I’m Iranian American. I’m tired of being treated like a political pawn.

I have long feared a US-Iran war. As an Iranian American, I’ve spent my life watching both nations’ political volleying with trepidation. But Thursday’s assassination of Maj. Gen. Qassem Soleimani left me in the greatest panic yet — not only for my loved ones in Iran, but also for my community in the United States.

I was right to worry. As a community leader, I’ve often been one of the first to learn of and respond to community crises. I’ve been on the front lines coordinating rapid response at airports with other advocates after the first version of President Trump’s Muslim travel ban and fighting for my community as a plaintiff against the third iteration.

But this week has been harder. Over three days, the Trump administration propelled its domestic campaign for war against Iran. On Friday, Vice President Mike Pence began weaving a narrative for escalation by making new claims about Iran’s links to 9/11. By Saturday, Trump threatened potential war crimes against 52 Iranian cultural sites in honor of 52 American hostages held after Iran’s revolution in 1979. Conservative pundits and media outlets emphasized the warmongering efforts, attempting to steer attention away from the assassination. They have framed the “imminent threat” of an Iranian attack as justification for the “preemptive strike.” I can’t be the only one who feels like I’m reliving the lead-up to the Iraq War 17 years ago.

Yet now there is the added toll of social media. Scanning through Twitter the night after the strikes, I saw hundreds of memes about World War III and military drafts circulating on platforms. Our worst-case scenario, that our families would be killed in a catastrophic war, became the butt of internet humor.

Those were the less offensive reactions. Worse still were the calls to kill Iranians and decimate our homeland.

While we became the focus of propaganda, our Iraqi American neighbors were further made invisible. The fate of Iraqis, trapped in a nearly 20-year US-led war, continues to be largely ignored despite Iraq becoming ground zero in this conflict. Torture at Abu Ghraib, the killing of hundreds of thousands of civilians, the cause of sectarian conflict — all of it feels long forgotten as our nation stands on the brink of repeating the same mistake. While our leaders share messages of support and prayers for Americans, Iraqi deaths remain invisible.

In America, our communities are otherized or demonized, fetishized or deemed dangerous. The only constant is the denial of our humanity and dignity.

It is no wonder that Americans who have no direct experience with armed conflict have done so little to end two wars — some of the longest in American history — being waged in Afghanistan and Iraq. Veterans are nearly as invisible in mainstream America as civilians killed overseas. Americans return home to neglect by a system that fails to meet their most basic needs. How, then, could Americans understand the cost of war?

For Gen Z and younger millennials, endless overseas wars are their norm. News of civilian deaths in Afghanistan and Iraq, including terrorist attacks on holidays and weddings, rarely make headlines anymore, though they occur often. This generation has grown up with perpetual conflict in the background — the US government exploits this American indifference and disregard for our humanity to perpetuate wars that might spark anger, but not enough outrage for true disruption in the United States.

After Thursday’s attack, law enforcement in cities like Washington, DC, and Los Angeles, home to the largest Iranian diaspora community in the world, promised to boost security, which has historically meant the monitoring and surveilling of my community. Instead of assuaging our fears, our local governments stoked them by deeming us the threat.

Then when reports surfaced this past weekend about US citizens and residents of Iranian heritage being detained by Customs and Border Protection, I feared it would only get worse. Along with dozens of organizers and lawyers, I scrambled to support Iranian American families and protect our civil liberties — calming frightened travelers, triaging and supporting people who were detained, and gathering data to understand the full scope of the problem. (CPB has denied that it targeted people based on heritage and claims it was operating with an “enhanced posture” due to current threats.)

Our status in America had changed overnight.

My community knows intimately about the violence and atrocities brought on by war. Each of us, whether we lived through war or with relatives who did, already carries the trauma. My father refused to go to movie theaters because of a violent attack that killed 377 theatergoers in the ’70s. Most of us have a relative who spent time in political prison or was executed under the shah or the current regime, was permanently scarred by war, fled as a refugee, or became an undocumented student overnight in the United States during the hostage crisis. All of us, no matter our stance on Iran, can’t help but recall feelings of loss of home, family, and safety on the brink of another war. Yet we’re too fragmented to come together even now.

Iranian Americans are, and have always been, deeply divided over the Islamic Republic. Some support intervention at all costs, unconcerned with the human toll of war or who leads it. Those of us who want peace struggle to find a balance between preventing a catastrophic war and acknowledging state repression. Massive demonstrations and subsequent crackdowns took place in Iran weeks ago, with estimates of deaths higher than initially reported. Iranian families still mourning must now imagine the deaths of their remaining relatives due to foreign intervention.

Our divisions leave Iranian Americans vulnerable as pawns in either country’s political agenda. We remain fragmented and unable to break the cycle of violence and demonization harming us no matter where we live. Our inability to come together prevents us from helping those who need us the most: our loved ones in Iran.

I pray that no more of my fellow Americans learn the true price of war. For the rest of us, the cost is already too great.

Mana Kharrazi is an Iranian American community leader and organizer. She is a plaintiff in the case against the third iteration of the Muslim ban. Find her on Twitter @ManaKharrazi.