Immigration Wars: Forging an American Solution (15 page)

Laura moved to the United States for college, graduating from the University of Miami in 2000. She pursued graduate work at the London School of Economics, then moved to California to work for her aunt’s company. By then her parents had moved to Arizona, and Laura moved there, too. Her dad became ill with cancer and died in 2005. He asked Laura to stay in Arizona with her mother. During that time, she pursued her passion for the Constitution through internships with the American Civil Liberties Union, the Alliance for School Choice, and the Goldwater Institute.

But immigration issues interceded. Laura was not automatically eligible for citizenship by virtue of her father’s citizenship. She was, however, eligible for a family preference—but that
preference died with her father. More than half a decade later, Laura says the experience is “still incredibly raw for me. I asked my mother, do they think he is no longer my father because he is dead?”

Laura became worried about overstaying her visa. She tried to obtain an H-1B visa to work at a communications firm but the quota was exhausted. She instead obtained a student visa to pursue a master’s degree, first at Arizona State University and then at George Washington University. From there she took a position with the Cato Institute, which obtained an H-1B visa for her. Since 2009 she has worked as a senior communications specialist with the International Foundation for Electoral Systems.

Ironically, Laura finally moved onto a path to citizenship through the son of an immigrant when she married Cameron Khosrowshahi in 2010. Cameron’s mother was born in the Bronx and his father emigrated from Iran and became an American citizen. Laura now has a green card and eventually will be able to apply for American citizenship.

“The process can be cumbersome and frustrating,” Laura says with understatement. “I cannot wait to get my citizenship. I am already writing my speech on the U.S. Constitution. I will tell my fellow immigrants that they are lucky to be here.”

Even more than that, Laura explains, “I want my children to be American. I want them to have the perspective of Americans,” of a people who have no sense of entitlement. “It’s different from Mexico and Europe in that people are equal.” In America there is no class stratification, and anyone can get ahead with hard work and talent. “It is a country that opens doors,” Laura declares emphatically.

It is a shame that someone like Laura Osio Khosrowshahi had to pry those doors open. Our immigration policies should make it easier for high-skilled, hardworking immigrants to become U.S. citizens. Laura’s talent, hard work, and passion for American ideals will make her a valued citizen. It is not her American roots or the status of citizenship but her American mind-set that will make her so. We are fortunate that Laura and others like her remain determined to join the American family, despite the frustrating obstacles placed in their paths.

When President Obama issued his deferred-action policy, hundreds of thousands of young people who were brought illegally into the United States became eligible to remain lawfully. For the
first time those young people were able to take a tenuous step toward the only status many of them have ever known: Americans.

For Dulce Vazquez, twenty-one, and her sister, Bibiana, nineteen, who were profiled by the
Arizona Republic,
the policy was a dream come true. Instantly they began preparing the paperwork and documentation necessary to stay in the country legally and obtain work permits.
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The girls were brought to the United States from Mexico by their parents when they were one and three. Their father had lost his job in Mexico and found work in the United States. He regularly crossed the border to rejoin his family and then to return for work to the United States, but over time the crossings became more difficult. He and his wife decided their only alternative was to move the whole family to America.

Although Dulce knew little English when she started kindergarten, both girls ultimately excelled in school. Bibiana graduated in the top 1 percent of her class. Dulce was in student government and the National Honor Society, and a marketing presentation earned her recognition in a statewide competition by the Future Business Leaders of America.

Both girls enrolled at a local college, but because of their undocumented status they do not qualify for in-state tuition. The
expense forces them to be careful with course selection. “You don’t have the luxury or liberty of ‘That’s okay, I’m going to drop that class,’ ” says Bibiana. “Because every penny counts when the money is coming from your own pocket.” Ironically, the girls’ younger brother will be able to qualify for in-state tuition because he was born in the United States.

Although the girls cannot vote because they are not citizens, they became politically active, attending DREAM Act rallies and registering voters. Eventually their hopes were realized when President Obama announced his deferred-action policy. Even though the policy does not confer permanent legal status, it will enable Dulce and Bibiana to obtain work permits, which they eagerly desire. “A door opened for them,” says their mother, “so now they can pursue their dreams and come out of the shadows.”

Of course, Dulce and Bibiana are far from alone in their hopes. On August 15, 2012, the first day on which applications were available, tens of thousands of young people who were born outside the United States began applying for deferred-action status and the chance to work legally. In Chicago, sixteen-year-old Nayeli Manzano planned to leave with her parents at around 4:30 a.m. to be one of the first in line to apply at the Navy Pier.
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But a
friend called at around midnight to tell her a large crowd already was arriving. So Nayeli left right away. “This is my chance, I’m not going to let it go,” she declared. The following month, Benita Veliz, a fellow DREAMer who had been brought from Mexico to San Antonio, Texas, at age eight, became the first undocumented immigrant to address the Democratic National Convention.
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“I almost felt redeemed for all of those years and all of those moments when I wanted to give up on my dream,” the former high school valedictorian reflected after the event. “Tonight was just a reminder that in America our dreams really do come true.”

Although the future for DREAMers under the deferred-action policy is far from certain, Dulce and Bibiana Vazquez hope it is a step toward permanency and stability. “We’re going to look back at this time and think, ‘Man, we went through a lot and still made it,’ ” says Bibiana. “I’ll tell my kids about it and I’ll be like, you can’t tell me you can’t wash those dishes. Let me tell you what I did.”

If we can develop an immigration policy that recognizes just how truly American young people like the Vazquez sisters already are, one day Bibiana indeed will be able to tell her children how precious it is to be Americans.

Annette Poppleton was born in England to a farm family. She worked her way to a college scholarship and became a teacher, her profession now for more than forty years. “I love teaching,” she says with passion. “Wouldn’t change it for the world.”
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In 1988, Annette and her husband brought their children on vacation from England to see Mickey Mouse in Orlando, Florida, for a three-week vacation. As devout Christians, they found a local church to attend. When local parishioners learned that Annette worked well with problem children, they encouraged them to move to the United States. They decided to do so. “We thought it would be nice and easy,” recounts Annette, “but it wasn’t.”

Indeed, the past twenty-four years have been more of a nightmare, the kind of nightmare encountered by many immigrants. The system is so complex that it is impossible to navigate without a lawyer. There are many good and conscientious immigration lawyers—and many bad ones.

Annette was advised by an attorney that she could work pending immigration approval. She found work as a teacher in a Christian school. Her husband had to return to England to attend his ill mother but was not permitted to return, “indefinitely pending
tribunal.” Their lawyer failed to appear at the hearing. Eventually they were removed from the United States.

But still they were not deterred. The couple returned as visitors. This time they found a responsible lawyer who secured a special visa for them as pastors. In 2000, they opened their own school associated with the church they were pastoring, and in 2002 Annette became its principal. The school started with six students and has grown to sixty, employing six teachers. Three-quarters of the children are special-education students, ranging from autism to partial blindness to learning disabilities.

Annette characterizes the school’s impact on its students as “miraculous.” She describes one boy who was expelled from public school kindergarten because of frequent meltdowns and in four years “has gone from totally unable to learn to becoming a learner.” The school has special success with autistic students, helping them achieve dramatic academic progress.

Unfortunately, the attorney who had secured visas for Annette and her husband died. They found a new attorney, who applied to renew their visa, but the renewal was denied. Apparently Annette and her husband were eligible to apply for green cards but no one told them that. Altogether, Annette and her husband have spent more than thirty thousand dollars on attorney fees, which was extremely
difficult because of their meager salaries. The money was for naught as Annette was forced to return to England in late 2012. “I don’t have anything in England,” Annette laments. “My school is my life. My life is my school.”

“I have sixty children who need me, and I have teachers who need me,” Annette adds. “They need me to be their backbone.” She hopes somehow to return as quickly as possible. “America has not made me rich, but it has made me wise,” Annette says. “I still believe in this country.”

Annette’s loss is our loss: we cannot afford to send away talented people who are willing to dedicate their lives to America’s children, because of a hopelessly complex immigration system. America will be a better place if Annette Poppleton is among us.

Faithful Okoye is one of five children in a family born in Port Harcourt, Nigeria. Her parents both had college degrees and were able to enroll her in a good boarding school. But having visited the United States, Faithful’s mother thought it would give her children better opportunities in life if they studied in America. So
she set forth to make it possible for them to do so. “All of people’s dreams in Nigeria are of going to the U.S.,” Faithful explains.
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“If someone gives you the opportunity to come to the United States, you wouldn’t blink, you would just go.”

The first to go was Faithful’s older sister Suzylene. It took a long time to obtain a student visa, but she finally did. “Whoa, she’s actually leaving,” was Faithful’s reaction. “She’s the one who set the path for the rest of us.” In Nigeria, students would go directly to medical school from high school. The United States offered much more extensive training. Suzylene took pre-med courses and now is in a nursing program.

Faithful’s other sister, Providence, embarked a year after Suzylene. She took pre-law courses in college and then earned a law degree at the University of Richmond. She now clerks for an American judge.

After that, additional visas were rejected for the Okoye children. So Faithful’s mother applied for a student visa and was given one. She brought Faithful with her as a minor child.

Although the United States was much different from her native Nigeria, Faithful did not have that difficult a transition, because she was reunited with her family and had watched a lot
of American movies. Faithful initially attended a public school but was too academically advanced for it. Her family couldn’t afford private school tuition, but she received financial aid with a work requirement to attend a private high school in Florida. She graduated at age fifteen.

One of her brothers, who arrived after Faithful, also as a minor dependent, graduated with her. But her other brother has had his student visa applications rejected five times. Faithful explains that American officials don’t want the entire family to be in the United States, because they believe it will make their return to Nigeria less likely. “It’s sad that I haven’t seen my brother for five years now and it’s simply because of the immigration system,” Faithful says. He is now applying to Canadian colleges in hope of a better outcome.

Faithful was accepted at Florida International University (FIU) in Miami but that meant she needed to obtain her own student visa. She applied and it was rejected, even though her brother’s application was approved. So Faithful faced having to abandon her studies and return to Nigeria. “We were praying about it,” Faithful remembers. Fortunately her appeal was successful, and she started classes in summer 2009.

Faithful had to leave FIU because she couldn’t afford it, so she enrolled at Broward College, from which she graduated with a two-year degree in 2011. Her work was so exceptional that she won a Jack Kent Cooke Scholarship that could be used to finish her studies anywhere. She decided to enroll at the University of Florida, which offered in-state tuition through a program designed to foster international relations, which requires graduates to return home for at least four years.

Faithful is studying journalism at the University of Florida with a minor in history. She admits to becoming a Gators fan. “I think you have to be,” she laughs. “I really love it. It infects you with the Gator pride.”

Faithful’s family is becoming binational. Suzylene still hopes to earn a medical degree and is not sure if she will stay in the United States or return to Nigeria. Providence married an American citizen and has a green card. Faithful is torn about whether to leave or stay. If she returns, she would like to become a journalist to report on government activities and be a part of a system of checks and balances. “I feel like I’m needed there,” she says. “I’m scared when I hear about the violence but I want to help out.” But she also can envision becoming a history professor in the
United States. “What I have here is peace and sanity,” she explains, adding that she would like to be able to give that to her future children.