As another academic year gets under way, thousands of undocumented students are looking ahead to uncertain futures, grateful for the opportunity to attend college but wondering if anyone will hire them when they graduate.
Such feelings are widespread at a time of high unemployment and economic malaise. But for students like Edilsa, Him, Anh-Thu, and José—four University of Texas students who were brought to the United States as children—those fears are compounded by worries about their illegal status.
Texas is one of 10 states that allow some undocumented students to pay in-state tuition and one of only a few that also make them eligible for state financial aid. Critics argue that offering publicly supported higher education to undocumented students rewards their parents for entering the country illegally.
“Every student at UT who is also an illegal immigrant takes away resources and admission spots from people who are not here illegally,” says Tyler Norris, chairman of the campus chapter of the Young Conservatives of Texas.
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Supporters of the policies, like the four Texas students who speak out in these pages, argue that such benefits should be extended nationwide and shouldn’t end at college graduation. They are resting their hopes on passage of the proposed Development, Relief, and Education for Alien Minors Act, known as the Dream Act. The legislation, which remains stalled in Congress, would provide a path to citizenship for such students not only so they can attend college but also so they can work when they graduate.
‘All I Want Is an Opportunity’
Edilsa Lopez, 21, spent much of her childhood in Guatemala picking crops, caring for three younger siblings, and moving from town to town to escape an abusive father. Although she completed only sixth grade there, she was able to enroll herself in ninth grade in Houston, after a harrowing border crossing in which she became separated from her family for months. Now a junior at the University of Texas at Austin, she dreams of the day when she can work as a financial analyst and support her younger siblings.
The first year we were in the States, I didn’t go to school. I was 13, and my siblings and I worked a lot. We painted numbers on curbs because that was my mother’s boyfriend’s job. My mother didn’t want me to go to school, but one day, I just walked over to the high school and signed up. They placed me in ninth grade.
I didn’t speak any English when I arrived, so I was put in ESL classes. The teachers saw I was a good student. I got a note from my English teacher saying, “You’re going to be very successful. I believe in you.” I got so motivated that someone believed in me. By my junior year, I was taking AP classes and learning about college. My mother took my two younger siblings back to Guatemala and left me and my sister alone.
We had no house, no food, and no money. I found a homeless place for my sister, but they only had room for one person. The director of a program I was volunteering with took me in. I applied for as many scholarships as I could find so I could go to UT. I got enough to cover tuition and room and board and books.
If I don’t get my scholarship next year, I won’t be able to return. I want to do as many jobs as they’ll allow me, but they won’t let me work. I know I have the intelligence. I just don’t have that piece of paper that says I can work.
I’m majoring in economics and international relations, and I hope to be a financial analyst at a company. If the Dream Act passes, I’ll be able to do internships. I organize career fairs for a Hispanic-student-business association, and I meet all these recruiters and CEO’s. I wish I could tell them how much I want this opportunity, but I don’t have the right documents.
I want to be different from where I came from. There, I was surrounded by people who were just trying to survive.
It wasn’t my choice. It wasn’t my decision to break the law. I’ve done everything the U.S. has asked me to do. I know I will be a great contribution to the U.S. economy. I have so many goals and dreams to accomplish. All I want is an opportunity.
‘I’ll Be Honest, It Gets Frustrating’
José Torres-Don, 22, was born in Rio Verde, Mexico, and graduated from the University of Texas at Austin in May. Unable to work because he is undocumented, he is organizing students and lobbying for passage of the Dream Act. He recently risked deportation by getting arrested during a sit-in in Washington.
I’m the youngest of nine children and came to this country with my family when I was 4. Some of my brothers were already in the States, but they went back to help us cross. I remember my mom carrying me as we crossed the border at night and not really understanding what was going on.
One of my sisters, who was about 16, had come to the States by herself and was cleaning houses. She made the push to my parents to bring the younger kids because there wasn’t much future back home. My father was going back and forth between the U.S. and Mexico, working in factories and construction.
I loved growing up in Austin. My sister and I excelled in school. It was common at our dinner table to talk about who had crossed the border who we knew, and why we had to have a prayer vigil. At the same time, we were studying for AP exams and applying to college and scholarships.
I do believe my dad had an opportunity to fix his status and at the same time fix our status, and for whatever reason it didn’t happen. I’ll be honest, it gets frustrating. I have to think about how lucky I am to be here and to have a college degree. Whatever choices my father made, those were his, and now it’s my turn, and I need to make the appropriate choices for me.
I want to do so much. I want to go to law school, but at the same time I’d like to travel abroad, I’d like to get the show on the road, and right now that’s not happening. I’m not going to be eligible for a lot of scholarships and financial aid, but the roles are changing in my family, and we have to be the ones to step up and keep our family afloat, and we need to work. My mom needs dialysis, and her only option is to go back to Mexico. To know that your sister’s a nurse and could be working, that I could be working to pay for her treatment. ...
It’s not until you graduate that you start to question whether it was all worth it. I admit, there are frustrations, there’s anger, there’s blame. It’s what you do with your anger and frustration that dictate where you end up. I’m choosing to fight, and I really think we can effect some changes in our laws.
‘I Keep Getting Passed From Office to Office’
Anh-Thu, 21, who asked that her last name be withheld, was born in a town on the Basque coast of southwestern France. She has lived in Austin, Tex., since age 7, when her parents, who were born in South Vietnam, closed their struggling restaurant in France and moved the family to be closer to her brother, who was studying engineering at the University of Texas. Anh-Thu excelled in magnet schools, completed her premedical requirements at the university, and, as an incoming college senior, is applying to medical schools with hopes of becoming a psychiatrist. While her goals are clear, her future as an undocumented immigrant remains murky.
My English was terrible when we arrived. My parents found a school in Austin that had a large Vietnamese population, so I went there, learned English, and forgot all my French all at the same time.
In high school, I was the co-founder and president of the Asian Culture Club. I was part of the Chinese Yo-Yo Club and the National Honor Society. The summer after high school and my freshman year in college, I worked as a chemical-engineering intern at a UT research center, working with polymers and water filtration.
The hardest thing about being undocumented is not knowing if I’ll be able to attend medical school. I’ve called around to the schools, and I keep getting passed from office to office and no one seems to know. I keep thinking that there has to be someone out there that recognizes the hard work I’m putting in and that my legal situation doesn’t mirror the kind of person I am.
From what I know, we had a lawyer who told us he could get us citizenship, but over time, it was clear he couldn’t do that, so he eventually went away. By that time, our visas had expired, and we were in a sticky situation, which I’m still in today.
I can’t participate in many activities at UT, because I live so far away. It takes about an hour to get there each way by bus. I can’t get a driver’s license, and my brother doesn’t want me to ever learn to drive, in case I do it and get caught. I can’t go back to France. I don’t even speak French anymore.
‘I Try Not to Live in Fear’
Him Ranjit, 19, lived in a modest home with his extended family in Kathmandu, Nepal, until he was 10. When his father, a computer engineer who had moved to Texas to earn a better living, sent for his wife and son, Him was apprehensive about his new life. But he excelled in school, graduated at the top of his high-school class, and enrolled at the University of Texas at Austin with dreams of becoming a biomedical engineer. As an undocumented immigrant, he worries that he may not achieve that goal unless U.S. immigration laws change by the time he graduates.
Undocumented students in Texas are very lucky because we get in-state tuition and we qualify for state financial aid. My grants covered tuition and fees, so my parents only have to cover my housing and living expenses. The way the Dream Act would help us is by giving us legal status so we could work after we graduate and do something productive in society.
I’d like to get a job in biomedical engineering, but even to get an internship, you need a Social Security card. People go to college for a better life, but after I graduate, I can’t work. I can’t do anything. That’s the main thing I’m worried about.
That’s why we’re working on trying to get the Dream Act passed. Congress has had the bill since 2001 and they haven’t passed it yet, but you have to be optimistic. At UT, there’s a group called University Leadership Initiative, and we try to agitate for the Dream Act. There are about 20 or 30 of us, and most are undocumented.
Before, everybody was scared to say we’re undocumented. Now people are less fearful. In junior high and high school, I didn’t know anyone undocumented. You just keep it to yourself. It feels like you don’t have any confidence to live your own life. But as I grew older, I gained confidence in myself.
In some places, if you get arrested, even for a traffic violation, you could be deported. I try not to live in fear. I don’t drive. I’m lucky I’m at UT because there are buses everywhere. I used to be pessimistic and think that I can’t do anything other students do, like driving. As I got older, I became more optimistic and more grateful for the things that I have. I’m in America. Compared to growing up in Nepal, where everyone is so poor, my life is so much better, even if I’m undocumented.
My parents don’t want me speaking out. They worry that if I call attention to myself, someone will come for me. But I think you have to fight for what is right, instead of being complacent.
