U.S. Department of Education
I would do anything to protect the hundreds of undocumented students I’ve taught. If I could choose words that would prevent my students from losing a loved one to ICE or to capricious nationalistic borders, I would spend every waking moment searching for them.
But if I’ve learned anything about the immigration issue we face, it’s that we spend too much time debating the humanity of our students and their families and not nearly enough time amplifying their own voices and experiences.
I usually open my school year with an autobiographical project where students first learn about myself and other adults in the room. They hear about my own undocumented family’s fight to be Americans in the face of extreme racism. They learn that I wouldn’t exist without righteous struggle against immigration law. We establish rules for how we will share each other’s powerful stories and protect each other from anyone who would hurt us for revealing our true selves.
And then—first in a trickle, then in a raging stream—they begin to share.
I’d like to share with you an interview I did with one student, and two written pieces from others. They are brilliant human beings, and will save the entire universe if the universe learns to appreciate their shine.
Their stories are not only reminders that we need DACA, but that we must go far further to treat immigrant youth—and all immigrants—as full human beings and members of our society.
BH is a ninth grader at the local neighborhood high school. I taught BH writing during the 7th grade.XFB: How is school going?
BH: Every day, Monday through Friday I’m going to school thinking, “Oh, I hope it’ll go good today at school.” I have friends and family members who are also from Mexico and they tell me I have to try my best because I have a chance they never had.
XFB: Can you tell me a little more about your family immigration situation?
BH: My mother and stepfather are scared to work because we don’t have papers and they could get caught. But even though it’s dangerous, my stepfather works seven days a week just to bring food to the house.
My father called me recently to tell me that he and his other kids are struggling in Mexico (he was deported when I was little—I cried forever). I honestly feel bad, but what can I do for them? Things aren’t great, but my mom and stepfather teach me to wake up thinking, “Damn, we’re lucky” and to thank each day they aren’t deported. I’m so tired of this life. I often think of dropping out of school to work and help my parents, but there’s so much I need to do for my—our—future. So now, I just go to school and try my very best since that’s all they want. They say they want me to be “better than them” and to make us a good future.
XFB: Does the situation at home affect your work at school?
BH: Honestly, there’s many days where I feel bad and want to break down crying, but I tell myself, “That’s no solution” so I make myself start thinking positive. My fear is that the whole school will know my secrets and so I keep all of this to myself.
XFB: Is there anything you think teachers should do to help take away those fears?
BH: Yes, it’s simple actually. I would be happy if every teacher fought to make every student equal. Some of us have so much more to deal with, but they give us a harder time. Under Trump, it’s gotten worse. I feel like even those who want to care are . . . slowly, very slowly, caring less about us with each day that we are under attack.
Even those who want to care are . . . slowly, very slowly, caring less about us with each day that we are under attack.
XFB: What about Trump’s specific attempts to rescind DACA?BH: I think Trump is killing every immigrant’s dream. We try so hard every day, but I feel people around me ready to give up. I’m there too. I feel sad because I don’t know if we’ll be able to support each other. XFB: Anything else?
BH: I feel bad to have such a racist president that doesn’t help our community at all. Even the people who think he is on their side don’t realize that all he’s doing is bringing America down. Making us all weaker in hatred.
Leslie Reyes traveled to New Orleans to rebuild houses and community farms for victims of Hurricane Katrina. She is currently a college student in Chicago. Here, she tells her story.
I always knew I wasn’t born in the United States, but never did I understand what that meant until I started high school. Knowing that made me work twice as hard as my peers did in school. I remember applying for scholarships and thinking to myself “How can I stand out or how can I impress them to the point that my status won’t matter anymore?” I always told myself that I had to view school as something sacred because not everyone had the opportunity I did. Now I attend a community college and work, and I also know many don’t have this opportunity, so I never take anything for granted.
I have met many students in this situation who will work really hard in school. But I have also seen students that have that “what’s the point” attitude. You would understand this if you saw how we are treated in the classroom. I remember teachers who would talk about the future, whether it was with education or a good job, and would say things like, “the door is always there.” Most likely that “door” wasn’t open for me, so I had to find another path—and realize that I might have to settle for a “window.”
When I heard the announcement about the removal of DACA, it was the first time I ever felt scared about being undocumented. I’m in the process of transferring to a four-year university and I currently have a job, but that all became uncertain in the blink of an eye.
I see my education being on the edge of destruction—should I invest in school when, even if I succeed I might not be able to work? Should I just work my retail job while I still have my work permit, and save as much money as I can?
You might think I wish this would all go away. But if I had all the power in the world, I would take people’s fear away. I wouldn’t remove immigration for the simple fact that immigration is beautiful. If I wasn’t an immigrant, I would not be the person I am today, nor the woman I am becoming. I love being an immigrant, I love being brown, I love being Mexican. There’s so many of us who share the same feeling, and no amount of hatred can steal that love from us.
I love being an immigrant, I love being brown, I love being Mexican. No amount of hatred can steal that love from us.
People tend to think being an immigrant is a sad thing but I like to remind people this: Being an immigrant has its purpose. We will always have to work harder than others, but that makes us ten times stronger. As immigrants, we do every single thing thinking about our families, our communities. For the future of both, we are here to stay. Siempre unidos por una grande lucha.
UHMC is a student at the University of Hawaii who studied law with me during high school and has done social justice work in New Orleans.
I remember what it was like growing up in Chicago's Gage Park and Englewood neighborhoods and let me tell you, it was not pretty. Some days I would wake up to shots being fired and fall asleep to police sirens. It was hell growing up on Spaulding—making friends one day and being told they were killed the next. My escape was school. I was not a perfect student with perfect grades but even so, school became my safe haven. I felt welcomed and safe. I loved it.
That changed when college applications came around. I was miserable as I looked on at many of my classmates who were planning college trips and filling out FAFSA. I had good grades, good ACT scores, great recommendations, but no money. FAFSA was something I was not able to fill out even though I had the financial need. I was not married, I was not 24, and my parents did not have the almighty social security identification number. My father came to the United States when he was a young boy of about sixteen to work in the fields. He eventually ended up where he is now, working for a roofing company. He was given some random nine-digit number that was his ticket to getting paid. Every paycheck, there are these things called taxes and social security, along with a bunch of other government "benefits" that take a chunk of his hard-earned money. Money that he will never, ever see again. Yes, my father, a hard-working Mexican immigrant, pays taxes—thirty-three fucking years worth of taxes.
UHMC is a student at the University of Hawaii.
I owe that man the world. My neighborhood was certainly not the safest but it was better than what my father could have offered me in his home country. Here I would have a refrigerator, stove, clean running water to drink, a store around the corner, and a great school blocks away. He chose to leave his family, friends, belongings—everything he had, to give me everything I have.
He chose to leave his family, friends, belongings—everything he had, to give me everything I have.
Last year I moved to Hawaii to pursue a degree in medicine. Going to college in Chicago would have required me to take out loans I’d be paying off for the next 10-15 years; FAFSA was not an option for me. I looked around and came across The University of Hawaii and I absolutely fell in love. I worked a full time job, part time job, AND went to community college while trying to save money to come to Hawaii.
The daughter of two immigrant parents moved across an entire ocean. Although it has been tough, I am privileged because I can visit my parents here and there. They can't visit theirs and that absolutely kills me.
I have so much respect for my classmates and peers who come to the U.S. with their parents as kids and learn a new language, make new friends, and contribute to a country that does everything in its power to dehumanize them.
Trump's rise to power has been a curse because he is idolized by racists. But it’s also a blessing in disguise because it shows crystal clear what many of us have always known: America is truly not the land of the free or the brave. His rhetoric is a reminder that racism still exists and that the struggle for justice is ongoing. His announcement to rescind DACA is yet another attack on people of color. It makes me angry to know that so many lives will be negatively changed forever but I know my people. I trust that like a rose that grows from concrete, we will also rise.