In 2017, I publicly revealed my status as a DACA recipient and undocumented immigrant. I put my career, family, and life I had built on the line because I was tired—tired of the fear, xenophobia, and political campaigns that reduced people like me to dangerous stereotypes.
I wanted America to understand that we're not the rapists or terrorists that some claim. We're doctors, nurses, farmers, and even actors in your favorite films and TV shows. We contribute to this nation's success, not its downfall.
As I watched President-elect Donald Trump on Meet the Press, I felt that disturbing sense of urgency. He's back for a second term with the same agenda—inciting fear with false threats, like eliminating birthright citizenship by signing an executive order. However, legal experts agree that overriding the 14th Amendment would require a complex, lengthy process—not just the stroke of a pen.
What's more alarming is that Trump claims he will deport 30 million people, even though only 11 million undocumented immigrants live, work, and pay taxes in America, according to the Pew Research Center and Homeland Security. These scare tactics aim to paralyze us with fear and discourage us from taking action.
But we know from experience that when we fight, we can win. When they tried to end DACA (Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals) in 2017, we fought all the way to the Supreme Court—and we won. That victory was not only for over 800,000 Dreamers, but a glimmer of hope for families who are still living in the shadows and all who believe in justice and compassion.
We cannot afford to lose hope now because we are not going back to family separation and detention camps. Staying silent in fear is far costlier than speaking out. For the soul of this nation, we must keep fighting—with even greater passion and purpose.
My journey is a testament to the sacrifice and resilience of immigrants. My family fled Côte d'Ivoire when I was 10, seeking protection and political asylum. Although we were denied permanent legal residency, DACA protected me from deportation, provided a temporary work status, and afforded me time to navigate the labyrinth of an outdated immigration system to become a permanent resident.
Working through the U.S. immigration system was the most challenging experience of my life. It took over 32 years, thousands of dollars in legal and filing fees, and separation from my loved ones. Part of the process involved returning to Côte d'Ivoire for my green card interview. For five agonizing months, I was in limbo—grieving my wife, Ganohon, who passed away from cancer, worrying about leaving my daughter behind in Los Angeles, and fearing I may never return home to the U.S.
During that time, I drained my savings, maxed out my credit cards, and sold my car to survive in Côte d'Ivoire while still paying my bills back in the U.S. On June 8, I was finally granted my green card. Despite the sacrifices, I would do it all again—especially for my daughter, Theophilia, who is my main motivation to keep fighting.
Being formally documented means I can now live and work permanently in the U.S. and plan for my daughter's future without the constant fear of separation. I am full of gratitude because this milestone is not just mine; it belongs to the thousands who supported me, signed my petition #standwithbamba, and reminded me that I wasn't alone. As I celebrate, I remain deeply committed to those still navigating their paths to stability and security.
Immigrants like me are not just statistics to strengthen political agendas. We are people with dreams, families, and a determination to contribute to this country. My parents came to the U.S. seeking a better life, and my late wife and I worked tirelessly to provide a promising future for our daughter. Many immigrant families across our nation share a similar story.
The challenges we face demand action. Americans must hold both Democratic and Republican leaders accountable for creating fair and humane immigration policies. Mass deportations, ending birthright citizenship, detention camps, and blocking health care access for DACA recipients are cruel and counterproductive. These divisive tactics weaken our economy and corrode the moral fiber of our nation.
We need leaders who act with humanity and are willing to craft solutions that benefit all Americans. We need communities to band together, speak out, and fight for a future where we're not living in fear of each other, but rather embracing the diversity that makes America great. To our allies, now is the time to step up. We've been here before, and it was through our organizing, resilience, and unity we became stronger.
Bambadjan Bamba is an award-winning actor, filmmaker, immigrant rights advocate, and former DACA recipient.
The views expressed in this article are the writer's own.
English (US) ·