Don’t pity me: Why I am both undocumented and unafraid

By Lee-Ann Graham

Let me tell you something about undocumented people and people who have DACA status.

We are strong.

Yes, some of us are fearful that we will be deported. Yes, we need the Dream Act to pass, so that we can continue to have legal status and work and get an education. But do not reduce us to fear alone. We are so much more than that.

This country depends upon undocumented immigrants like me. We are woven into the fabric of the nation.

As a paraprofessional, I serve students in public schools — they count on me not only to teach them, but to counsel them, support them and give them strength. Others work to take care of other people’s children, becoming intertwined in their family relationships. Undocumented and DACA-holding immigrants work in hospitals, nursing patients back to health. We teach the children in our public schools, prepare and serve food in restaurants, maintain our public spaces, run small shops and work in big ones, and help grow and transport the food our farmers grow.

Undocumented immigrants are essential workers in a vast system that is the American economy and the American social network.

In short, we are essential workers in a vast system that is the American economy and the American social network. And that doesn’t even count the money we pour in as we purchase everything from iPhones to eyeglasses, televisions, trucks and school supplies, and the interactions we have with people in our neighborhoods, schools, places of worship and other community gathering places.

I was 14 years old when I moved to this country from Trinidad and Tobago, making me eligible for Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals as an adult — had I been 16 or older, I would have missed that opportunity. I applied and received DACA status, which allowed me to work and attend school without the threat of deportation.

Many DACA activists assume that all or most DACAmented people are Latino and have traveled north from Mexico and Central and South America. The truth is, about a quarter of undocumented immigrants are not Latino, and they hail from all over the world — Africa, Europe, Asia, the Middle East. Many are black, like me. Many are from the Caribbean. It’s easy to marginalize immigrants who do not fit the expected profile, especially when some of us blend in and “pass” as English-speaking, U.S.-born citizens, but we are here. And we encounter some of the same issues Latino immigrants face.

DACA opened up my horizons…[but] it was also the drive and determination I’d developed as an undocumented immigrant that allowed me to advance.

For example, I understand what it’s like growing up feeling that you are “illegal,” persona non grata. DACA turned that around. It gave me opportunities I would not otherwise have had, and opened up my horizons. Before DACA, it was carved out for me that I would be a babysitter or a housekeeper — those were the expectations for Caribbean immigrants like me. And so that is what I did. But I was not very good at either job. When I got a job at a restaurant and became a barista, I felt I had broken the mold. But I didn’t think beyond the restaurant — that seemed to me to be the highest I could go, given my status.

DACA changed that. My first job as a DACAmented person was at Target — not so different from many mainland-born Americans. When I became a paraprofessional working to help young children, I saw the opportunity for career growth. Then I enrolled at Kingsborough Community College, 11 years after I graduated from high school. That was huge.

But DACA didn’t hand all of this to me on a silver platter. It was also the drive and determination I’d developed as an undocumented immigrant that allowed me to advance. Because of my experience living on the margins of society, I take nothing for granted. I celebrate every opportunity. And I’m not the only one.

We are more than a sad, sympathetic group that needs help…we are relevant to Americans as educators, paramedics, members of the military.

Undocumented adults are our best selves because of where we’ve been. We are more than a sad, sympathetic group that needs help, more than just a group of scared people whose parents dragged them here and — “oh my God!” — poor us. We are relevant to Americans as educators. I’m relevant to your children. As a paramedic, an undocumented worker is relevant to anyone who’s in the hospital. As a member of the military, he or she is relevant to our country, going to war for us and sacrificing everything.

Even the undocumented immigrants most widely understood as oppressed and abused — Latino people who have crossed dangerous borders and/or fled murderous circumstances in their home countries — cannot be defined solely as victims. They too are strong and resilient: Just imagine what it takes to run through the desert, come into another country not even speaking the language, find an occupation, and know that you’re being paid less than minimum wage yet come to work every day and outperform your colleagues to save money to send back to your family.

While I have not had that experience, I see its value and the value in every immigrant experience. I embrace what we immigrants do have in common: the desire to excel, to make a good life for ourselves and our families. That is what we will work toward as we fight to pass the Dream Act. We will take strength from one another. We will continue to be relevant, to contribute. We will continue to speak out, undocumented and unafraid. And we will fight for a clean Dream Act.

Lee-Ann Graham is a paraprofessional in a New York City public school and a member of the United Federation of Teachers. She is also a student at Kingsborough Community College, City University of New York, where the Professional Staff Congress, another AFT affiliate, represents faculty and staff.