Sometimes I don't plan to do a diary. Then I read something that I know others should see. This morning it was a column by Mary Schmich in The Chicago Tribune, Undocumented and unafraid, about a young, undocumented alien named Tania, a 26 year old brought here from Mexico by her parents when she was 10. They entered on tourist visas. As Schmich writes
Tania learned early to keep quiet about her status. Kids do. She didn't feel the strong pinch of life without documents until she attended Lincoln Park High School, where she was in the International Baccalaureate program and captain of the swim team.
When a student group went to France, she didn't have a visa, so said she was too busy to go.
When other swimmers became summer lifeguards, she had no valid Social Security card, so claimed she had other plans.
You perhaps need to read the rest of the column to understand why I think it is important.
Please keep reading what I have to say.
Yes, Tania came illegally, and currently is on a one-year humanitarian visa. She was a minor. Her parents brought her here. Other than her undocumented status she has abided by all rules, done all we could ask of her.
The current status of the law is that she cannot be denied attendance at a public school because of her status. We also claim we want children to ready for college or work when they finish high school. She finished, she was ready, even admitted to Bryn Mawr. Are we unwilling to reward that hard work by denying her the ability to remain, to continue her education, to be a productive participant in our society?
Had her family not entered in an improper fashion she would long ago have been able to become a citizen. She is a model of what we might want for our young people.
Legions of young people like her — brought here as children by their parents, now American in every way but the paperwork — continue to live squeezed between the desire to speak out and the reflex to hide.
Tania and hundreds of thousands like her have grown up vilified and marginalized. No matter how honest they are otherwise, they're trapped in a subterfuge they did not create.
"I worry about the mental health of undocumented youth," Tania says, "listening consistently to attacks."
Today I will look around my classrooms. I will wonder how many of my students might be Tanias. I know there are some, I just cannot tell which ones. I worry about the pressures on them. They carry the hopes of their families, to do well in school, to make a future for themselve. But will it be a future that will be denied them because their families brought them here without the proper documentation for a permanent stay?
Their parents pay taxes. Many of them work and pay taxes. They are subject to abuse because they do not have the rights of legal workers.
I don't have easy answers. I am no expert on immigration law.
I work with young people. Hope for the future is in part how we motivated them, even when what we ask is difficult.
That hope is supposed to be for the American Dream. Where is the American Dream for them if, like the Tanias, it can be denied?
Her name is Tania.
And her full name, which she finally says is OK to use, is Tania Unzueta. She is undocumented. She is trying not to be afraid.
What say we all to Tania, to all those like her?
I want to say, Welcome, thank you for wanting to be a part of us.
How about you?
Peace.