Learning ULS

As previously mentioned (section 5.2.4), Filipino-born Aja felt “assimilated” growing up in New York City and was neither aware of her ULS, nor recalled any major experiential difference between her and her peers. Aja’s perceptions and experiences changed at the end of eighth grade, when she came home with an application for a summer employment program for youth. She explained that she wanted to participate in the program and contribute financially to her family, so she took initiative to complete the application. Aja recalled that she did not know what to do when she reached the part of the form which required a social security number, as she had no idea what that was. She consulted her teacher who

“was pretty sure that everyone had one,” in turn, conditioning her expectations that she, like everyone else, had a social security number. She recounted that she went home to search for this “simple” piece of information:

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I asked my mom if I could get a simple number to finish the application. She avoided it. I wanted to have an experience and help her out financially in the household. She told me at that moment she didn’t want me to work, and she wanted me focus on my studies. I didn’t really understand why because it was during the summer.

Aja’s statements illustrate confusing and non-fitting opinions. Because the employment was during the summer, Aja could not see why it would interfere with her education. Unsatisfied with her mother’s answer, she pushed on:

The following week, I just went on the computer and looked up what a social security number was, what it meant, how to get one. I said “oh look, next door there is an office where we can get a social security number.” The next thing you know, I drag my mom outside the apartment. We drove there. At the time, I am pretty sure she knew what was going on, but I guess I was just—I wanted to find out by myself with her. I am pretty sure she knew what was going on, but I didn’t. She knew I was just trying to win this battle. I was just telling her “I think you just have to apply. Maybe you never applied.” So we stood in line at the social security office to get one. I handed the clerk my passport… That is when I found out I wasn’t a U.S. citizen or a permanent resident.

Aja’s story demonstrates not only her personal determination, but also the extent to which parents avoid disclosing ULS with their children. From Aja’s retelling of the situation, it appears as if her mother knew what would happen, but rather than stopping Aja, she let her go through the process to discover her ULS. However, even after this discovery, ULS was not discussed within her family. Aja recalled: “it is not something we talk about at the table or that she ever mentions. It’s more me fighting battles, talking to her, and trying to find answers. She avoids it.” Aja remarked upon her confusion about learning her ULS: “I didn’t know what that meant…It didn’t make sense because I came when I was five, but I technically had been a foreign student studying through high school.” Her narrative also illustrates that her new knowledge was dissonant with her past experiences: her age at arrival, long-term physical presence, and everyday participation the educational system did not fit with her ULS.

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Leticia, a self-proclaimed “Latin American” who arrived from Mexico at the age of four, found out about her ULS in middle school. She recalled that her parents stressed the importance of culture and heritage in her family, but never told her of her ULS. Instead, she found out from her brother:

I remember one night talking with my brother saying “I want to be this” and he also wanted to join the army and he couldn’t. I remember talking to him and I started off thinking I wanted to teach Philosophy. I was telling him I wanted to be a Philosophy professor and he said “yes, if they do something about our status” and I didn’t know, didn’t understand what he was meaning. I remember that my mom’s friends would ask “Why haven’t you taken Leticia to the doctor?” and she said “Oh, it’s because she wasn’t born here” and I wouldn’t understand what that meant until middle school, when my brother told me.

A seemingly casual discussion about career aspirations turned into a defining moment when Leticia learned of a fundamental barrier to achieving these goals. With this new knowledge, she reflected upon earlier memories: she recalled crossing the border at the age of two and hearing her mother say that the reason Leticia had not been to the doctor was because she was nor born in the U.S. However, it was not until her brother told her about their ULS that she fully understood past actions or inactions. She said: “I honestly never faced the fact that I was [undocumented]… it was never an issue,” illustrating that some youth do not connect everyday challenges with ULS because of their everyday routines. I asked Leticia how she felt upon hearing this information and she explained:

It was the largest frustration of my life because the way he phrased it, it was almost like

“you are not going to be able to do anything you want because you don’t have a paper with numbers.” And that just crushed me. I came to the realization that I was going to have to leave for Mexico, or just go to a college in Mexico, or just find a job after I graduated. I was just so shocked and frustrated because all my life, I had been talking about going to college and now it was going to be so hard to get there.

Leticia’s narrative is filled with emotionally-charged memories: feeling crushed, frustrated, and shocked. Perhaps the news was especially shocking because Leticia had made concrete plans for her future. Those plans that she had made “all [her] life” in the United States would no longer be possible in the United States and the reason was she did not have “a paper with numbers.” Often, the 1.5GUY

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lamented that the only thing that made them different than their American peers was “nine digits,” a

“simple document,” or a “piece of paper”—an acknowledgement that their opportunities for participation were dramatically and abruptly cut short by something as seemingly insignificant as a piece of paper. While Leticia’s realization about her ULS marks a vast contrast in her SofB, sense of self, and participation in the past versus the future, she explained that she did not confront her parents.

Instead, she opted to do her own research on the internet to understand what ULS meant, but concluded she was “a permanent resident because I live here.” When she discussed this idea with her father, she learned otherwise: I “realized I am not even realized here.” Her past experiences clashed with this new knowledge and her visions for the future were derailed. The lack of a piece of paper with numbers invalidated her experience, presence, and personhood—and SofB.

Amongst the 1.5GUY I interviewed who learned of their ULS in their late teenage years, many retrospectively reflected on experiences to make sense of their new information. For example, youth cited comments or instructions given by parents, or particular actions or inactions as the result of ULS.

Brazilian-born Sabrina, who moved to Massachusetts when she was nine, discovered her ULS in relation to the pursuit of a teenage rite of passage: getting a driver’s license. Her seemingly normal teenage question “when can I start driving school?” was a turning point in her life:

I guess when I started high school, all my friends were starting driving school, so they could get their permits. I came home one day and I told my parents “oh, when can I start driving school?” and they said “you can’t” and I said “why can’t I? I speak English!” They just told me I couldn’t because I need a social [security number]. And I started realizing that was why we hadn’t gone back to Brazil yet. And other stuff.

Sabrina’s immediate reaction was to connect her linguistic abilities to her eligibility for a driver’s license. When she learned that she had no social security number and of her ULS, she began to piece information together, for example why she and her family had never visited Brazil and why her mother was fired for working “without documents.” While Sabrina explained that in retrospect, she “thinks”

she knew that her visa had expired, she explained “I never really cared as much because it never really affected me. I didn’t work, I didn’t need anything like that.” Because she was able to participate in

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everyday life and in education, she neither paid attention to nor was very bothered by her ULS.

However, this began to change in her teenage years.

Like Sabrina, Mexican-born Alfonso who had lived in Massachusetts since age two, learned about his ULS during his teenage years. Because he had only learned of his ULS a year prior, to our meeting, he was one of the most recent and oldest youth I met with to learn of his ULS. I inquired about his

process of discovery, which appeared quite accidental:

My high school is geared towards math and science. One day, some representatives from a community college came in and said “ok, so you guys are taking this engineering class.

Would you like college credit?” and everyone said “Ya, for sure!” This was a partnership that my high school had established with the community college already—giving kids college credit. Everyone signed up and [they] said “ok, it’s going to be free for everyone.”

So I signed up too, not knowing, not thinking what the consequences might be. Freshman year, I signed up and got college credit. Sophomore year, signed up and got college credit.

“Everyone” wanted college credit, and “everyone” was earning it for free. Because of Alfonso’s membership and participation in the course, he naturally expected that the same conditions would apply to him. Further, because he did not know of his ULS, he had no reason to question otherwise. The next year, the same opportunity presented itself, but Alfonso explained “for some reason or another they got back to me and said ‘Are you a resident?’ And I said ‘What does that mean?’” He continued that his “parents had never told me anything” and therefore did not know what the question meant.

Suddenly, after already completing a class that was part of his high school curriculum, an administrator at the community college told him “if you aren’t a resident, you owe $1300.” In his confusion, he turned to his parents for answers:

They said “ok, you know what? We have to tell you you are undocumented. This is the reason why we have been hesitant to allow you to go to the DMV and get a license. Why we told you don’t get a job, don’t worry about money.

Alfonso said that he initially thought “ok, that makes sense” as he put his parents’ past and present comments together. He explained that he still “didn’t know what to feel…Other than the obvious I

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can’t drive, work, or get this college credit for free, I didn’t know what else it entailed and it didn’t seem like a significant issue and I hadn’t started considering college yet.” Alfonso’s reaction is

characterized by uncertainty. Because he had only begun to experience firsthand challenges, he did not know the full implications of ULS. In response to the college credit fee, Alfonso told the community college “just don’t give me college credit”—but added that the feel is “still chasing him.”

Because Alfonso learned of his ULS relatively recently, I was intrigued to learn more about his

experiences growing up, including how his parents handled questions related to ULS or legal residency.

More specifically, I asked if he had discussed work, driving, or international travel with his parents and how they responded. Alfonso explained:

For the job, they said “you don’t need it. What do you need? Tell me what you need? I will get it for you.” I said “ok cool, I don’t need a job then.” For the driver’s license, I said

“can I drive yet?” and they said “you don’t know how to yet. We haven’t taught you.”

And I said “well, I can go to driver’s ed, right? And then go and take the test. They said

“you don’t need driver’s ed. We’ll teach you.” And they finally taught me and I did start driving, actually, without a license. I would sometimes ask them “can I get a license?” so I cannot be worried about getting stopped? Actually, when I asked them this was right before I found out that I was undocumented, so the answer was pretty immediate. Not being able to travel—I would ask them about some of the trips my school or some other program I was doing were going outside of the country. They said “oh, it’s too expensive”

or “look for a program here in the US.”

Alfonso’s narrative adds to the understanding of parental approaches regarding discussions about and divulgence of ULS from Chapter Five. It also illustrates how parents condition their children’s everyday experiences early in life, as well as in relation to blocked opportunities because of ULS.

Notably, however, parents’ ability to circumvent disclosure is limited due to youth’s increasing

questions, worry, and curiosity, and furthermore, the passage of time. Alfonso explained that growing up, his parents would often refer to an external “process” that was underway:

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One time they did tell me “oh, because you were born in Mexico, your citizenship and visa and passport and all that are being reviewed, but we have initiated a process. You just have to wait for that.” Actually, they used that quite a bit, now that I think about it. That I would just have to wait for the process to be done. I was always wondering about the process, what kind of process it was, can I do anything about it.

This “process” was implicated with long-term uncertainty and ambiguity, and Alfonso recalled finally growing impatient; his parents could no longer postpone disclosure. He asked his parents: “Can I help you guys push it along cause it’s been five years?” and explained “eventually, they just said ‘you can’t.

There is no process. We don’t know what to do.’” His story highlights another aspect of ULS: for most undocumented immigrants, there is no easy way—or any way—to legalize ULS. In the meantime, 1.5GUY attempt to find alternative ways to navigate everyday life, including just waiting things out.

Like Alfonso, Diego discovered his ULS during his late teenage years and more specifically, right before his high school graduation. As described in Chapter Five, Diego’s early life and adaptation processes in the United States included intense feelings of difference, the inability to communicate the most basic needs in English, and years of struggling linguistically, socially, and academically. Over time, however, this changed, demonstrating a marked difference from his earliest experiences. He described his high school experience: “I was doing great, doing sports, I was accepted into the Spanish honor society, the National Honor Society and everything. It was good. My grades were always As and Bs. I graduated from there in the top 5%. I was doing great.” Diego’s enjoyment, acceptance, participation, and membership in clubs and organizations allowed him to achieve a SofB through participation and validation. Furthermore, he not only participated, but was also accepted as a member due to the recognition of his achievements. Then, he suddenly discovered his ULS:

When I was going to graduate, my dad was like “well, you are about to graduate. When you graduate, I am going to send you to Mexico.” And I was like “why are you going to send me to Mexico? I want to go to university. I want to work here, and everything.” He said “well, you don’t have documents, so you can’t work. You can’t go to school. You can’t drive. You can’t do anything, so why stay? You might as well go back.”

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Diego’s narrative illustrates the desire to stay and continue his life, studies, and employment in the United States. However, he recalled that his dad “was willing to do anything just to send me back,”

since the only future he could see for Diego was one filled with the same challenges and barriers he was facing. I asked Diego how he managed to stay in the United States instead of returning to Mexico and he referred to his immigration story (sections 5.1, 5.2). He recalled the difficult journey and his determination to “never give up.” He asked his dad “Don’t you remember what we came for? I just told my dad I was going to fight for what I really wanted.” Yet though Diego was determined to find a way to achieve his goals, he noted that he had no contact with other 1.5GUY and did not know how to continue. Due to the uncertainty, lack of information, and lack of resources, Diego explained that he remained home for several months neither working nor participating in education; while determined, he was temporarily derailed.