Why one undocumented student is walking the Trail of Dreams
By Carolyn Goossen
New America Media
Mar 17, 2010
Four students who were
brought to the United States by their families when they were young and
are still undocumented are walking 1,500 miles from their homes in
Miami, Fla. to Washington, D.C., to ask for immigration reform. Carlos
Roa, 22, is one of the four Trail of Dreams walkers who are calling for
the implementation of The Dream Act, federal legislation that would give
undocumented immigrants who came to this country as children a pathway
to citizenship after completing college. It would also give them access
to private loans, to help pay for their university education. Carlos
arrived in the United States at the age of 2 and has been living here
for 20 years without documents. He spoke with NAM editor Carolyn Goossen.
NAM: How did you and your
family come to live in the United States?
My grandfather was living
in New York. He was a banquet hall manager at the New York Hilton and
was very successful. When he got sick, my father, who was an only child,
decided to come to the United States from Venezuela to take care of him.
My grandfather petitioned
for my father to get citizenship during this visit, but then my
grandfather passed away. My father inherited some money, property and
stocks from his father, so he decided to stay. He really wanted his
children to be educated here, so he brought my mother, my older sister
and myself to the United States from Caracas, Venezuela. I was 2 years
old.
NAM: Were your parents
able to work here?
In Venezuela, my father
worked for the Polar Beer Company, and my mother was a housewife. When
he came here, he decided to invest his inheritance to open a business in
Miami. He wanted to sell industrial products to Venezuela, but his
business was unsuccessful, and my dad had to close it down. That’s when
things went downhill for us.
My little sister was born,
and my mother developed breast cancer, and we started struggling
financially. We were evicted time after time.
My father was unable to
fix his status. He could never get a steady job, or a good job, because
he didn’t have any papers. In those days, he at least had a license, but
then after 9-11, things got even worse in the state of Florida for
immigrants and they changed the law regarding licenses. When my father’s
license expired he was not allowed to renew it because of his status.
NAM: What was it like
being an undocumented student?
I always knew I was
undocumented, but I didn’t really understand what it meant until high
school. When my older sister and I got to high school we would talk
about our status a lot with our parents. We’d always be on my father’s
case, and ask him, what the hell are we going to do after high school?
When are we getting our papers?
At the same time, my
mother’s cancer was getting worse, and we were still dealing with
evictions, and the daily struggles of poverty.
Our friends were getting
drivers licenses, looking forward to life after high school. And we were
evading the simplest questions like, what are you going to do after high
school?
NAM: What was the hardest
part of high school for you?
Senior year was the most
depressing year. I remember just working as many odd jobs as I could,
trying to help out the family.
I didn’t dare go to a
college counselor to ask about the possibility of college, because I
didn’t want them know about my status. I remember my assistant principal
asking me at graduation, ‘Carlos, what are you going to do after high
school?’ I remember lying, saying, ‘I’m going to join the air force,’
even when I knew I couldn’t do that.
We didn’t know at that
time that we had access to community college… we just assumed that
college was not open to us.
I managed to graduate with
a 3.0, but I was really down.
My mom passed away in
2006. I worked in construction for a while, and then I lost that job.
That’s when I said, enough is enough, I need to do something, and I
wrote a letter explaining my situation and what I wanted to do with my
life, and I distributed it to different organizations across the
nation-- news outlets, editors, everybody you could imagine. That’s how
I got connected to Students Working for Equal Rights (SWER). Since that
time, I’ve been fighting for the Dream Act and pro-migrant legislation.
NAM: What made you decide
to “come out” as undocumented at that time?
I don’t know from where I
got the will or the courage to write that letter and send it out, but I
think a lot of it came from my mother. She was a very strong woman. And
I had so much frustration and anger. I just couldn’t take it anymore.
Getting involved in SWER,
I met other students in my same situation for the first time. Some of
them were going to college, and I was in complete shock. I asked them,
how did you get into school if you are undocumented? They helped me
understand the system better so I was able to enroll in Miami Dade
College in January 2009.
NAM: How would the Dream
Act help you achieve your goals?
My goal in life is to
become an architect. But I’m only taking a couple of classes per
semester because I’m paying out-of-state tuition, even thought I’ve been
living here in Florida for 20 years. I can’t work. I can’t get most
scholarships. And I can’t drive.
If the Dream Act were to
pass this year, it would definitely make my life a whole lot easier. I
would be able not only to provide for my family better in the short
term, but it would help me realize my dream of becoming an architect. I
would finally be able to work, drive, and maybe travel.
NAM: What has been the
most exciting part of being on the Trail of Dreams?
The most exciting part so
far has been walking with hundreds of people who support our cause. In
small little towns, like Stewart, Fla., we had a congregation of a
Catholic Church walk with us. It was freezing cold and raining, and
still 50 people walked with us. We also had over 50 day laborers walk
with us in Jupiter, Fla. That was a very humbling experience because of
all the people that are affected when it comes to immigration, they are
the ones who are the worst off. I remember speaking to a couple of them,
and they talked about not having work for two months and trying to
provide for their families.
NAM: And what about the
most frightening moment?
The worst moment was
probably when we went to Nahunta, Ga. The Ku Klux Klan was having a
rally and their protest was about stopping the invasion of illegals,
stopping sex offenders and anger over not having prayers in schools. We
went there in order to counter-demonstrate, alongside the NAACP. Living
in Miami, I had never seen the Klan out in public like that. It must
have been 50-100 people in their rally, and our side was smaller then
theirs. We were there confronting our worst fears. There was really
heavy police presence. [So] we were separated from each other.
The other experience was
going to [Gwinett County] Sheriff Butch Conway’s office. He likes to
refer to undocumented people as illegal aliens and always mentions how
the 287(g) programs [which authorize local law enforcement to enforce
immigration law] have been good for the community. We went to show him
that the 287(g) program is counter-effective for the entire community
because when people are afraid of the police, they will not report
crimes. We asked for a meeting, and the sheriff’s office said that the
sheriff was too busy. So we walked into the building regardless, even
though we were basically risking arrest because it’s a 287(g) area,
which means any undocumented immigrants can be arrested by local law
enforcement.
NAM: Why is being on this
Trail of Dreams so important to you?
It’s about liberating
ourselves from the fear of being undocumented. That’s been the most
rewarding part of being on this walk. Meeting so many people, we finally
feel like we are living life. For so long we lived in the shadows, and
things were getting worse. We are finally taking control of our own
life.
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