On a bitter cold morning in early 2016, I was standing next to my 6-year-old daughter in front of the bathroom mirror. We were playing with face paint: yellow stripes, green dots, a blue spot here and there. At one point, my daughter dug her index finger into the little bucket of white paint, and, as she spread it across her cheeks, she said: “Look, Mamma, now I’m getting ready for when Trump is president. So they won’t know we’re Mexicans.”

She doesn’t watch much news and doesn’t seem to pay very close attention to the radio, but perhaps somehow she knew about how Donald Trump had announced his candidacy for the presidency, saying, “When Mexico sends its people, they’re not sending their best,” but instead sending “rapists.”…  Seguir leyendo »