I’m an immigrant who has yet to be naturalized in the United States, so I don’t have the right to vote in this election. But I am determined to fight for this country, my chosen home, because what’s at stake this election is the founding notion that in America, people like me are welcome. That’s why at the beginning of October, we plastered “America is Our Place” across prominent billboards in battleground states to ask those who can vote to show up.
Growing up in Pakistan, I was taught by my mother to build my life in service of the spiritual concept of sadaqa jariya: to have a positive impact on the world that would last long after I was gone. In other words, as the saying goes, to plant seedlings of trees under whose shade I would never sit. Like millions of migrants and travellers, my parents’ ambitions — that my life would count for more than theirs — -is what ultimately led me to the United States.
Moving to America had not been part of my plan. I loved my childhood in Islamabad. I had a loving, boisterous family and fierce role models. I found purpose in trying to create opportunities for girls in my community. And even when I was 7000 miles from home, studying international development at Stanford University, I kept coming back home in the summers to start my own education programs.
Four years later, when one of the girls who attended my program, Malala Yousafzai, was shot by the Taliban for speaking out for her right to go to school, I moved back to the U.S. to launch an international movement inspired by her courage. As a young entrepreneur building something as consequential as the Malala Fund, I felt my dreams would be nurtured best in a country built by immigrants. Like millions of young people across the globe, I’d long understood America to be the place you go to pursue your wildest ambitions — whether launching a new enterprise or simply living a life free of persecution.
In the years since, America has become more than just a base for my aspirations. It has also become my second home. It’s where I met my husband and made lifelong friends. Living here, I’ve had the chance to build lasting relationships with people whose journeys would otherwise never have intersected with mine. And we have found the profound similarities that bind us across our differences, while breaking bread together at dinner tables and sharing stories of family, nostalgia, and hope.
In the wake of a rise in anti-immigrant sentiment, I co-founded Our Place: a line of ethical, sustainable kitchenware inspired by the home-cooking traditions of the multiethnic kitchen. It was my hope that bringing more people together at dinner tables, cooking and sharing food, would bring the disparate edges of our country closer together.
But, of course, it’s not that simple. It never is. And I’ve watched with deep sadness as America has been racked by division, xenophobia, and hate incited by a government that implies, with every action, that people like me do not belong here.
The stories of Americans deported from the only home they have ever known, innocent children torn from their parents’ arms and placed in cages, talented young students denied visas to build their businesses, or pursue scientific discovery in this country all tear at my heart.
My life in the U.S. has been filled with love, friendship, and profoundly meaningful work. That’s why I feel a responsibility to speak up: for the millions of immigrants who’ve been marginalized, discriminated against, refused entry into the country, their dreams denied and their families have been torn apart. Because their stories are not the exception. With every day that passes, my story of being welcomed here is becoming the exceptional one.
I may not be able to vote myself this election, but I feel an urgent need to use my voice and reach those who can. That’s why, if you walk by Market and 10th street in Philly, or drive north of Winter Springs on the 17 in Orlando, or East of the I-75 freeway on Jefferson Avenue in Detroit, you will see giant billboards with the words “America is Our Place.” The billboards feature a breathtaking portrait of my American family: immigrants, people of color, indigenous people, people of different faiths and ethnicities, all of us shoulder to shoulder (separately photographed, of course, for Covid-19 safety). This is the America we are choosing to fight for. I hope we can see this image as the America we’re voting for tomorrow.
It’s not lost on me that one of our billboards stands in Eloy, Arizona, just a few hundred yards away from The Palma Correctional Center, where thousands of immigrants are being detained — and hundreds have contracted COVID-19. These two competing visions of America — one where people of all backgrounds are welcomed and embraced, and one where immigrants are scapegoated, punished, and put in danger — are on the ballot in November.
This election, we have an opportunity to do something that is truly sadaqa jariya: to ensure that future generations of immigrants have a place in America. It is up to all of us to fight for it however, we can — and encourage those who have the right to vote to join us.
With love,
Shiza Shahid
www.fromourplace.com/vote
