In Conversation with Undocumented Students: Part I

Please tell me about your experience upon first entering the U.S.

I came to the U.S. because my mom was a computer engineer back in Peru. She served as the head of the department of a computer company that made programs for a bank. The bank worked for the government. In 2001, the government overturned. Locals believed the president was funding terrible programs, and that he was hiring assassins. He was hiring assassins, but not for the specific reasons they thought. The assassins would go and kill without him asking them to. Eventually, the president left the country. The computer company my mom was working for let out a list of names of people who were working directly with the government. This of course led to my mom’s name being released as well. There were phone calls to the house, and threats were directed towards us. My mom could not work in Peru any longer because of this; she would have only been able to work for a private company, not a public me one. The Peruvian government said she could go to any embassy and get a visa to depart, though. At the time, my dad worked for Carnival and kept on saying “Let’s go to the United States!” One month after coming to the United States, we presented our papers. We received a worker’s visa and social security numbers because we were technically under political asylum. My parents paid about $500 a week to live in someone else’s garage. I would sleep with the daughter of the family, and my brother would sleep with the son; our parents slept on comforters on the kitchen floor. We didn’t really know how America worked, and people would often take advantage of us as a result. Before my parents came here, they saved $10,000 and gave everything they owned away. My dad paid around $3,000 for a car, but never even ended up receiving it. My parents also paid for lawn chairs that they would eat on. Often, they slept on mattresses that were hand-me-downs, and had to work multiple jobs to make money. They cleaned a university in the daytime, and at night, they would hand out newspapers. Sometimes work would collide with our personal lives. For instance, we had these neighbors who were in an abusive relationship; and because of that the cops got called often. The cops would knock on our door of course, because we were right next to the couple. But my brother and I couldn’t answer it, since we were home alone and you couldn’t have children under the age of 14 at home by themselves. So we got used to hiding under the bed and making no noise; my mom would have to leave my dad during work, and come home from work. He would have to clean the entire building by himself on those days.

Having been in your life for years now, I can tell that you’re not dealing with those aspects anymore. At what point did your situation change?

When my brother turned 14, things started to look up. My parents were finally able to get a steady income and work fewer jobs. My brother and I could participate in afterschool activities as well. We went from a one bedroom to a three bedroom; things started settling down.

What about your status? You came here “legally” under political asylum, but I personally am aware that this eventually shifted for you.

So, it costs $1,800 to get your papers renewed every year, which we had been doing since we arrived in the U.S. In 2010, we got called to court. We thought it was good news, since we were about to reach our 10 years. If your case has not been evaluated after 10 years, then the court can be seen as committing negligence, and your case is resolved. They called us in a month or two before the negligence period. My brother and I had to stay outside with my father. After about an hour and a half or so, she comes out and she’s crying—the court had revoked our case. They did so under the claims that “the financial and economic standards in Peru are ‘getting better’”, and thus we have no reason to be here. They give you hope of getting citizenship, and then they take it away. After the decision, we stayed. My brother and I grew up here for two-thirds of our lives, and were being demanded to return to a country we don’t even know. We barely even knew how to write Spanish. As a result of the court decision, my brother had to lose a semester of college because he couldn’t pay as an international student. But then DACA happened, and we could apply. We were able to get jobs and licenses, and the out-of-state tuition fee was effected.

I was just about to ask you—How have the recent rulings around DACA have personally affected you?

My DACA expires right after I graduate, and my parents have set up a second plan just in case: we may return to Peru since everything is so “dandy” there. In Peru, we’ll have connections, and jobs to resume. But we also have connections in Sweden, and we might meet my parent’s friends there, who will help us start off. After Trump’s decision was overruled by the California judge, Congress got more time. We needed to get renewal papers, and fingerprints. With DACA, you have to show that you have a degree which you are going to use to improve American Society.

What you just said really resonates with me. In this course, one of the many discussions we’ve had revolves around the “good immigrant/bad immigrant” binary the U.S. insists upon. In particular, we discussed how there seems to be this concept that the only immigrants who are welcome are those who are steadfast upon helping to improve U.S. society. So, then, it becomes this idea that “outsiders” are only welcome if they’re willing to help the “inside”. There’s an enormous amount of pressure placed on DACA students, because they are required to prove that they’ll do something significant with their degree. Basically, to be a “good immigrant”, you have to prove your value to the U.S., rather than having inherent human value. Meanwhile U.S. citizens face little to no pressure on proving their right to be in this country, simply because they were born here. Therefore, their right is assumed. I’ve watched one video of a citizen initiation, where after facing years of stress, threats, and trauma, newly initiated citizens are encouraged to sing a song and pledge allegiance to the very flag of the country which gave them hell. Have you heard about these proceedings?

I haven’t gone through it personally, because my family has only gotten “alien” numbers. But I have heard about them, and that will be down the road for us.

What barriers, if any, did you face while preparing to attend college?

So, I’ve never gone through the experience of having to apply to college without papers, because DACA came in right before I was the age to apply for college. My brother did, though. My mom’s name could not be on any of his papers. It’s kind of half tricking the system, and half luck.

How has your experience shaped your perception of the U.S.?

I view the U.S. as I would any other country—the U.S. is pretty much my home. For someone to be afraid just to go outside, to get pulled over, it’s shameful. And knowing that I did nothing wrong [to deserve this], it’s sad. And at least I can pay the $500 to renew my DACA. For anyone that’s in my shoes but can’t afford it, I don’t know what to tell them. Even though I’m closer to them situation-wise than you are, it’s levels. Some people I know can’t go to school; DACA only lets you pay in-state, it doesn’t let you get financial aid. I’m very fortunate.

Would you like to say any last words for students who are in a similar situation to yours?

You’ve done nothing wrong. Some DACA students have done a lot of shit, but it’s a few that mess it up for the majority, and shaped what the Trump government thinks of us. I can’t speak for them. For everyone else who’s like me, because we have no control over our future, all we can do is wait. And you’re not alone because there’s 800,000 of us.