It’s very hard to be undocumented in America. My family is originally from Caracas, Venezuela. My family didn’t have papers when we arrived in New York in 1989 – but we thought we’d be getting them soon. My grandfather, a US citizen for more than 30 years, petitioned for my father to become a US permanent resident that year. But only three months into the process, he passed away unexpectedly. That tragedy, combined with other circumstances, prevented my family from adjusting our immigration status.
Growing up, I always knew that we were undocumented. My parents never really hid the truth about our immigration status. Even though we were only children, it was easy for us to see how fearful my parents were about police interaction and routine traffic stops. I feared my parents would be locked up and deported. I still remember one time when my mom was driving me to elementary school and was pulled over because of a problem with our license plate. I could sense her fear and anxiety. It is one of several memories that shaped my understanding about what our undocumented status meant.
The attacks of 9/11 happened during my freshman year of high school. As a consequence, the potential for immigration reform evaporated. As my graduation approached I felt increasingly anxious. I even developed Generalized Anxiety Disorder, which I think was a result of living in constant fear. I knew that lacking papers meant that I might never realize my dream of becoming an architect. To make matters worse, my mother died of cancer 10 months after I graduated high school in 2005.
We were devastated and our economic woes kept worsening. I had no other alternative but to start working full-time in construction management in Miami to help support my family. However, that didn’t last long and I was left without a job in late 2007 because of the recession.
I had no way to adjust my immigration status or to convince this country that I wanted to belong and pursue my dreams. At the same time I had to sit and watch as opportunistic and racist media pundits and politicians demonized and scapegoated immigrants like me.
I got to the point where I couldn’t keep silent any more. I decided to finally speak out and get involved – regardless of my immigration status or the possibility of being deported. Despite her illness, my mother’s will to live and raise us was so great that it left a deep impression on me to fight for my dreams.
As a result, I got involved in the Dreamer movement, which was barely starting and had little national attention. Working with other courageous youth facing similar issues, I understood that education and our active involvement in politics were the main drivers that would protect us. Activism would also determine our success as immigrants.
In 2010, I decided to embark on a life-changing journey: walking with three other activists from Miami, Florida, to Washington DC on a 1,500-mile walk that we called The Trail of Dreams. Our objective was to call attention to mass deportations nationwide and to demand an executive order halting the deportations of Dreamers – the walk served as catalyst for the movement of that same name.
In 2012, the collective efforts by undocumented youth nationwide forced President Obama to order an executive action known as the Deferred Action for Childhood Arrival. As a result, with my work permit at hand through Daca, I was able to transfer to the Illinois Institute of Technology in 2013 as a president scholar to finish my bachelor’s degree in architecture. I am finally set to graduate this upcoming May. My dream is within reach.
Even though my parents won’t be able to see me graduate, having lost both of them to cancer – my father died last year – I am very proud of the values they instilled in me. Their intellect, determination and strength instilled a deep sense of moral conviction and sharpened my focus to address the greatest of our societal challenges.
Despite characters such as Donald Trump, Senator Marco Rubio and Senator Ted Cruz threatening to take away my temporary relief status from deportation and my ability to work, I know that hundreds of thousands of young people like me remain committed to fighting back against the incendiary and ignorant rhetoric.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned through my journey and through my studies, it is that there is great power and resiliency in us. Sometimes we have more power than we even know.