*The Indivisible/Backbone Campaign’s Immigration & Refugee working group is a typical Vashon group of neighbors helping and standing up for one another. This commentary is the first in a series of personal stories about “Why I Care.”

I am a white woman with all the unearned rights and privileges of a citizen born in the United States. Like most of us, I come from immigrants, but by accident of birthplace, I grew up taking my citizenship for granted, while others fight for it every day.

I live in a community of mostly white people, enriched by a growing community of brown people. They move quietly among us, cleaning our houses, mowing our lawns, constructing our buildings. Many reside in the shadows, whether citizen or not, because they fear for themselves and for the children whose lives they hope to enhance. They are not takers. They are survivors. They have talents and skills to share. Many had to leave jobs and professions — doctors, nurses, welders, teachers, engineers, laborers and cooks — when they migrated north, forced to accept diminished wages because of language and legal barriers. Because of them, I care.

One of my closest friends crossed the Mexican/U.S. border at age 21, alone except for the precarious support of her coyote — the Guatemalan she paid a fortune to accompany her. She came because there was no future for her back home, living in a tiny cement block dwelling, tucked into a rutted alleyway in Guatemala City. She came because she wanted to provide financial support to her mother and father, both working full time for a pittance, and to her younger siblings as well. She came bravely, and she remained. She is a woman of conscience and integrity, someone who works hard, pays taxes and contributes to the well-being of others. Because of her, I care.

I invited a Mexican friend to have coffee with me and to share her insights about the vulnerability of island immigrants. She has lived on Vashon for over 20 years, having obtained her U.S. citizenship when she was a child. She told me about the white woman who yelled at her as she was walking her child to class. “Do you speak English?” the woman spat out, to which my friend answered, “Yes, of course.”

“Then understand this: Go back where you came from. Go home!” to which my friend responded, “Thank you, I am home.”

She had never been accosted before and had always felt welcome here, until lately. Now, her first thought when she encounters someone new is whether they will smile in greeting or accost her in anger. When I asked what she needed, she became animated and answered, “All we want is to do our part and be appreciated for our contributions.” Because of her, I care.

I have so much to learn from our foreign-born neighbors. I continue to study Spanish, so that I can communicate with first-language speakers. I love this language of flourishes, embellishments and joy. I revel in the connections I am able to make through the sharing of words. I am grateful for the patience of those who wait for me to find the vocabulary, search for the correct tense or simply blurt out my thoughts and feelings in the best way I know how. I am grateful for the friendships we have forged together and for being welcomed by folks whom my government hunts down, seeks to imprison and eventually to deport. Because of them I care.

I am a white woman who becomes outraged when people of color are treated unjustly, regardless of their documentation status. I suffer when I watch them seek invisibility for their own protection because the waters here are too murky and the terror all-encompassing. I experience loss when I learn of those who have disappeared back across the border, to a land with its own set of dangers.

I believe that is on me to show up for those who risk their lives to obtain the cherished citizenship I take for granted. Will you join me?

— Janie Starr is an island activist and writer. Before moving to Vashon, she was a diversity/anti-bias trainer in Tacoma.