Undocumented and unemployed
By Megan O'Connor
Editor's Note: The names of some students interviewed (*) have been changed to protect their privacy.
At 8 years old, she held out a birth certificate to the border patrol agent outside of Tijuana, Mexico, and cried hysterically. All she could think about was her mother miles away attempting to cross the Mexican-American border on foot. She stood at the checkpoint holding an American birth certificate her mother had bought, not realizing how risky that moment was. Making it across the border and into America didn't provide Silvia any relief because at 8, all she wanted was her mother.
"It wasn't that difficult at all," Silvia Martinez*, now 24, recalls of using an illegal birth certificate. From that moment on, Silvia started her life as an undocumented citizen.
Today, as a senior in college, Silvia is about to cross another border in her life - graduation. Unlike the last one, however, this won't open up doors for her.
The stereotypical face of immigration is that of day workers, gardeners and laborers, but Silvia is one of 23 undocumented immigrants attending Santa Clara. Without social security numbers or working visas, these students cannot apply for a driver's license, receive educational financial aid or apply for paid jobs. Undocumented college graduates are not typically recognized by either the public or immigration-related legislation. The Dream Act - short for Development, Relief, and Education for Alien Minors - would grant citizenship to many undocumented college students, but it has failed in Congress more than once. Today, American universities in a dozen states are producing college graduates who can only enter the job market illegally. For these students, graduation marks a dead end.
Without a social security number, undocumented college graduates cannot enter the fields of work they studied in college. Political science majors cannot go on to become congressmen or congresswomen, finance majors cannot go on to be investment bankers, and sociology majors, like Silvia, cannot go on to become school counselors. Instead, they look at the job market through a narrow lens. Options exist for them only in jobs that do not background check your social security number, and for Silvia, that means being a waitress.
Santa Clara and its hefty tuition didn't seem like an option to Silvia when she graduated from Los Altos High School. The $9,000 Silvia won in scholarship money from private benefactors wasn't going to pay for the $160,000 education. That is when Silvia was offered the Hurtado Scholarship, a scholarship funded by the Jesuits for simply "wherever the need is." As of recently, the Jesuits of Santa Clara have decided undocumented college students are where the need is. Silvia didn't apply for the scholarship - she was chosen mysteriously by the Jesuits. She believes they found her after she confided in an admissions counselor that she was undocumented. Twenty-three Santa Clara students are sponsored by the scholarship, including seven seniors approaching graduation. As one of the recipients, Silvia's tuition and room and board is paid for in full, in addition to a stipend she receives for living expenses.
As of 2002, all California state universities joined private universities in California to offer the in-state tuition rate to qualified, undocumented students. Ten other states, including Utah, have passed similar legislation. However, federal aid is not available to any undocumented citizen in California to assist with the cost of tuition. Only the states of Virginia, Alaska and Wisconsin have passed conclusive legislation denying all undocumented citizens entrance into colleges. Many other states continue to remain in a grey area on the issue.
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With a pearly white smile that reached from ear to ear and dressed in the trendy Abercrombie & Fitch brand, Hector Vega sat in the school cafeteria radiating optimism.
Small boys across America will tell their mothers that they want to grow up to be astronauts, cowboys or firemen. Hector's mother was delighted when he fearlessly told her when starting college that he was going to be a lawyer. Living on the east side of San Jose and without much money in the bank, Hector's undocumented mother's only hope was that Hector would receive documentation by graduation.
At age 14, Hector came to Santa Clara County from Coahuila, Mexico, on a vacation visa to visit his mother, who had been working here illegally. He had been living with his sister in Mexico, but the thought of him staying in America was just too tempting to both Hector and his mother. His family encouraged him to stay.
After growing up and attending James Lick High School, Hector was also mysteriously offered the Hurtado Scholarship at Santa Clara University.
Like many first-year students in college, Hector is undeclared, but picking a major for Hector means so much more than it does for most students because the right major could equal his ticket to citizenship.
"I'm optimistic," he said, nodding his head and leaning back in his seat. Hector's ideal is to be a political science major and minor in communication. He has a passion for the workings of government institutions and as a bilingual student, thinks he would be valuable to a law firm. What Hector has been fighting is becoming a business major, a path he doesn't want to take, but a major that could result in jobs that could buy him his citizenship.
H1B visas are working visas available to undocumented college graduates, who become sponsored by a company out of college. The lengthy process of becoming an American citizen is sped up for the 50 students a year in the United States that receive these visas, according to Lorenzo Gamboa, assistant director of undergraduate admissions and coordinator of Latino recruitment at Santa Clara. The downfall of these visas is that a student has to be extraordinarily talented to be recognized for this opportunity, which can be a very competitive process, Gamboa said. In addition, the processing fees fall upon the sponsoring companies and leave many recipients of the visa feeling in debt to their employer.
Picking a major is a constant debate for Hector. He worries that studying what he wants might not help him at all in his quest for citizenship. He worries about being accepted into a job concerning American government. He worries that he won't move up the wait list he is on to become a citizen before graduation. Right now, Hector's estimated year of becoming a citizen is 2020.
There are three ways an undocumented college student can receive citizenship after college, according to Gamboa. For students who have yet to apply, there are a limited number of ways to gain citizenship and begin working. The first option is to marry an American citizen. "I actually encourage my students to get married if it is a possibility for them," said Gamboa. Marriage to a citizen results in documentation, usually in the form of a green card.
The second option is to be sponsored by a corporation under an H1B visa. The last option is the most risky, and a roll of the dice for many students. Students can go back to their country of origin and apply for citizenship to the United States. "Don't submit this paperwork unless you know what you are getting into," Gamboa warns.
This form of citizenship is risky because if documentation is not granted to the student, they are prevented from returning to the United States.
For students unclear about how to obtain American citizenship, moving back to their home country becomes an unwanted option. "My last resort would be to go back to Mexico," said Hector. "I have thought about it, but there is not a lot to do there with political science or communication majors. There are not a lot of jobs for people in communication."
The problem is that students who return to their home countries after graduation and await citizenship are not returning to their homes at all. Many, like Silvia and Hector, have grown up in America and know very little of Mexico.
"A lot of undocumented students coming through colleges have lived most of their lives here and only found out from their parents prior to applying to college that they were undocumented. To them, they are Americans," said Gamboa.
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Some might call Orlando Ramirez* a prodigy. He graduated from high school in three years, and, at only 19, is a junior honors mechanical engineering student and the president of Chicanos and Latinos in Engineering and Sciences at Santa Clara. If you ask him about all his hard work, though, all Orlando will tell you is that it is a lot of fun.
"I used to love to take apart my toys, and I really got interested in the way they worked. It was when I couldn't put my toys back together again is when my interest in engineering (began)," he said.
Coming to America only seemed natural to Orlando as he boarded a plane for California from Guadalajara, Mexico, at age 11 with his mother and sisters. His father had already been living in Watsonville, Calif., for nine years, and his family was finally ready to be back together again.
"I remember starting to watch the 1998 world cup back in Guadalajara, but by the time the finals came around, I was watching them in America," he said.
Orlando has not applied for United States citizenship or ever talked to a lawyer, nor have his parents, who are still working in Watsonville. The family is discouraged by the extensive wait to receive documentation. "What's the point?" Orlando said.
The Dream Act, originally introduced to Congress in 2002, was going to be Orlando's ticket to continue success in America.
Had it passed, it would have provided a path to legality for the estimated 65,000 annual undocumented high school graduates who were brought illegally to the United States by their parents as children or whose parents attempted to immigrate legally but were then denied legality after several years in application. This would mean that both the parents and children had illegal status.
To qualify, undocumented students would have to have proof of having arrived in the United States at 15 years of age or younger; have proof of residence in the United States for a least five consecutive years since their date of arrival; have graduated from an American high school or obtained a GED; and must have "good moral character," which means a clean criminal record.
Students who meet the requirements would be eligible to apply for a six-year conditional residence permit, which would allow them to live legally in the United States, obtain driver's licenses, attend college as in-state residents, work legally by obtaining a social security number and apply for travel documents, which would allow for travel outside of the country.
During those six years of conditional status, a student would be required to either graduate from a community college, complete at least two years toward a four-year degree or serve two years in the U.S. military. After the six-year period, a student who meets one of these conditions would be eligible to apply for a green card.
In 2006, the Dream Act was denied by Congress. This was the fourth time a version of the Dream Act was denied by both chambers.
According to James Cottrill, an American government institutions professor, the Dream Act did not pass because there are many Congressional leaders who feel this bill would encourage illegal activity.
College graduates are a niche group of people who get ignored in the big picture of immigration legislation and Congressional debate, said Cottrill.
"I was really hoping for the Dream Act," Orlando said. "I mean, I don't see why they wouldn't pass it. The economy and country would benefit from people like me staying and working here. The country's focus is on Iraq and we - we, are put off to the side."
As for now, Orlando's family lives in silent fear of deportation. They think about it, but no one talks about it. Orlando "has the fear," as he calls it. He keeps it to himself because of the stigma and because some of Orlando's closest friends don't even know about his status. One of Orlando's family friends is currently in the process of being deported, leaving his children and wife behind. Just when life feels comfortable, Orlando has to remind himself that it could all be taken away at any time, and especially if he isn't careful.
The immigration debate is not cooling off anytime soon. "Undocumented college graduates are a growing trend and community in America, and there needs to be legislation that acknowledges them," said Gamboa.
While Congress has yet to decide the fates of college students like Silvia, Congress did pass HR 6061, the Secure Fence Act of 2006. The bill extended 700 miles of wall along the Mexican- American border. The infrastructure is "to prevent unlawful border entry," according to the text of the legislation.
The bill passed Sept. 14, 2006, by both a Republican and Democrat majority opinion.
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On June 16, Silvia will walk across a stage in a black cap and gown, shake the hand of University President Paul Locatelli, SJ., and be given her college diploma.
Exactly one month prior to her walk, Congress will have introduced yet another version of the Dream Act in the House of Representatives, giving Silvia hope again that she does not have to become a waitress after graduation. "I wish I could go into the job market like everyone else who graduates from Santa Clara," she said.
After posting her resume on Monster.com, Silvia was offered a job as an administrative assistant. It was not until the employer asked for her social security number and residency card that Silvia worried. She hoped they would not attempt to verify the fake social security number she gave them. They did check, and Silvia had to walk away from the job. "That's when I started losing hope," she said.
Contact Megan O'Connor at (408) 554-4546 or moconnor@scu.edu.