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I never thought the place I have come to call home could make me feel so unwelcome.
Despite the belief — the hope? — that American democracy had evolved, the 2024 election results revealed otherwise. I had no vote, no direct voice in deciding the fate of the country I have called home for nearly four years, yet the news of Donald Trump’s victory left me feeling as defeated as if I had cast my ballot in vain. As an international student from India, I may lack the legal right to participate in U.S. elections, but I have spent enough time here to feel deeply connected to this place. Today, it’s hard not to feel that connection slipping away.
The result hit particularly hard as I watched Kamala Harris lose, once again reinforcing the notion that a woman, even one as accomplished as Kamala Harris, might never be “enough” to lead this nation.
It forced me to confront the unsettling reality of my own existence as a woman, to ask whether we’ll ever be fully trusted to hold the reins of power in places. This isn’t merely a disappointment, it’s a reckoning with a society that appears to continually affirm male dominance over female capability. And this is a society I’d once aspired to join fully — first through education, then through work and perhaps one day by contributing to its growth. Now, I can’t help but question that decision.
Wednesday morning, I woke up not just anxious, but truly fearful — for my future, for the future of women’s rights and for the safety of marginalized communities. What kind of world will we be living in over the next four years? It’s not just the U.S. that unsettles me, it’s the troubling parallels I see between my two homes.
Just last month, the Drug Controller General of India (DCGI) began discussions on restricting access to emergency contraceptives and other hormonal birth control by requiring a physician’s prescription. In a country where healthcare access is already limited, this shift could have profound consequences for countless women who rely on these medications to control their reproductive health. I am disturbed by the irony that the two nations I hold dear, the two places I call home, are moving toward a shared agenda of restricting women’s rights and bodily autonomy.
Here in the U.S., abortion access and birth control are already under threat. In India, similar battles are beginning to unfold, and I fear for the freedom of all women, in both places, to make choices about their bodies.
I’m also terrified for my friends in the LGBTQ+ community. Trump’s administration has repeatedly hinted at rolling back protections for these groups, creating an environment where their very existence is under question. As someone who came here looking for a society that celebrates diversity and inclusion, I feel crushed by this reality.
America, a place of freedom and opportunity, seems to be closing its doors on the very values that brought so many, including myself, here. How can a nation promise liberty and dignity to immigrants while, at the same time, denying basic human rights to its own people?
The future seems grim. But as dark as this moment feels, I know we cannot afford to give up. We are stronger together, and we must hold onto that strength — especially now. We must continue fighting for human rights, for dignity and for true freedom.
Four years from now, I hope to look back and see we did not surrender to despair, but we instead held on to hope and resilience. The fight for hope feels heavier today, but it’s one we can’t afford to abandon.
Jiya Shah (she/her) is a senior studying finance, international business and business analytics.
This post was originally published on here
