A Conditional Lease
Today, I signed a ten-month lease while in the midst of an uncertain present and future for myself. I am currently entering my 4th year as an undergrad, the penultimate semester where my life and future have already been engraved since I was a child. But unlike almost everybody else, I am an undocumented immigrant currently living in San Diego who has no easy way of finding employment without work authorization. So, I will truly be facing the extent of my status at the end of this year and early 2025, when all eyes will be on me regarding the infamous question: So what's next after undergrad? With no grad school on my radar anytime soon, I can't hide behind higher education regarding my uncertain future. Ultimately making me feel as though I am free, falling into the abyss of my status and its structural limitations.
Growing up as an undocumented youth, I didn't become fully conscious of what my status meant until the time I was a teenager. I remember being assigned an extra credit assignment for U.S. history back in 7th grade during the Fall 2016 Presidential election. Where I would watch U.S. history be made once all the states had cast their electoral college votes and elected a new U.S. president. I had known that Trump was an obvious bigot towards all marginalized communities, but his central message to all Americans was the unnerving threat of all undocumented immigrants and what they stood for. As a symbol of a backward future filled with drug cartels, national violence, and immoral character. So, I had to report to my teacher how I felt when hearing that the next U.S. president was Trump in a way that didn't disclose my status but showed the deep ways that it would affect me and my family in the near future.
I am fortunate enough to live in California, allowing me to have certain rights and privileges that aren't accessible to all undocumented immigrants. Most importantly, I need access to a driver's license and be eligible for in-state tuition and financial aid. So I knew that I would have to do things a little bit differently than everyone else, but I still had the same potential and possibility of driving and attending college in the future. However, it wasn't until the spring semester of my senior year that I realized that I had lived a sheltered life, a life sheltered by my status and its hard realities. DACA (Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals), a 2014 policy implemented under the Obama administration that took decades, and the formal creation of undocumented organizing, allowed a pathway to work authorization and nothing else for undocumented youth who were brought to the U.S. by their parents. My family couldn't file my application sooner due to finances, but in early 2021, I was hopeful that I would still be able to do anything despite my status. In July 2021, after President Biden reinstated DACA just that January, allowing me to send my application in, a federal judge effectively canceled Biden's executive order. Leaving me in an unpredictable position and ultimately changing the course of my life as I know it.
My immigration story is like so many others, that people were months or even weeks away from being able to escape the largest limitation that comes with being undocumented. Work Authorization. This is something that U.S.-born citizens never have to worry about and can easily transition in and out of jobs, but it is the defining factor behind the feasibility of living somewhere in the U.S. as an undocumented immigrant. Where the only real and proven method behind adjusting your undocumented status is marrying a U.S. citizen. But even then, your status will always be contested, and having a previous life as a former undocumented immigrant living in the U.S. is a stain that will never go away, no matter what identification you might have.
Policy-wise, regarding expanding the rights of undocumented immigrants, there is a continual attitude of taking two steps forward and one step back. Just recently, President Biden announced a new policy, Parole in Place (PIP), that would effectively create a pathway to citizenship for undocumented immigrants who are either married to or a stepchild of U.S Citizens. PIP was passed and enacted on August 19th, allowing all eligible undocumented immigrants to send in their applications to help unify mixed-status families together. However, only a full week after it was passed, on August 26th, PIP was already being appealed as unconstitutional in Texas Federal Courts. Freezing any definitive benefit of the policy but still accepting applications even if the policy is deemed unlawful long-term. Ultimately, this news is nothing new, but it leaves a lingering doubt that there's never going to be a satisfactory institutional solution to support the undocumented community when creating a pathway to citizenship. But instead, pieces of the state legislature that work to help undocumented immigrants.
Before signing my lease, I had to withdraw my deposit from my bank and worked with a financial advisor to do so. Once the transaction was completed, she asked me if I was considering saving up for anything big like a car, house, or retirement. And all I could say is that, no, I don't have anything predestined for my future or am working to save for. This is because creating something permanent through worldly possessions feels like it is too good to be true. It is as if, at any moment, the rug will be swept up from under me, and all my hopes and dreams will be nothing more than that and not a reality. There is always a state of uncertainty where any positive thing that could benefit the lives of undocumented people could be easily taken away. There is an invisible timer for every one of us when we will have to completely change our lives due to our status and have to say goodbye to the U.S. and everything within it. Including the memories of our hometown, places we've lived in, and the people we've ever gotten to know and love. So by not having larger ambitions regarding my future, I am saving myself the pain of ripping away all the roots and ties to the U.S. in case I ever have to leave my current life.
Manuel Rodriguez
