After 10 years, Dreamers are still in 'survival mode.' We shouldn't be.
It’s been 10 years since the Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals program was announced, yet I remember it vividly. I didn’t know then the impact the program would have on my personal life and spent almost a year dabbling with fear, distrust and anxiety wondering if I would even qualify for the program. Finally, after another threat of deportation, I applied for DACA in 2013.
I know many think that immigrants can just line up and apply for citizenship. That’s simply not true. I knew then and still do every two years when my renewal is up. There's an immense list of requirements and hurdles to apply for protection against deportation. I was lucky my parents kept many needed documents in hopes that one day we could apply for some kind of legal status. The day came in 2013, and it wouldn’t include them. It hurts 10 years later and daily that, like millions of immigrant people, my parents don’t get any form of relief.
When the approval letter came in the mail, we cried. I felt both joy in how it would change my life and frustration that a piece of paper somehow made my existence valid. It was painful to remember the threats of deportation, letters from schools and colleges denying support, workplaces that exploited our families because of our undocumented status. Our lives were being discussed as political theater and as if we were hypothetical — as if it didn’t impact our day-to-day lives.
With DACA, I got my first driver's license at 25, changed career paths, took my first flight — things that seemed redundant to most people became first-time occurrences for me.
I still feel like I'm living on a two-year subscription that I don’t have true ownership of — hoping for the best while the odds are stacked against me. This roller coaster has had real low points — like Sept. 5, 2017, when it was rescinded. I felt a pit in my stomach and the fear in every court ruling where thousands of peoples lives are swinging in a pendulum of uncertainty and risk.
Oklahoma is home to over 6,000 DACA recipients, many of whom come from mixed status households. As we continue to defend DACA, the lack of access to initial applications leaves thousands of young people out of the opportunities and relief it could provide. These attacks aren’t just on a program; they're attacks on millions of people who deserve and need permanent solutions, people who need to feel at home, who miss home and whose home is already here.
DACA turning 10 is bittersweet — it’s a mix of feelings of joy, newness and other emotions. I’ve felt completely invisible and in a constant fight to prove my worth to people who see my undocumented status as the only thing that defines me.
I don't know what the next 10 years will bring. I know it cannot be more of the same. I know that we cannot erase the lives and the impact of a harmful immigration system that dehumanized me, my family and my community.
I know our immigrant community is beautiful, powerful, colorful, vibrant and productive.
The community deserves love, dignity and respect.They shouldn’t need to be resilient and exist constantly in survival mode — none of us should. I know we can defy the narratives of scarcity, lead with care and abundance, and build trust so that no one has to live in limbo regardless of their status.
Cynthia Garcia is a queer community organizer and DACA recipient who has lived in Oklahoma City for almost two decades.
This article originally appeared on Oklahoman: Oklahoma is home to over 6,000 Dreamers. We need a permanent solution.
