“I was super involved in high school. I was in everything that I could be in because I thought it would help me get to where I wanted to be and go to a great school and do all these wonderful things. And it just kind of hits you that that’s not going to be you. Everybody else is talking about all of these things that they’re doing and looking at colleges, and filling out applications, and doing all this stuff, and you stare at applications that ask if you’re a citizen or not and you’re just kind of like, ‘well, (shoot), I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.’” (Karina, Undocumented College Graduate)
Over the past six years, I have been honored to peek into the souls and lives of undocumented youth through my research. Currently, there are 11.7 million undocumented immigrants residing in the United States, 30% live below the poverty line, and children account for 1.9 million of the undocumented population. However, these immigration numbers have faces.
Karina and I first became acquainted at a DREAM Act town hall meeting in Los Angeles during the summer of 2010. As one of four panelists to retell their personal narratives, her tenacity and wit captured my attention as I watched her fire back against an audience member for critiquing the military services element in the DREAM Act by stating, “We are critical thinkers, let us decide what is best for us.”
Karina was born in Mexico and brought to the U.S. at the age of four. She grew up in Kansas City, Missouri, and was actively involved in her community and school. Karina was told, if you work hard and do well in school, you could be anything your heart desires. She always knew about her undocumented status but never knew the magnitude of its impact until she started to plan her life after college.
As one of the 65,000 undocumented high school students who graduate every year in the US, she asked her school principal for assistance on how to navigate her college application process. The response from her principal was, “I just don’t understand what you are doing here?” She asked for clarity, “Do you mean in school or in this country?” He responded, “Both.”
Feeling humiliated and defeated, Karina would seek help from trusted teachers and community members. After a last minute partial scholarship inquiry to a private college near her hometown panned into an opportunity, she would spend the next nine years obtaining her college degree, while stopping in and out of school to work and save enough money to pay for her tuition, fees, and living expenses. While in college Karina disclosed her legal status with those who “had to know” and found compassionate faculty members who understood the extraordinary number of hours she worked each week, which left her little time for studying.
Like many undocumented youth who have college aspirations but are limited by financial means and access options, they experience depression and anxiety, and even contemplate suicide because living with the stigma and shame of their legal status is an incredibly heavy burden—one that takes an emotional toll on their spirit.
