been adopted from Korea.)
Then they started throwing
rocks. I remember racing
inside our house, where I
tearfully dissolved into my
babysitter’s lap.
When I told my mom, she
was sympathetic but said I
would have to toughen up—
this was just how the world
worked. I learned that
racism can be weaponized:
It has the power to level
you at any moment. I would
pray at night for God to turn
me white.
Coming to America when
I was a baby saved my life—I
was critically ill with a staph
infection when I arrived. I
grew up in a loving family
with five amazing siblings,
and my conservative
Catholic parents were
fiercely against racism of
any type. My school was
predominantly white,
yet most students were
inclusive and kind. Of
course, it only takes one
person to do the slant eyes
or start name-calling. I was
told to go back to China
(always China) many more
times while growing up. I’ve
even heard it while working
on assignment for People.
In many ways I’ve lived
the American dream.
Working for People since
1995, I’ve met people from
every race, religion, social
class and background. I’ve
witnessed heroism, grace,
strength and brilliance
in every walk of life. But
last weekend, when I
read President Trump’s
tweet declaring that four
members of Congress, all
women of color, should
“go back” where they came
from, I felt like the wind had
been knocked out of me.
Embarrassment, sadness
and shame washed over me,
just as they had when I was
5 years old.
The first time I can
remember being told to “go
back to your country,” I was
in kindergarten in Mason
City, Iowa, where I lived
with my adoptive family. I
was walking home from the
bus stop when some boys
yelled at me and told me
to go back to China. (I had
MARY GREEN
Entertainment
Projects Editor
reporter at People maga-
zine, I often post my work
on Twitter. Not long ago
I got a reply to one of my
stories. Excited, I opened it:
It said I should go back
where I came from. Those
words, which I’ve heard so
often, are always a shock.
My first thought is—back
home to Texas? But that’s
not what they mean. It’s
not ever what they mean.
Someone who doesn’t know
me wants to hurt me. Words
hurt. They’re meant to.
I am a proud first-genera-
tion Mexican-American. I
have done everything to be
successful in this country,
my country. I earned
multiple degrees and have a
career I love. Yet every day,
I see images of children in
cages. I hear chants about
building a wall and speak-
ing English. All of this is
directed at people who look
like me. We have the same
color skin, the same type
of hair. I recognize their
accents and the foods they
eat. The only difference is
I was born here.
From the day Donald
Trump descended that
escalator four years ago,
his words have emboldened
many in my country to
tell me I’m not welcome.
I walk through the streets, I
travel for my job, I enter
restaurants and stores,
and I always wonder:
Who thinks I shouldn’t
be here?
Aradillas, who has
covered crime and
breaking news
for People since
2008, uses her
reporting—on
stories involving
mass shootings,
sexual assault and
child abduction—
to empower and
give a voice to
survivors.
FR
OM
TO
P:^ J
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MB
AR
DO
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UR
TE
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MA
RY
GR
EE
N;^
CO
UR
TE
SY^
ELA
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