DACA endures, but Dreamers like me remain at risk

There has been a lot of talk, but until action is taken by Congress, many continue to face an uncertain future

In 2012, I was 29, had an associate’s degree in teaching and dreamed of working with disadvantaged elementary school students. But as an undocumented immigrant from Mexico — and unable to work legally — this goal proved completely out of reach. I got by cleaning houses and selling fruit at a small produce stand.

Then in June of that year, the Department of Homeland Security created the Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals program (DACA), which allows undocumented immigrants who came here as children, as I did, to live and work here legally.

After I received my DACA paperwork, I enrolled in the University of Houston-Downtown and subsequently got a student-teaching position at Johnson Elementary School in Houston, where I now work with bilingual first graders. I adore these kids, most of whom are growing up in low-income families like I did. I love that I can lead by example: If they work hard, they can grow up to achieve their dreams.

But now I my future as a teacher is uncertain. Last year, Trump administration officials announced plans to end DACA, and ever since, Dreamers like myself have been caught in a cycle of hope and fear. On August 3, we received good news, when D.C. District Court Judge John Bates ordered the administration to fully restore the DACA program, calling the decision to revoke it “arbitrary and capricious.” Then last Friday right here in Houston, Judge Andrew Hanen of the Southern District of Texas said DACA is probably illegal, though he declined to shut down the program at this time.

I’m relieved by last month’s ruling, but the overall uncertainty persists. Despite a lot of talk, Congress has failed to take action on this issue, leaving Dreamers like me feeling helpless and overwhelmed. Will I be able to keep teaching? Will I be subject to deportation? What will happen to my young students and their parents, many of whom are DACA recipients, too?

We came here through no choice of our own. In fact, when my mother told me we’d be immigrating to the United States, I begged her to let me stay behind. I was 15 years old and said I could take care of myself. But she told me that Mexico wasn’t safe for us, and of course, a mother could not abandon her child.

I didn’t speak a word of English, so those first years were tough. But one teacher changed everything for me. Ms. Jimenez was my senior year algebra teacher at MacArthur High School in Houston. She always took time for me, sometimes skipping her lunch hour just to give me advice or encouragement. When I was feeling frustrated or sad, she told me that I could do anything I put my mind to. I decided I wanted to be just like her. When I grew up, I’d be a teacher, one who went the extra mile for her students. When you consider that Texas has a teacher shortage, especially in bilingual education, it doesn’t make sense to push out college-educated DACA recipients like me, as so many of us are filling that vital need. In fact, according to New American Economy research, Texas has an outsized need for bilingual workers across the board — a total of 70,000 in 2015.

My dream is to change children’s lives the way Ms. Jimenez changed mine. I want to help the kids in my school and give them hope for a bright future. But I can’t do that if I don’t have a future myself.