#undocumented
and
unafraid
It takes a lifetime for most people to figure out who they are—and I’m no exception. Some days I feel confident and rooted, every thought and its articulation projected into a world that embraces and compliments my efforts and offerings. Other days, every hour is a schizophrenic struggle to fit my oddly shaped puzzle piece into a society that refuses to accept me. It’s everyone’s problem, in one way or another, but my particular story combines the average American life with a layer of atypical awkwardness.
I was born in Spain, to Spanish parents, moving to the U.S. as an impressionable 3-year-old. It wasn’t until I was 15, preparing to apply for my first job, that I realized I wasn’t who I thought I was. My parents helped me cultivate a series of white lies at that point in time, which I’ve recited in impeccable English over and over to pass as a human being worthy of all the opportunities afforded to my peers. There’s over a million of us in the United States, pretending to be ideal puzzle pieces: “dreamers”—a political marketing term that imbues hope and innocence—but a term I believe dilutes very tangible accomplishments, and places us in a liminal space outside of reality—though it beats the dehumanizing “alien.”
I took the above from my own application to the Dream Resource Center’s “Dream Summer” internship, which I’ve been accepted to for Summer 2014 in New York City, through Auburn Seminary and the Groundswell Movement.
About 90% of the people who know me don’t know that, along with all of my other identifiers, I am also an undocumented immigrant. Last year I received the DACA (Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals), which cost a few hundred bucks and the compilation of a big stack of very specific “evidence” just to give me some peace of mind that I won’t get deported for the next two years after living in the United States for over 20 of my 27, along with a card that gives me temporary permission to work legally—one of the main reasons why I’m no longer scared of “coming out” in a public way. Up until this moment, I’ve spent the past 12 years of my life shouldering a big secret, silently dealing with the very unique obstacles that crop up in everyday life when the “inalienable rights” of “life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness” don’t apply to you.
My political situation has led to a lot of anger and sadness in my life, but I’ve had it so easy compared to other undocumented kids and families. When you have white skin and a perfect American accent, no one questions whether or not you belong, and my story isn’t one of life and death, like it is for many. I’m ashamed of how long I’ve let fear keep me silent when my privilege could have been used to help others, which is why I am so grateful for the opportunity to join my skills and my voice to that of the Dream Resource Center and its hosting organizations. I hope to dedicate my life and my work to changing the perceptions this country has of undocumented human beings.
As I leave Salt Lake City, I would like to thank my friends, family and colleagues. My parents are responsible for bringing me to this country, and their young naiveté put my sister and I in this situation, but I can’t express enough how grateful I am to them for making countless personal sacrifices on behalf of their children—for leaving their families, their culture, their language, their lives and starting over just to give us the best shot at life. I love America—I know that’s an unpopular thing to say these days, but growing up here, even as someone with no rights, has given me opportunities I would not have had in Spain, and perhaps more importantly, the confidence and American attitude that realizes dreams. I’d like to thank the few close friends who have known about my situation since I felt safe enough to confide in them a few years back, who have never made me feel inferior, and have and will love me to the end—they give me much-needed hope in opening the hearts of others. To my professional relationships and employers, many of whom have unknowingly been put at risk by association—thank you for taking a chance on me and helping me garner my skills. I would also like to acknowledge Davey Davis, who took time out of his busy life as the Executive Director of theSalt Lake Bicycle Collective to write me a beautiful letter of recommendation. I’ve looked up to Davey for years and years for his consistent dedication to helping others through creativity and community organizing, and it was an honor to receive such a letter from him (I’m not worthy!). Last, but not least, a big thank you to my sister Carla, who has had to jump many more hurdles than I in order to realize her dreams, and serves as my emotional motivator. As an undocumented lesbian, Carla has an uphill battle with a society that rejects who she is on two levels. Her courage and hard work are an inspiration to me, and everything that I do for this cause is always going to be with her in mind.
Now that you know who I really am, I hope that those of you with questions won’t hesitate to ask, and that rather than dismiss me and the cause, you’ll consider how you can become more informed on this very critical topic, and join the campaign for change. There are millions of people like me—your neighbors, your classmates, your coworkers—who, in their hearts, are just as American as you are. Please, help us gain “human being” status in the only place we call home.
Follow the Dream Resource Center on Facebook and Twitter to keep up-to-date with their projects and initiatives. I’m especially excited they’ve paired me with Auburn Seminary, where I’ll be able to help progressive religious leaders use media to promote messages of love and social justice. I have a couple of personal projects in the works
