During a recent press event with reporters, President Donald J. Trump escalated his attacks on the Somali community, referring to Somali immigrants as “garbage” and adding, “Their country’s no good for a reason. Their country stinks, and we don’t want them in our country.”
The remarks spread rapidly online, drawing swift condemnation from civil rights organizations, faith leaders, and elected officials who warned that such language directly fuels harassment, emboldens extremists, and increases the risk of political violence against Black and Muslim communities.
“From the recently leaked texts of Republican officials using the n-word and praising Hitler to President Trump’s comments in the Cabinet Room, it’s beyond clear that the Republican Party’s racism truly knows no bounds,” the Congressional Black Caucus wrote in a statement.
The statement echoed what many Somali families in Minnesota say they are already feeling on the ground: fear, anger, and the weight of being politically targeted once again.
For Yusra Mohamud, a Minnesota-based Somali American community organizer and mother, the moment was painful — but not surprising.
Her first thought, she told The Black Wall Street Times, was, “here we go again.” Having lived through Trump’s first presidency, she immediately shifted into what she calls crisis management mode, anticipating fear would once again ripple through her community.
How Trump’s Words Are Reshaping Daily Life for Somali Families
Minnesota is home to the largest Somali population in the United States, with many families having lived in the state for more than three decades. For years, Mohamud said, Somali Americans largely moved through public life without having to constantly justify their presence.
That sense of ease, she said, has been replaced by scrutiny, suspicion, and renewed emotional labor.
She said Trump’s rhetoric has pushed Somali families back into cycles of explanation and emotional labor — particularly in schools, workplaces, and everyday public spaces.
“We grew up here. We’ve been here since the early 90s… We’ve always just seen ourselves as Americans,” she said.
Now, she says, even children are being pulled into conversations about identity and belonging that feel premature and unsettling. Her own middle-school-aged son recently began facing questions about where his family is “from,” despite being born and raised in Minnesota.
“I was a baby. I’ve been here my whole life, too,” she recalled telling him.
Race, Religion, Immigration — and Why She Says It All Intersects
While Trump’s attacks are often framed around immigration, Mohamud said the reality is far more layered. In her view, race, religion, and immigration status function together — reinforcing each other in how Somali people are targeted.
“They all intersect… I honestly think it starts with, in my opinion, being Black, that’s the first thing,” she said.
She explained that Blackness becomes the first visible marker used to justify exclusion, while immigration status and religion are then weaponized to legitimize surveillance, displacement, and political erasure.
“This Isn’t Our First Dictator”: Resilience, Not Pity
Mohamud was clear that fear should not be confused with fragility. She rejected portrayals of the Somali community that lean on pity rather than strength.
“This isn’t our first dictator… And so we know how to move in these spaces and how to stand up for ourselves and have, you know, resilience,” she said during the interview.
She also pushed back against stereotypes that depict Somali communities as economically dependent.
“We know how to build an economy. We know how to pay taxes, and we know how to grow money, generation involved time after time,” she added.
For her, Somali resilience is not abstract; it is visible in corner stores, trucking companies, markets, mosques, and multigenerational businesses rooted in centuries of East African trade and entrepreneurship.
The Impact on Somali Youth and Civic Engagement
Among Mohamud’s deepest concerns is what Trump’s rhetoric is doing to Somali youth. She said confusion, more than fear, now shapes how many young people understand their place in American society.
“Confusion is the biggest feeling that has come out of the metric of what Somali youth are feeling right now,” she said.
She has seen young people who once felt confident in civic life begin to second-guess whether the political systems they hoped to shape were ever truly meant to include them.
“They don’t feel that sense of belonging… are these laws really meant for us?” she said.
At the same time, she sees a generational shift unfolding. Some Gen Z youth, she said, are speaking up more boldly than those before them — even as others retreat from public life out of fear.
She warned that moments like this shape how an entire generation comes to understand democracy, citizenship, and whether this country truly sees them as belonging.
Threats, Harassment, and Political Retaliation
While harassment often surfaces most visibly online, Mohamud said the threats are not confined to digital spaces. During recent local election cycles, she and other organizers faced intimidation serious enough to require law enforcement intervention.
“Some actually being, like, direct threats, where federal police and agents have to step in… it’s hunting season, or we’re gonna hunt you down,” she said.
She described an environment where safety planning is no longer occasional but constant — woven into daily life, organizing meetings, and even family conversations.
The Role of Somali Leaders Like Ilhan Omar
In moments of political crisis, Mohamud said Somali elected officials have played a vital role in shielding their communities and confronting dangerous rhetoric directly.
She pointed particularly to Rep. Ilhan Omar’s national leadership.
“She is not letting this attack slide by. She’s calling it out every moment, every second,” Mohamud said.
At the same time, she described nonstop organizing at the local level. Recent weekends have been filled with community safety trainings focused on how to respond if ICE enters homes or workplaces, what documents families should carry, and how neighbors can protect each other.
Navigating Being Proudly Somali and Fully American
For Mohamud, identity is not something she toggles between. It is layered and reinforced through community.
She credits her upbringing alongside Black American neighbors with teaching her how to organize, resist injustice, and care for others in moments of crisis. From her perspective, resistance does not always look like marches or protests.
“Maybe you’re helping your neighbors get groceries… calling a friend… checking up on their well being,” she said.
To her, these acts of care are not separate from political struggle. They are the infrastructure of survival.
What Accountability Should Look Like
When asked what accountability should look like for powerful leaders who use language that dehumanizes entire communities, Mohamud did not hesitate.
“Immediately calling them out… and number two, immediately getting them out of office,” she said.
She believes accountability must move beyond statements of condemnation and into organized, coordinated political action — across neighborhoods, cities, and election cycles.
A Message to the Public — and to President Trump
To President Trump directly, Mohamud offered a message grounded in history, survival, and certainty.
“You’re not our first dictator, and this is not our first rodeo… you calling us garbage… is barely a scratch on the surface of what my people have fled,” she said.
To the broader public, she warned that political targeting never remains confined to a single community.
When future generations study this moment, she said, the story will not only be about what a president said — but about who was targeted, who was protected, and who chose to act.
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