anyone with a badge marked “Austin Police,” openly knowing the possibility that they could take away someone who I loved so dearly. At the age of ten, I now marched with both passion and fear. I have seen first hand what it looks like to be afraid when an officer passes by; I have witnessed families being torn apart because of our broken system. I had had enough, I was tired of turning on the news to see yet another family broken, I was tired of seeing my people being hurt and being treated with such hate.

On April 11th, 2014, I marched for all of my brothers and sisters who were innocently taken. I marched with purpose. Since that day, I found my true passion: I want to keep fighting and helping all of the beautiful families like mine. I will help individuals who want a brighter future for themselves.