As I write this, families are being hunted and torn from their lives in broad daylight by Border Patrol in Charlotte — a mere 35–40-minute drive from Rowan County. Many of our neighbors commute there every day for work. These aren’t distant events. They are happening in our backyard.

Some of the most hardworking people I know are Hispanic immigrants. They rise before dawn, labor tirelessly and care for their families — all while living in fear that a piece of paper could decide whether they can stay in this country or be ripped away from everything they know.

My parents came to this country without proper documentation. Thanks to President Reagan’s Immigration Reform and Control Act of 1986, they were able to become American citizens. Since then, nothing on that scale has happened. The closest effort was DACA (Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals), offering temporary protection to children brought here, but in 2023, a federal judge blocked first-time applications, leaving countless young lives in uncertainty.

Scrolling through social media the past 24 hours has been devastating. The cruelty, the hate, the callous comments about people simply trying to live and provide — it breaks my heart. Many don’t realize that entering this country “the right way” often costs hundreds of thousands of dollars, a privilege unavailable to most. And yet, these families are labeled criminals for seeking safety, dignity and opportunity.

I was born and raised in the United States. I am the daughter of immigrants. I am part of the Hispanic community here in Rowan County — a community of entrepreneurs, neighbors, friends and family. And yet, even though I was born in the United States, I cannot help but wonder when I might be targeted simply because of the color of my skin and my Hispanic features.

I write this not just for me, but for every family living in fear, for every child who might wake up one day to find their parents gone. I ask readers to open their hearts, to see the humanity in these lives, and to remember that we are not outsiders. We are your neighbors. We are part of the heartbeat of this community. And we deserve safety, dignity and respect — just like anyone else. — Bianca Muñoz