I am Illegal

Let me just say that I had never been comfortable disclosing my 'illegal'/undocumented status until last year. Up until then, it was a secret, and unlike the stories of other children brought here when they were young who didn't find out until they were applying to college or driver's license, I knew since the day I arrived in 1995. For 19 years it was my secret, but I've found the strength to speak it, and this blog entry will be a short account of what being an illegal subject is, from a first hand account.

Childhood:

I arrived to the US from Mexico on a vacation visa with my parents. As in most cases, as a child I was able to go to school and live a somewhat carefree childhood save for the fact that I watched everything that my parents experienced as 'illegal' immigrants. My mother worked in a sweatshop sewing clothes, as most new immigrants to the area did (we settled in Monterey Park in Southern California, which is predominantly Chinese), and every job she had thereafter would have to be one where the employers were willing to hire someone without a social security. Every time, that would mean that they paid under-the-table, and under minimum wage. My mother took the jobs because there was no other choice since most places would not be willing to hire her. My father actually went back to Mexico and worked at a restaurant to send us remittances and support us here. I think my parents really had to save because looking back, I am not sure how those wages supported an entire family. I remember growing up without a car until I was 12, which was when my older brother (who grew up here as well) went to college as an international student and was able to legally get a driver's license. 

Teenage:

My mother always stressed about jobs. There were few places who would hire her, and the restaurants that she ended up working at as a dimsum cart waitress would fire people all the time. As I grew older, I felt indignant for her as I watched employers offer her unfair wages for working almost 12 hours. In one, she made small cakes on a cart in front of a supermarket, working 12 hours and getting paid 50$, meaning that they paid her about 4$ an hour when the minimum wage was about $8. I remember feeling the helplessness and anger--and feeling even more helpless when i realized my whole family was helpless-- when her employer, who tended a shop at the same supermarket, hit her across the face. As an illegal worker, she had no protection under the law for his abuse. If anything, he banked on the fact that she would not go to the authorities because of her status. I didn't want her to go back to that place, but she did anyways, for that $4/hr wage.

I started lying about where I was born, claiming that I was born in the US and had citizenship to anyone who asked. I understood, from the secretive, vulnerable place of my family, that we could be deported, our status was dangerous. We were always on edge. 

Adulthood:

What can I saw about my early adulthood? Probably that it was delayed. There was no social security to apply for jobs, and I knew no one who would hire someone under the table. I spent countless hours volunteering because I needed to do something and feel constructive. I didn't drive until last year. I couldn't get an ID card so I actually never went with friends to clubs or drinking even though I was of age. It was quite hard to find an excuse every single time, and you must all know that as 18-21 year olds, there are many many times. It was an alienable phase because everyone else was moving ahead while I was stalled. I had no rights as an adult. The American institution allowed me to participate until I graduated high school.
I stalled in community college, not transferring simply because there was no money for me (I didn't go to college as an international student like my brother did, simply because there was no more money left after the hefty amount it cost for his education, about 10x the amount of an in-state student). I liked school but I felt graduating was probably an impossible feat.

In 2012, Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals, or DACA, passed. 

On June 15, 2012, the Secretary of Homeland Security announced that certain people who came to the United States as children and meet several guidelines may request consideration of deferred action for a period of two years, subject to renewal. They are also eligible for work authorization. Deferred action is a use of prosecutorial discretion to defer removal action against an individual for a certain period of time. Deferred action does not provide lawful status. 

You may request DACA if you:   

1. Were under the age of 31 as of June 15, 2012;
2. Came to the United States before reaching your 16th birthday;
3. Have continuously resided in the United States since June 15, 2007, up to the present time;  
4. Were physically present in the United States on June 15, 2012, and at the time of making your request for consideration of deferred action with USCIS;
5. Had no lawful status on June 15, 2012;
6. Are currently in school, have graduated or obtained a certificate of completion from high school, have obtained a general education development (GED) certificate, or are an honorably discharged veteran of the Coast Guard or Armed Forces of the United States; and
7. Have not been convicted of a felony, significant misdemeanor,or three or more other misdemeanors, and do not otherwise pose a threat to national security or public safety.

'Deferred action'-- meaning that if we got it, we would be safe from removal from this country, a wording that made me think they were saying the rightful action to take on us was removal--but they would defer that action for 2 years. 

It allowed me to acquire a social security and finally have the rights that I had almost accepted as never going to be able to. (I had little hope for immigration reform, and the only option would have been to get married. It bothered me that I would then have to be saved by someone else, and made legal through the institution of marriage.)

Then in 2013, the CA Dream Act passed and offered financial aid for undocumented AB540 students. (AB540 was the act before any of this passed, that allowed students who attended highschool in the US to get in-state tuition, but did not offer financial aid). 

Through these two things, I found some mobility, finally. I transferred to UCSC last year.

There is a great AB540 community here, with staff, mentors, advisers, peer mentors, and community allies who fully support the ~300 undocumented students who currently attend UCSC. It was here that I first spoke about my experience.

(I understand my story is a bit different from the everyday conversation or idea we have about illegal immigrants because I am Asian. The figure of an illegal immigrant is so racialized. It was then, an experience where I felt the consequences of my status, but also the experience of blending in and never being identified as one as long as I kept my secret. My peers in my community in an Asian town were second generation, born in the US. I had no peers in my experience as undocumented. I told my friends who asked me about this picture that it was a Cinco de Mayo event here in the US, when it was actually a class performance when I was in preschool in Mexico.)