What is the importance of having a counselor on campus for undocumented students?

The world of the undocumented student is a fine straddle between hope and uncertainty.

Let me begin by saying this: I am undocumented. It is not easy, as an undocumented student, to come forward and be open about what makes us “different” from any other students. I use the word “different” not to distinguish a difference between us and our fellow Bears but to provide context for our experience. We want to make the fullest of our education at Berkeley through participating in internships, study abroad, work-study … and, like most students, we want to be able to make a living off our education and contribute to society.

So, where does this leave us in the grand schemes of things? If I have to use a word to describe the predicament of the undocumented student, “uncertainty” is perhaps most appropriate. Of course uncertainty is not reserved to those without a social ID number, and in these dire economic times, accessible education is becoming synonymous with privilege. But here is where we are different. We are low-income with high financial need but are unable to qualify for federal financial aid. We want to work, but dishwashing jobs don’t pay the bills, and once in awhile we’ll get equated with parasites sucking on the bosom of Lady Liberty. Yeah, we’re living the dream all right.

Yet, despite this nightmarish situation, is it so ironic that undocumented students are also known as DREAMers?

For many of us, our futures literally lay in the balance of a dream or, more precisely, the DREAM Act. At the federal level, the DREAM Act would provide a path for many of us to legalize our status permanently, but the bill failed to pass Congress by a handful of votes two years ago. In a trend of growing conservatism, Arizona, Alabama and Georgia decided to make immigration policies that border on human rights violations.

However, the past year has been witness to rapid and significant changes for undocumented students in California and nationwide. Oct. 8 will mark the one-year anniversary of AB 131, arguably the most significant piece of the two-parted California DREAM Act. It allows undocumented students to qualify for state-funded financial aid programs. More recently, the Obama administration enacted Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals, a program granting temporary relief from deportation and work authorization for two years. For now, we have reasons to feel hopeful about our futures.

This rapid change did not occur overnight or at the whim of elected officials. It has been more than a decade since AB 540 was passed, a California law that allows undocumented students — and U.S. citizens, for that matter — to qualify for in-state tuition after meeting residency requirements. Since its passage, undocumented students, also known under the protective alias of AB 540, have been lobbying, demonstrating, protesting and pushing for extensive equitable reforms. The California DREAM Act and the Obama administration’s policy of deferred action have been the culmination of many years of activism. Who knew that having an education could be so empowering?

A new resource center for undocumented students at Cesar Chavez Student Center also represents how far Berkeley has come in its commitment to serve all students. When your every existence is equated with words like “illegal” and “undesired,” it is not only frustrating but sincerely difficult to even communicate questions on how to access the resources the campus has to offer. The task is further burdened by its need for repetition and the use of tacit language such as “AB 540.” I used the word “uncertainty” earlier, but “fear” comes at a close second.

Last semester, a new counselor was appointed to dedicate himself to the concerns of undocumented students. In personal experience, I have found administrative staff to be supportive and helpful, but it is also nice to know that someone can answer some of our most urgent and difficult questions. Even if it is just one person for 100 undocumented students on campus, it nonetheless reassures us that we have at least one counselor who can, without prejudice, give us guidance and reassurance. Meng So, we thank you.

For undocumented students, the struggle does not end here. The repetitive diction of “undocumented student” throughout this essay is not a sign of poor redacting but rather a sign of the reality of the direction of immigration policies. While significant progress has been made, Obama’s deferred action is not an amnesty and does not provide a pathway to legalization. The requirements are narrowly limited to an age group fitting the student population. Unfortunately, our parents, who have sacrificed themselves for us, do not have the prospect of a light at the end of the tunnel. And of the estimated 65,000 undocumented students who graduate annually from U.S. high schools, only 5 to 10 percent will go on to college, according to the American Association of State Colleges and Universities. Using a relative understanding, the undocumented students who will graduate from Berkeley, regardless of what the future may hold, are the privileged few. If the past 10 years have shown anything, we can only expect that our generation of DREAMers will make a difference in putting an end to this long nightmare.

Hadrien Picq is the treasurer for Rising Immigrant Scholars through Education at UC Berkeley.

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