J ose—or “Pillo,” as he prefers to be called—arrived in the United States with his mother and sister at the age of 12. His family entered with a visa, but after two years, when the visa expired, Pillo stayed. From then on, he began life as an undocumented student. Now in his 20s, Pillo has had to adjust to life after Deferred Action. He’s still not used to the perks. Sometimes he forgets that he can wave at police officers instead of avoiding eye contact. After receiving his driver’s license, he was pulled over around the corner from his house. When the officer asked for his license and registration, out of habit, Pillo replied that he didn’t have one. “When he repeated, ‘You don’t have one?’ I remembered, ‘Wait a minute, I do.’” Although Pillo is thankful for what Deferred Action has given him, he adds, “Its only temporary, it doesn’t fix anything. Who knows? Two years from now, I could be back in limbo.” As of now, Pillo’s main concern is to push for broader change. “They won’t hear one, but they’ll hear millions,” he says. Pillo is a member of the DREAM Alliance of Sonoma County, an organization dedicated to helping pass immigration reform. “We’re not going to stop until it happens,” he says. Although Pillo has shared his story in Washington, D.C., it wasn’t easy for Pillo to “come out” as an undocumented student. The first time he did, he was in a political science class at Santa Rosa Junior college. Pillo had been the quiet kid in the back of the classroom who didn’t say much until one day, his class watched a film on immigration. The teacher asked for opinions from the class, and a girl in the front row went “off about how the illegals were taking all the scholarships,” he says. After sitting though her speech, Pillo had enough. He got up in front of the class and said, “Undocumented students don’t get any financial aid, everything is out-of-pocket. I’m not telling you from someone’s friend or someone’s cousin—I’m telling you from personal experience.” The girl was so ashamed she grabbed her stuff and walked out, and according to Pillo, the mentality of the class changed from that moment on. Pillo doesn’t always get positive reactions. A girl he had been friends with through high school once said she was disappointed in him for being “one of those people that she always hated.” And Pillo knows there are many young Latinos struggling with the same problems he did. “That’s why I speak,” he says. “Yes, it’s rough, but I want people to know there’s a light at the end of the tunnel.” A t his job and in his volunteer work, Rafael talks to hundreds of DREAMers every month, and sees firsthand the way their fear and their families’ fear is exploited. “There are individuals that are taking advantage of other individuals, and it’s all about making money,” he says. Rafael is head of the Extended Opportunity Programs and Services department at Santa Rosa Junior College. He devotes most of his time to helping DREAMers find scholarships and financial aid, and, since the announcement of Deferred Action, has ) 22 21 @kËj c`b\ EGI¿ @kËj c`b\ EGI¿ fe 8Z`[ f e 8Z`[ ) G GFC@K@:J ) FC@K@:J ) C C@M< DLJ@: @M< D < DLJ@: :FD<;P ) GFG :LCKLI< ) : FD<;P ) G FG :LCKLI< < NFIC; =8DFLJ >LL