Printer-friendly versionEach year, about 65,000 undocumented young people graduate from high school only to find a brick wall between themselves and the future. They are some of the 2 million or so children living in the United States without “papers.” In most cases, these young people were brought here by parents at an early age and, for any number of reasons, have not been able to obtain legal residency or citizenship.
In some cases, these young people first learned about their lack of legal status while trying to get a driver’s license or applying for a first job. Only then did they find out that it’s against the law for them to work. Most states do not allow undocumented youth to get a driver’s license. It also is difficult, if not impossible in some states, for them to attend college. They live at risk of arrest, detention and deportation.
These students may feel American in every way; they may be members of their school honor rolls; they may otherwise embody the hopes and dreams of the country that raised them. But they still have no path to citizenship, says Anne Galisky, who directed and co-produced the documentary Papers: Stories of Undocumented Youth. “They face what would more appropriately be called banishment—being sent away from everything familiar to a ‘home’ country that is foreign to them,” she says.
In 2007, Galisky, co-producer Rebecca Shine and a crew of young people began collecting the stories of undocumented youth for Papers. They found that encouraging these students to tell their stories lessened their depression and isolation. Publicity also brought the students allies and provided upbeat public attention.
They have great need of both. Since 2001, Congress has repeatedly considered passage of the DREAM Act, which failed to pass by five Senate votes in 2010. That proposed law would provide many of these young people a path to citizenship by attending college or serving in the military.
Here are excerpts from their stories—six out of 2 million. They come from the forthcoming book Papers: Stories by Undocumented Youth, illustrated by Julio Salgado. For more information on the documentary film or book, visit the website.
A Star’s
Sacrifice
(Eliseo, 12)
My
parents are farmworkers. They wake up at 5 a.m. every morning to go to work.
Every day, I go through the day never knowing whether they will come home or
not. I live in fear and uncertainty, but I don’t want to give up or lose hope.
I want to become a full citizen of these United States. I want to be a positive
role model. I want to do this for my parents, because to me, my parents are
like stars. Stars only live to be around 10 billion years old. Before a star
dies it sometimes crunches up into what is called a red giant, then it
explodes. But the star doesn’t just die; its matter and gas help create new
stars. The star sacrifices itself to create new life, just like my parents are
doing for me.
‘Must Be a
U.S. Citizen’
(Cyndi, 19)
I feel
like my hands are tied behind my back. I feel unable to take control of my
future. I came to this country when I was 11 from Colombia. At first, the fact
that I was undocumented didn’t really mean that much to me. But as I grew up
and understood the reality of the situation I was in, my dreams were shattered.
My parents gave up so much for my brother and me to get to where we are now.
And now that I’m about to graduate from high school with a 3.8 grade point
average, and with various extracurricular and community activities to
supplement it, I feel that all the hard work and interest that I put in the
past years was for nothing. For every job, scholarship or other program that I
have applied to, I fulfill all their requirements except the “Must be a U.S.
citizen” one. And every time I read those words, it just breaks my heart and my
dreams to know that I’m not allowed to dream, have goals. Even when many doors
are closed, I try to remain hopeful that one day I’ll be able to go into
medicine and help others. But in this situation, I do not know what to expect
anymore.
A Piece of
Paper
(Mohammad, 22)
My family
immigrated to the United States from Iran when I was just three years old. At
the time my dad was accepted to a university on a student visa to get his
doctoral degree. … [When he was done] my dad secured sponsorship from a job and
applied for a change of status [to an H-1B visa, to do highly skilled work in
the United States.] The university’s immigration attorney handled all the
paperwork. My parents paid the required fee and were told everything was set to
go. … Eventually came a letter from the Immigration and Naturalization Service (INS)
stating that the application had been rejected because the fee enclosed had not
been the right amount. Apparently, INS had raised its fee the previous year [by
$20]. My parents immediately hired an attorney who was independent from the
university, but the attorney failed to inform my parents that they had only 60
days to appeal the decision. … So we lost legal status. … I can’t see myself
living anywhere other than America. All my childhood memories are from America,
and it is the only home I know. Apart from that, I also happen to be gay. …
Iran is one of the countries that not only punishes people for being gay, but
also kills them. … Going back to Iran is not an option for me. The only
difference I see between myself and the next American is $20, two strong cases
of legal malpractice and a piece of paper.
‘To Make
My Dreams Come True’
(Dan, 20)
I
currently live in Florida. I was born in Colombia and came to the United States
on a tourist visa at the age of 11. At the time I thought I was just taking a
vacation and visiting my relatives that had been living here legally for many
years. My intention was to try and think about something other than the great
tragedy I had suffered just two weeks before. It turns that going back was not
an option because there would be nobody waiting for me.
My father died two weeks before I came here, and my mother had died three years prior to that, when I was eight. … I needed someone to look after me, and that someone was a permanent resident living here for many years. She was my aunt, but she has now become a like a mother to me. Because of technicalities, I wasn’t able to adjust my immigration status, and I am the only member of my family without legal status.
I am a part-time college student majoring in finance, and I have a 4.0 GPA. I wish I could go to school full time. But because Florida charges me as an out-of-state student, I have to pay close to $1,000 per class at a community college. Therefore I can only afford one or two classes at a time. I’ve had to turn down scholarships and job offers due to my status.
I often find myself lying to my closest friends every time they ask me about my life. Why don’t I have a job, car or even a driver’s license? How come you’re not going to school full time? It’s frustrating not being able to just let it all out. But I’m afraid they won’t understand since they never had to go through what I’m going right now.
I am not asking for a handout. All I want is the opportunity to earn the things that I want, to make my dreams come true—to give back to my community and this country, which I consider my own.
‘All We
Really Want’
(Andrea, 16)
All we
really want is to fulfill our dreams. Isn’t that what everyone wants? So why
can’t we fulfill ours? Not having papers does not define who we are, it simply
limits us. It doesn’t tell of our successes, it doesn’t tell of our story, it
doesn't show our hard work. We spend our lives working extremely hard, making
ourselves and our loved ones proud. And
later we find out that we have nothing to look forward to once high school is
over, or once we turn 18. So where do we go from here? Only time will tell.
Until then we will remain determined to achieve our goals and hopeful that, one
day, we will have the opportunity to do so.
My Home,
My Country
(Ju, 21)
I grew up
in the San Francisco Bay Area. Just like many other American kids, I went to
public school, spoke English, joined student government, participated in sports
and took AP classes. Most importantly, I was motivated to go to college.
However, my dreams were completely shattered when I learned that my tourist
visa had expired and I was living here without proper documentation. …
Although
I am 21 years old, I feel like I am a little kid because I cannot do certain
things that my other American-citizen friends can do. For example, I cannot
freely travel around, study abroad or obtain a driver’s license. These
limitations caused me a lot of jealousy toward my citizen friends. …
Being an Asian undocumented student, it was extremely challenging to “come out” because there aren’t many support systems within our own community. Instead, there’s a lot of cultural stigma and social discrimination against undocumented immigrants. They tend to look down upon undocumented immigrants and treat us like inferior beings. …
At first, my mother was hesitant about my decision of going public in the Korean-American press. Just like many other undocumented parents, my mother was concerned about facing deportation. But eventually my mother allowed me to come out in the Korean press. Once she read dozens of articles about my story, she was very proud. …
I as able to get into college, and I am a senior at UC-Berkeley, studying political science. After I graduate from Berkeley, I hope to take one or two years off from school and work at a non-profit organization to help the immigrant community at large. Eventually, I want to go back to school and study law, and ultimately I want to become an immigration lawyer.
I consider myself an American, and America will always be my home. I want to let other young people know that they are not alone in this struggle.
Illustrations by Julio Salgado.
