7/23/2024
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Written By TerrorHub
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Day 1: The New Regime I’m Miguel Rodriguez, and this is the story of how everything fell apart.
We were a family of six, living what we thought was the American dream.
My parents came from Mexico when they were kids, brought here by their parents in search of a better life.
They worked their asses off, bought a house, cars, and made sure we had everything we needed.
We, the kids—me, my two sisters Maria and Sofia, and my little brother Juan—are all U.S. citizens.
Life was good, or so we thought.
Week 1: The Crackdown Begins It all started on January 20, 2025.
Trump was back in office, and the nightmare began almost immediately.
Within days, ICE agents were everywhere.
The news was filled with stories of families being torn apart, but we didn’t think it would happen to us.
We were careful.
My parents worked legit jobs, paid taxes, and never got into trouble.
They had DACA protection, but that didn’t matter anymore.
One of Trump’s first acts was to revoke DACA, leaving them vulnerable.
One night, just a week after Trump’s inauguration, we woke up to the sound of banging on the door.
My heart pounded as I heard my dad’s shaky voice answer it.
It was ICE.
They stormed in, guns drawn, shouting at us in English and broken Spanish.
My mom was crying, holding Juan tight.
They dragged my parents away in handcuffs, ignoring our screams and pleas.
They didn’t even let us say goodbye.
Month 1: The Camps My parents were taken to a detention camp.
It was a hellhole.
Overcrowded, filthy, and full of desperate people.
We could only visit them once, and it broke my heart to see them behind a chain-link fence, treated like criminals.
They told us to stay strong and take care of each other.
We were left with our aunt, but she could barely make ends meet herself.
School became a nightmare.
Kids whispered about us, teachers looked at us with pity, and I felt like we were living under a dark cloud.
Maria started having panic attacks.
Sofia cried herself to sleep every night.
Juan, too young to understand, just kept asking when mom and dad would come home.
I had no answers for him.
Month 2: False Charges To justify the mass detentions, the administration fabricated charges against detainees.
They said my dad was part of a gang, which was a blatant lie.
He worked double shifts at a factory to support us.
They accused my mom of drug dealing.
Absurd.
She was a cleaning lady.
But it didn’t matter; the system was rigged.
They had no chance.
Public defenders were overwhelmed and couldn’t help.
Month 3: Resistance and Retaliation As the government’s actions became more draconian, resistance movements began to form.
Small, underground networks worked to hide and protect those targeted by ICE.
However, the government’s response was swift and severe.
Raids on suspected safe houses led to violent clashes.
Leaders of these resistance movements were arrested, and many disappeared without a trace.
Volunteers who tried to help were treated as criminals, facing harassment, arrest, and sometimes violence.
Month 4: The Disappearances Rumors of mass graves and secret executions spread through the Hispanic community.
Families received no information about their loved ones’ whereabouts or fates.
The official narrative was that these individuals had been deported, but the truth was far more sinister.
Fear and grief pervaded every corner of the community, as the disappearances became a daily horror.
Month 5: A Nation in Fear The atmosphere in our neighborhood changed.
ICE patrols were a common sight.
Checkpoints were everywhere, and racial profiling became the norm.
Even though we were citizens, we lived in constant fear.
One wrong move, one misunderstanding, and we could end up in the camps too.
The stress was unbearable.
My aunt was a wreck, trying to keep us safe and fed.
The economy started to tank as more and more people were detained or fled in fear.
Jobs disappeared, and prices skyrocketed.
Month 6: Total Control By mid-year, the regime’s control was absolute.
ICE patrols were a common sight in cities and towns.
Checkpoints were established, and racial profiling became standard practice.
Schools, workplaces, and even hospitals were not safe from raids.
The economy, heavily reliant on immigrant labor, began to falter.
Businesses closed, and prices soared as the workforce dwindled.
Year 1: The Lost Year As the year drew to a close, America was a shadow of its former self.
The once diverse and thriving communities were now ghost towns.
Families were torn apart, and a culture of fear permeated every aspect of life.
The Hispanic community, in particular, bore the brunt of the regime’s brutality.
Racism and xenophobia were not just tolerated but institutionalized.
Despite everything, small acts of kindness and defiance kept a flicker of hope alive.
Community groups formed, fighting back in whatever ways they could.
But the struggle was long and hard, and the scars ran deep.
Our story became one of many, a testament to the cruelty and inhumanity of a system built on fear and hate.
This is the story of my family, the Rodriguez family, who dared to dream of a better life, only to have it ripped away by a regime that saw us as less than human.
And yet, despite everything, we continue to fight for justice, for dignity, and for the hope that one day, this nightmare will end.
