The room is oppressively warm—a byproduct of Guatemala’s sweltering summer. Yet, despite the stagnant heat, a chill creeps into the air as the voice of a young girl cuts through the silence. “Puedes verme?” (Can you see me?)—she pleads, her desperate question marking the grim conclusion of a government-sponsored PSA warning adolescent girls about the dangers of human trafficking. As a high school student—the PSA’s intended audience—I feel the weight of the moment pressing down on me. The tension is palpable, mirrored in the solemn expressions of my peers. The moment encapsulates a nation still grappling with the aftershocks of war, intervention, and instability—a reality that could soon darken under the return of Trump-era policies.

Guatemala’s history is deeply entangled with that of the United States. The country remains haunted by America’s heavy-handed involvement in its 1960-1996 civil war, a conflict sparked by a CIA-backed coup that plunged Guatemala into over three decades of violence. While the role of the U.S. in exacerbating this turmoil is rarely acknowledged, the consequences are undeniable. The war may have ended, but its scars remain. Eighty percent of Guatemala’s Indigenous population lives below the poverty line, a direct result of anti-Indigenous propaganda and policies wielded as weapons during the conflict. More than 12,000 victims remain missing—vanished, forgotten.

The effects of war are not limited to body counts or missing persons reports; they persist in the fabric of Guatemalan society. A quiet but persistent prejudice against Indigenous communities lingers, a vestige of both colonial history and Cold War-era American intervention. This reality became increasingly clear to me during a field study on malnutrition in developing countries. As I traveled through Guatemala—moving between rural villages in Petén and the modern metro of Guatemala City—I witnessed the stark divide firsthand. The stigma against Indigenous Guatemalans was pervasive, appearing in everything from casual conversations to government-led nutrition programs that sought to regulate food and vitamin consumption while deliberately erasing Indigenous customs. This systematic marginalization, a byproduct of U.S. intervention in the 1960s, did not eliminate communism as intended. Instead, it created a slow-moving social genocide.

For many Indigenous Guatemalans, the only escape is to flee. The United States, however, remains steadfast in its refusal to acknowledge its role in their displacement. Since 2011, over 30,000 Guatemalans have been deported from the U.S. each year, forced back into a country that lacks the economic or social infrastructure to receive them. The cycle continues—an unbroken loop of neglect and rejection.

The Trump Effect: What His Return Means for Guatemala

In June 2023, U.S. Undersecretary of State Uzra Zeya visited Guatemala to discuss policy measures aimed at addressing illegal immigration. The stakes are significant: more than 1.8 million Guatemalans currently live in the United States, with over half undocumented. While the goal of curbing illegal immigration is a rare bipartisan point of agreement in Washington, the Trump administration’s draconian approach offers little room for diplomacy. A return to his previous policies—such as the reinstatement of the “safe third country” agreement—could overwhelm Guatemala’s already fragile asylum system, deepening an already dire humanitarian crisis.

The impact of a second Trump presidency would not be confined to immigration policy. Stricter deportation measures and reduced economic opportunities for Guatemalan migrants in the U.S. would sever crucial financial lifelines, pushing Guatemala’s already-precarious lower class—comprising nearly half the population—further into poverty. Trump’s “America First” doctrine will likely result in cuts to U.S. aid programs in Guatemala, a move that could severely undercut critical anti-corruption efforts. Such a shift would jeopardize the work of institutions like the International Commission against Impunity in Guatemala (CICIG), further destabilizing an already fragile democracy.

Guatemala has only recently taken its first steps toward political reform, with the election of liberal President Bernardo Arévalo signaling a possible break from the country’s historically entrenched corruption. But Trump’s foreign policy playbook could easily reverse this progress, leaving Guatemala vulnerable to economic and political collapse. The country is uniquely positioned for disaster; its fragile economy, history of conflict, and deep structural inequalities make it particularly susceptible to the burdens of mass deportation. A Trump resurgence would all but guarantee further instability, reinforcing the very conditions that drive migration in the first place.

A Path Forward: America’s Responsibility to Guatemala

The trajectory of U.S.-Guatemala relations under a second Trump administration appears bleak. Yet, a path forward exists—if the United States is willing to reckon with its past and take meaningful steps toward change. Rather than defaulting to reactionary immigration policies, the U.S. must recognize its role in Guatemala’s long history of suffering and address the root causes of displacement.

Redirecting foreign aid toward Guatemala’s Indigenous population would be a crucial first step. Rather than funneling resources into ineffective top-down policies, partnering with existing NGOs and grassroots organizations would ensure that aid reaches the communities most in need. Economic stability cannot be achieved through increased border security alone; it requires investment in infrastructure, education, and employment opportunities that address the underlying drivers of migration.

The United States has an obligation to do more than acknowledge its role in Guatemala’s plight—it must actively work to rectify it. This means implementing protection statuses for Guatemalan migrants, channeling foreign aid into sustainable development initiatives, and strengthening anti-corruption measures to support Guatemala’s fledgling democracy.

As I reflect on my time in Guatemala, I cannot shake the image of the girl in the PSA. Her voice, her question—“Puedes verme?”—lingers, a stark reminder of the human cost of American policy decisions. Her cry is not just an abstract plea; it is real, reverberating in spaces unseen by those of us in the North. It serves as an indictment of our past and a warning for our future.

The United States has the power—and the responsibility—to ensure that history does not repeat itself. The cost of inaction is too great. The wounds inflicted upon Guatemala by American intervention are still raw, and a return to Trump-era policies would deepen them further. The burden falls upon us to break the cycle—to choose justice over expediency, to offer protection over punishment, and to build a future in which Guatemala and its people are not left behind.