PHOENIX -- Among the 10,000 or so protesters who gathered in front of
the state Capitol here last weekend under a scorching sun, one group
stood out. Despite the heat, they wore graduation caps and gowns in
shiny royal blue and sunburst yellow.
They were graduates of American colleges, young people who mostly
grew up in the United States, accidental Americans who just happen to
be living here illegally.
Like the rest of the crowd, they came to protest Arizona's controversial new
immigration enforcement law,
but they also sought recognition of a long-sought goal -- passage of
the Dream Act, federal legislation that would provide a path toward
legal status for people like them, undocumented immigrants who were
brought to this country as children by their parents.
Unlike their parents, however, these young people aren't keeping
quiet about their immigration status. They are staging protests around
the country, risking arrest and deportation. It's something their
parents, for the most part, would never think of doing. But as this
group of mostly 20-somethings sees it, they are American in every way
-- except on paper. They have lived in the United States for at least
10 years. They speak perfect English and attended grade schools and
universities here. They have American friends, American lifestyles and
typical American sensibilities.
And what's more American than speaking out?
"In school we learned that if you do everything right and live by the
rules, that you'll be rewarded, that everything will pay off, that you
can be whatever you want to be," said Lizbeth Mateo, 25, who came to
this country from Mexico at age 14. "We really believed that. We never
felt different from other American kids, and now we want to start
contributing to our country and make our country better."
In the past few weeks, as public criticism of Arizona's law has
grown, several young activists have been arrested while engaging in
civil disobedience. They've sought to capitalize on a moment when
Americans are fixated on immigration to draw attention to their own
political battle. Though they despise the Arizona law, they don't want
the Dream Act to get lost in the debate. They support comprehensive
reform that would provide a path to legalization for the estimated 11
million undocumented immigrants living in this country, but they want
separate legislation -- "a down payment" for the roughly 1.5 million
people who would be eligible for the Dream Act -- passed in the
interim.
These young people are tired of waiting. So they are staging sit-ins
at the district offices of members of Congress and blocking traffic in
front of federal buildings. In some cases, those arrested may face
deportation to countries where they have not lived for many years and
where they no longer have strong ties.
"We've been organizing for years," said Yahaira Carrillo, 25, who
came to the United States at age 8 with her parents. "We've done
everything else that we could, the faxing letters to Congress, the
lobbying, the letter-writing campaigns, the conference panels, the
media interviews. What else do we need to do for our political leaders
to hear us?"
Carrillo was one of five students who took part in a
sit-in last month
outside the Tucson office of Sen. John McCain (R). They were hoping to
convince the senator to help revive the Dream Act legislation. Instead,
four of them were arrested and are awaiting a court hearing later this
month. Three of the students, including Carrillo, are undocumented.
And if they face deportation? "That's something that we'll deal with when we have to," Carrillo says calmly.
That fearlessness -- or naivete -- separates Carrillo's generation
from that of her parents. This divide was evident at the protest last
Saturday. "These are different times," said Irene, an older immigrant
from El Salvador who took part in the march and did not give her last
name for fear of repercussions at her job. "Our kids are of a different
time. They feel they are a more vital part of America."
Her friend Ann Saladrigas added: "They're more out in the open."
The difference is striking to me, too. As an immigrant who came of age
in the early 1980s, I've watched this fledging movement with a mix of
admiration and trepidation. I admire the young immigrants' unapologetic
moxie, but I worry that it might cause a backlash. "American except on
paper" is an important distinction to a lot of people who view legal
status as a privilege, not a right. Then again, few activist movements
won new "rights" by waiting for them to be handed out; they got them by
agitating for them.
I came to the United States from Haiti at age 6, along with four
older siblings. Although my family came here legally, we had friends
and relatives who were undocumented. In those days, we never discussed
loved ones' immigration status with anyone outside the family. Rallies
and sit-ins were out of the question. Being undocumented was a source
of embarrassment and fear. It remains so for older immigrants, but the
Dream Act generation considers it merely a temporary state.
Without question, these young activists are a sympathetic and
impressive bunch. Many were top high school students who went on to
earn college degrees. Well-educated, media savvy and politically
astute, they have something to say and are not shy about saying it.
Over the years, they've consistently earned the support of both
Republican and Democratic lawmakers. In April, Sens. Dick Durbin
(D-Ill.) and Richard Lugar (R-Ind.) asked Homeland Security Secretary
Janet Napolitano
to halt deportations of students who would be eligible for legal status under the Dream Act.
The legislation has languished in Congress for nearly a decade, despite
lobbying by the students and immigrant advocacy organizations. If
passed, it would permit certain undocumented students to become
permanent legal residents if they came to this country before age 16
and attend college or enlist in the military.
"Everyone who is in this group has been fighting for the Dream Act
for years," said Tania Unzueta, 26, who emigrated from Mexico when she
was 10 along with her parents and 6-year-old sister. She took part in
the sit-in at the McCain office but left before being arrested.
"It's not just about us," she says. "We see many other people even
younger than us going through this, so we wanted to give it our most
and take this last stand."
As she knows from her fellow protesters awaiting court hearings,
it's a stand that could land them very far from the place they call
home.
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