Cover Story
(continued from previous page)
40 hours of work per week. It was a stressful time, with much uncertainty about the future. Her grades were not great, given her workload, but she hoped they would be good enough; it turned out they were. In 2011, Angelica was admitted to UCSC as a junior majoring in sociology. She had saved enough money to cover one quarter’s tuition, about $5,000. She also had a car, which she had to drive without a license so she could return home on weekends to continue cleaning houses to cover living expenses. Her parents contributed $200 per month. She had no scholarships, as they were very difficult to obtain as a transfer student. At the end of fall quarter, she was out of money. Her plan was to stop out winter quarter to earn spring quarter tuition; it was her only choice and one that undocumented students often must make. But instead the holiday break brought a letter with good news. Part I of the California Dream Act had just passed, granting her eligibility for an award, which she received, from UCSC’s privately funded scholarships, enough to cover the next quarter’s tuition. In addition, in February, she was granted an Educational Opportunities Program (EOP) award,
which required community-service hours in exchange for spring tuition aid. With these supports, Angelica completed her junior year uninterrupted. During the summer, she moved back home to work full-time with her mom and aunt cleaning houses. More welcome news arrived senior year. Angelica was awarded a Chancellor’s Internship, allowing her to continue her EOP work in exchange for $2,733 tuition credit per quarter for the academic year. Angelica had also applied for a number of private scholarships, receiving one for $8,000. This scholarship, along with the EOP work, weekend house-cleaning and summer savings, enabled Angelica to graduate on time in June 2013. Paula, too, faced difficulties finding college funding, but as a top East Palo Alto Academy student she eventually was awarded, just after high school graduation, a private scholarship covering four years at UC Berkeley, where she had been admitted earlier that spring. Paula described the process of applying to private scholarships as “very scary,” mainly because she had to disclose her undocumented status to complete strangers, both on the applications and during interviews. She didn’t know if she could trust them, but
Online exclusives Q
Undocumented immigrants: key statistics. A half-million unauthorized immigrants in California arrived as children.
Q
Undocumented youth describe migration to U.S. Nervewracking journeys, separation from family are common.
Q
A safe haven to dream. Sequoia High School Dream Club unites, equips undocumented students.
Q
Pursuing the rocky path to college. Undocumented students speak of overcoming the odds.
Page 20 • February 12, 2016 • Palo Alto Weekly • www.PaloAltoOnline.com
These statement cards were used at the Sequoia High School Dream Club conference. the kind of police encounter that can easily spiral into an economic and legal disaster — the type of situation Paula and others who are undocumented greatly fear. Paula was handcuffed and booked on misdemeanor charges related to driving without a license. Police took mug shots, fingerprinted her and administered an alcohol test, which was negative. She was the only one at the accident scene arrested, even though not allegedly at fault. The officer treated her disrespectfully, she said, accusing her of being “illegal.” She was terrified he would call ICE. To her relief, ICE didn’t come. Instead her brother arrived and arranged her release. But even then, she was horrified to learn that the family’s car had been impounded for a month and would incur about $3,000 in fees. The timing was terrible as Paula’s father had just lost his job. Paula also was fined $1,246, a sum she later convinced a judge to reduce to $420. The accident and its aftermath became a lasting trauma. “I relive it constantly; I see the whole thing in my mind over and over,” she said. Her experience drove home what thin ice she was on due to her status. After her arrest, Paula said, “I didn’t want to be at college anymore. I was so tired of school
and didn’t know how to get motivated.” She saw her classmates enjoying privileges she knew she would never have, like studying abroad and preparing for professional careers, and the contrasts stung. She stuck it out, though — dragging herself through her classes — only because she couldn’t bear to tell her parents that she didn’t want to go to school any longer. Eventually she graduated. “They will never understand how hard it is, the difficulties, socially and academically,” she said. Paula now is glad she persevered but not without feeling that it shouldn’t have been so difficult. Magali and others agree. College is “not the time of our lives,” Magali said. “The pressure is always there, to prove to myself, my family and my scholarship funders that I’m doing well. It’s a lot of work. There is no room to mess up.” Magali also describes the high expectations, common within the undocumented community, for college graduates to help their families financially, and act as role models for younger siblings and cousins to follow. “Everybody is looking at you,” Magali said. As a student mentor working at EOP, Magali saw many Dreamers
More stories, information about the experience of undocumented youth are posted on PaloAltoOnline.com Q
College adviser to Dreamers: Leverage strengths, get creative. Michelle Tarigo Channel offers step-by-step tips on pursuing college.
Q
Organizations, resources supporting undocumented youth. Local and national groups aim to strengthen families, help youth afford college.
Q
Federal and state laws expand opportunities for Dreamers. A catalog of proposed and enacted measures that address access, citizenship.
Q
Educators discuss undocumented youths’ challenges, resilience. Bay Area nonprofit’s staff aims to empower students.
The Dreamer social movement. Stepping out of the shadows, youth campaign for change.
Q
Terri Lobdell
Terri Lobdell
At the 2015 Dream Club conference, “identity tapestry” cards captured truths and feelings of undocumented youth.
she felt she had no choice: “This was the only chance I had to fund my college education,” she said. “I would come out of the interviews crying and shaking, afraid someone from ICE (Immigration and Customs Enforcement) would be there in the parking lot waiting for me,” she said. Even with a full scholarship, Paula still had to return home weekends to work at a grocery store, using false identification in those pre-DACA days, to help with extra school and family expenses. She also stopped out of college more than once to work full-time for the same reasons. But for Paula, even with constant work demands, the struggle to get through college, six years in all, was as much emotional as it was financial. Attending Berkeley, Paula had trouble fitting in. She noticed ICE agents walking around campus, feared discovery of her status and shied away from socializing. She didn’t know any other undocumented students. “I felt like I was the only one,” she said. She struggled with motivation and fought depression, questioning the point of it all. “What if I can’t put my college education to use? Even if I get my degree, then what? Who is going to hire me?” she recalled in a Weekly interview. Many Dreamers experience similar difficulties. According to a recent UCLA study, “Undocumented college students report disproportionately high levels of stress, anxiety and fear due to their undocumented status.” The UCLA report also noted frequent feelings of shame, uncertainty and perceived discrimination, as well as feelings of isolation on campus due to fear of disclosure, fears of deportation and lack of community. Paula’s lowest point came during sophomore year, when she was rear-ended while driving in Mountain View. Police arrived and asked for identification. She had no driver’s license, only a Berkeley student ID. For someone who is undocumented, this is