History Now: Liliana Toledo-Guzmán

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This is part of a roundtable on the COVID-19 pandemic and the work of history.


The COVID-19 pandemic has already transformed the lives of people. However, being a Mexican studying and working in the U.S. has presented additional challenges. Many students and workers went back home. Some just took a domestic flight, or even drove. For international students like me, the decision was not easy. Should I stay in the U.S. or should I go back to Mexico? The question was compounded by the announcement of a bilateral agreement between the U.S. and Mexican government to partially close the border.

My academic concerns seemed to vanish as more personal issues took precedence. Many what-if questions rose at once: What if my parents got sick in Mexico while I am in the U.S.? What if they died and I am not able to travel? (Yes, they might die; this is the first time I write the exact words of one of my biggest fears.) And what if I got sick? How could I manage a disease like this as a foreigner? How much would it cost me if I got sick?

I decided to go back to Mexico immediately, and am in Mexico now. Staying focused under these circumstances has not been easy. I had to spend many hours in front of the computer to grade 90 assignments each week, and participate in online classes that were scheduled for a different time zone. I have done my best to accomplish all my tasks, but I know my academic productivity has fallen.

I have assumed that if I survive, and my beloved ones do, nothing else would matter. I am trying to assist my parents in any task they might need, trying to do whatever errands might expose them to the virus if they did them. My father is in his sixties and diabetic, and my mother is at risk too. Meanwhile, I still have to pay the rent and the utilities for my apartment in Tucson.

Decisions to reopen universities in the fall are based more on financial issues than on compassion and empathy. Indeed, every day I am more certain that if in-person classes will be the only option to continue my graduate career, I will leave my Ph.D. program. I cannot imagine getting back to “normal” very soon or leaving my parents at risk. I am experiencing vulnerability at all levels: professionally, personally, emotionally, and as a migrant. In the forthcoming months, I will have to ponder my priorities in life. Should I stay at home to assist my parents, or should I go back to academic life, even though there are no guarantees of my health security abroad? Is academic life worth such unconditional sacrifices, when at the same time universities are furloughing and freezing positions? Probably not.


Liliana Toledo-Guzmán is a PhD student in history at the University of Arizona. Her research focuses on nationalism, identity, and culture in 20th-century Mexico.

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