I am one of more than 8,000 Utah “Dreamers” who were brought to the U.S. as children. I have a college degree, work full time, pay taxes and have never broken the law. But I still live in fear of losing the only home I’ve ever known.
My parents brought me to Utah illegally from Mexico when I was 4 years old. I don’t remember the flight, and I only have fleeting memories of Mexico. Growing up, I felt like an American. I went to public school, played sports and participated in my church’s Boy Scout troop, eventually earning an Eagle Scout. I worked hard in school and followed the rules.
I knew I hadn’t been born in the U.S., but I didn’t realize I was undocumented until I was applying for a driver’s license, and I didn’t have a Social Security number to put on the application. That was a turning point for me because, for the first time, I realized I wasn’t like everyone else.
I became especially aware of what being a “Dreamer” meant as I grew older. When my younger brother, who was born in Utah, graduated from high school, he received a scholarship to Brown University. Because my status meant I was unable to access financial aid for college, I worked a full-time job for six years to earn my college degree, eventually transferring from my local community college to Brigham Young University. Whenever I started a new semester, I would write down what I wanted to accomplish and what I would have to sacrifice to make it happen.
I am grateful that DACA allowed me the ability to work and earn an education; there is no bigger privilege than to have the ability to work and provide for your family. But it is hard not to wonder what my life would have been like if I had been able to become a citizen as a child. Most children who are brought to this country at a young age have no idea what their legal status means and the limitations that lie ahead of them.
Today, I am pursuing the American Dream of entrepreneurship, putting my college degree in business management to work in growing my own business. But with recent pending judicial rulings putting the status of DACA recipients in jeopardy, I still worry that every day might be my last day in this country. For years, President Trump was clear in his plan to dismantle DACA, and now a Texas case challenging the legality of DACA is awaiting a federal court decision. I’ve done everything right, but it might not be enough.
Dreamers have a quasi-legal protection that provides us with work authorization but no safety net. We pay millions of state and federal taxes and have consistently shown a 90%-plus employment rate throughout the time DACA has been in place. However, we cannot receive basic benefits such as unemployment, local or state aid, educational or financial aid, or even participate in the ACA for medical insurance coverage.
Over half-a-million DACA-eligible individuals across the country are currently classified as essential workers, with 62,000 working in healthcare, 12,800 working in the farming and agriculture industry, and 14,900 DACA recipients working as teachers.
Ending DACA would jeopardize the many economic and social contributions that Dreamers are making every day in the U.S. Thankfully, the vast majority (70-80%) of Americans of all political orientations stand by Dreamers and support solutions that include a path for hard-working undocumented immigrants to earn citizenship over time.
Last week, the House passed the Dream and Promise Act, which would provide a path to citizenship for Dreamers as well as people living in the U.S. with humanitarian legal protections, known as Temporary Protected Status. This same legislation was passed by the House in 2019 but never made it to the Senate, but I have hope that it will be different this time.
Sometimes, it’s hard to put real faces to legislation like this, especially ones that have to do with issues that have become very politicized. I am just one of the millions of people whose lives this legislation would change. But I hope that one day, when I have children of my own, I can tell them I’m here with them for good.
Bernardo Castro
Bernardo Castro is a DACA recipient and resides in Utah. Learn more about his story here.
