The Bumpy Road to Victory

Rivers of tears formed on my cheeks as my counselor explained my situation to me. It was the year 2006, my family had illegally migrated to the United States 10 years earlier, and I was starting my freshman year of high school in the small Texan town of Weslaco. My father and mother wanted better lives for my younger sister Dulce and I, so they decided to cross over to the “Promised Land.” My family crossed the Rio Grande River on a chilly September night. I remember walking for hours until we were picked up by a cousin at a nearby gas station. I was only six years old at the time and even though I was very young I somehow knew that my life had just changed dramatically.

My father was an alcoholic, and because of our “situation” his alcoholism only got worse. Sometimes he would come home so mad that he would just beat my mother while I just watched helplessly because I was so terrified of him. I cried so much every time I saw him beat her because I loved her so much, and I felt like such a coward. My poor mother never pressed charges for fear of deportation. This was my everyday life, constant fear.

I sat in that small cushion chair in front of my high school counselor as she explained that without a Social Security number I was not able to apply for college. Even though I knew I was in the U.S. illegally I never thought that it meant I was going to be prevented from pursuing higher education. My counselor explained that even if a college did accept me without a Social Security number, it would just be too expensive for me since I did not qualify for financial aid. From that day forward, my perspective on my future changed completely. Being in high school and a teenager did not help at all. Feeling trapped in a life that I didn’t choose, I started acting up a lot in school. I just didn’t care anymore. I would ask myself, “Why does it matter?”

One afternoon my little sister Paula thought it would be funny to play a prank on me. That same day my father was drunk. Again. Paula told my dad I was smoking weed, after my dad confronted me about it, he kicked me out of the house. Stranded, I ended up staying at a friend’s house for a week. My parents had apparently called the police and told them I had run away; they classified me as a “Runaway Child” which is almost the same as being called a “Delinquent.” After the police brought me back home I knew things were going to be bad. I expected my dad to beat me so hard he would put me in the hospital. My legs quivered as I walked up my drive way. I saw my parents sign some papers the officer gave them, and then he got in his police car and drove away. How ironic, I thought, as I read the words “To Protect and Serve” in bold black letters on the side of the car grow smaller and then vanish around the corner.

My father screamed at me about how worried he was that I had left the house. Every time I tried to explain how he had kicked me out, he would only yell louder about how I was ruining my life. I cried to him how it just didn't matter anymore what I did with my life because I wasn't going to actually have one. I told him I didn't have a chance at college and that I was bound to work at an under-the-table-job for the rest of my life. My father’s “Promised Land” had nothing promising for me. As I sat on my bed drowning in my tears me, my father asked what I wanted in life. I told him I wanted to go to college. I wanted a degree in medical science. I wanted a decent job that could support me. I wanted a better life.

My father stood there motionless. When he finally did move he sat next to me. At that moment, my father made what must have been the most difficult decision in his life. He asked me if I wanted to go live with Jessica and her husband Stephen. Both were old friends of my family and were in a better position to care for me than my own parents. I knew I had a better chance of going to college if I went to live with them. That same day I called Jessica and Stephen and told them my situation and without hesitation they took me in. My parents and Jessica and Stephen signed the Custody Agreement and the next week I was on a plane from McAllen, Texas to Philadelphia, PA.

Arriving in the big city, I was astonished at everything around me—so many huge buildings, so many people. A couple of weeks later I started public school in Philadelphia where I discovered the meaning of the “urban language.” Everything seemed to be going well, I had great friends, a nice family to live with and my track career was at its peak. That's when colleges started noticing me. I couldn’t believe it, but colleges were actually recruiting me. That's when Jessica and Steven decided to get parental rights over me and help me get my permanent residency.
Jessica called a lawyer and explained my situation to them. The lawyer said that based on my past living experiences with my family in Texas, I would qualify for Special Immigrant Juvenile Status (SIJ). The first step in the procedure was for my parents to relinquish their parental rights, meaning that I was essentially “abandoned” and “dependent.” By relinquishing their parental rights I was able to be placed in the care of American citizens and declared dependent by the court. Later, I had to take a Bio-test and had to get my fingerprints taken and after several months and a lot of work I received my green card. That was a glorious day for me. I finally qualified for health care. I quickly applied for my social security number, and in about five weeks my Social Security card arrived in the mail. With my social security number I can finally acquire my driver’s license, apply for college and qualify for financial aid. Now, I am getting ready to graduate from high school and I am heading to college. I see a very bright future now.

Before, all I could see in front of me was a giant wall. I was feeling like I had no future. I couldn’t see past the wall. Now things are so much better for me. The wall is no longer an obstacle in front of me. Now, I am perched on top of the wall and I can see my potential. I know it is up to me to make something out of myself. I will be starting college this fall and soon I will have a proper job. I love knowing that I will succeed.

MYTH: Training Local Police to Enforce Immigration Law Will Make our Communities Safer

Restrictionists often prescribe this mythological solution to the mythological problem of high crime rates among immigrants. But, it's far from the truth! But, before you throw your hands up in defeat when you hear someone repeat it, consider responding with these quick mythbusting facts!FACT: Engaging in 287(g) programs can be costly to the local police department. Three months after Arizona Sheriff Joe Arpaio of Maricopia County partnered with ICE, the office had created a $1.3 million deficit. By the end of the first month of the partnership, deputies began working 4,500 extra hours every two-week pay period (compared to 2,900 extra hours previously). In April 2007, deputies worked more than 9,000 overtime hours at a cost to the county of $373,757.FACT: Staffing the immigration beat pulls police officers away from their other duties. In Maricopa County in 2006 and 2007, patrol cars arrived late two-thirds of the time on more than 6,000 of the most serious calls for service. In order to staff the immigration team, Sheriff Arpaio pulled deputies off patrol beats and used them to staff the human-smuggling unit. Every patrol district, the trails and lake divisions, and central investigations bureau all lost deputies. Armed with fewer deputies, the districts’ response times to emergency calls increased.More mythbusting facts on this issue can be found in the IPC's Immigration Fact Check entitled "What Happens When Local Cops Become Immigration Agents?"

http://www.immigrationpolicy.org/images/File/factcheck/AZTribuneSeries8-6-08.pdf