Undocumented citizens: The civic engagement of activist immigrants

Abstract

IDEAS is the undocumented student support group at University of California Los Angeles. This ethnography follows their planning of a conference on immigrant rights legislation. How do undocumented immigrants engage in active citizenship? Patterns of student activism are seen during the conference planning process. IDEAS members emulate Freirean ideals. Schwarzenegger expressed sympathy, but issued vetoes; students learn leadership on their own terms and learn organizing on professors’ terms. Despite their agency, IDEAS members are disenfranchised and marginalized in specific ways. For university support services, the political engagement of undocumented activists raises important issues. For researchers, this illuminates gaps between conceptualizations of active citizenship and legal citizenship.

Keywords

active citizenship DREAM Act leadership development student activism undocumented immigrants

Introduction

‘Immigrant student groups’, writes Seif (2011), ‘have emerged as important incubators for undocumented youth as active civic participants … [and] provided extraordinary service given their very limited resources and power’ (p. 69). In 2003, undocumented students at University of California Los Angeles (UCLA) formed a support group called IDEAS: Improving Dreams Equality Access and Success (Escobar et al., 2008). IDEAS students have written a book, influenced state policy, lobbied the federal government, held countless workshops, and organized conferences. Undocumented students are those born in a different country and then brought by their families to the United States, where they are then raised and educated (Buenavista & Tran, 2010). This category includes some who entered without legal authorization, but also those who hold an expired visa, hold a different type of visa (‘tourist’ instead of ‘student’), or are currently in the middle of extended judicial proceedings to remain in the United States. Undocumented students have become an especially visible segment of immigration. They all begin as minors, who cannot legally be considered guilty of a federal offense. Additionally, they stand as educated, sometimes vocal members of our national community. With their media visibility and high rates of civic participation, it is no coincidence that undocumented students are the sole beneficiaries of the recent Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals (DACA) policy change—perhaps the most important shift in US immigration policy in 25 years.

I joined IDEAS in the organizing of their conference about the California Dream Act (CDA), a proposed law that would extend financial aid to immigrant students who graduate from California high schools. After repeated vetoes by governor Schwarzenegger, the CDA was finally enacted in 2011.

Our conference attracted politicians, researchers, and high school students. The process of planning the conference—the meetings, promotions, and negotiations during the prior two months—is the focus of this ethnography. I was a participant observer, working with IDEAS members and other undocumented students to turn a vague proposal into a reality. This ethnography follows the political engagement and leadership development of IDEAS members while preparing for one of their conferences. My analysis is driven by the following research questions:

In the face of bureaucracy and marginalization, how do undocumented student leaders engage in the political process?

What is the meaning of their active citizenship?

Literature review

Undocumented students

Undocumented immigrants have been part of the US since immigration law began, in the colonial era; immigrants have always paid taxes and brought economic benefit (Lipman, 2006). However, in media and American society in general, undocumented students are characterized as ‘illegal’ and ‘criminal’ (Welch, 2003). California’s Propositions 187 and 227 were intended to prevent undocumented students, especially, from using government services and bilingual education (Alvarez and Butterfield, 2000).

Investment in education of immigrants yields financial benefits for society (Levin et al., 2007). Schools are legally obligated to serve undocumented students (Green, 2003), and California’s AB540 law assures legal access to state universities, although financial obstacles remain (Ruge and Iza, 2004). Latina/o immigrants are marginalized, resulting in high drop-out rates and low college readiness (Solórzano et al., 2005). Some programs successfully increase college access (Gándara, 1995; Gutiérrez, 2008). Guidance counselors and student affairs professionals can become social justice advocates for undocumented immigrants (Storlie and Jach, 2012). Still, undocumented students who make it to college remain the exception. Undocumented university students defy long odds, serving their communities and taking political action (Morales et al., 2011; Pérez, 2012; Pérez et al., 2010; Wong, 2010). With the immigrant marches of 2006, activism spread throughout Latina/o immigrant communities (Johnson and Ong Hing, 2007). On campus, immigrant activists organize into groups such as IDEAS, sharing information, promoting policy changes, and fighting deportations (Rincon, 2008; Pérez, 2009; Seif, 2010). Public disclosure of undocumented status has become an expression of empowerment (Galindo, 2012).

The DREAM Act and Comprehensive Immigration Reform have again become high-profile issues in the United States. With skilled organizing and several policy shifts under Obama, undocumented student groups have become highly visible in national media, such as a TIME magazine cover story featuring undocumented students and including IDEAS members (Vargas, 2012). In the United States, as in other countries, undocumented immigrants have organized and confronted government authorities, defending the rights that they do have, even as non-citizens (Krause, 2008; Pérez, 2009). However, there has been little research on how undocumented groups actually function.

Active citizenship

For immigrants, and for society in general, citizenship has two meanings, which I distinguish into legal citizenship and active citizenship. The two concepts are related—both involve membership, and both are historically accessible to the ‘mainstream’ of a society, formerly limited to ‘white, heterosexual, able-bodied male[s]’ (Stevenson, 2001: 9). Bosniak (2006) examines the conflicts between these conceptualizations of citizenship: an inclusive, inward-looking model and a boundary-conscious model. The boundary-conscious form refers simply to status as an official member of a nation-state. This is an exclusionary idea, in that we legally exclude people based on geographic and procedural boundaries. A person either has or does not have legal citizenship in a particular country; it is a yes/no question. This legal status confers rights and obligations. It may be either natural-born (automatic, at birth) or naturalized (chosen later).

Active citizenship, on the other hand, is conceptual, behavioral, and nuanced; active citizenship encompasses ideas as varied as civic engagement, political activism, a sense of belonging, cultural commonality, community, patriotism, virtue, and critical consciousness. In this sense, it is seen as contributing to the common good (Benhabib, 1999; Stevenson, 2001). Active citizenship is never something a person is born with, nor something a person can simply apply for. Instead, it is built over time, through our thoughts and actions. Socrates envisioned citizenship as accepting and even promoting dissent (Villa, 2001); Aristotle (1998) saw well-educated, active citizenship as a prerequisite to democracy. The active definition of citizenship is always a matter of degree. There are media and political figures who argue for the primacy of the legal definition, going so far as to claim that someone who lacks legal citizenship cannot possibly exhibit active citizenship. Yet civic training is a required part of school curricula across the United States, and since federal law mandates that undocumented children attend school, they are all instructed to become ‘good citizens’ (Osler, 2005), during classes which were originally designed to reduce differences through ‘Americanization’ (Takaki, 1993). At the same time, many who hold legal citizenship do not embrace civic engagement, choosing political apathy rather than participation (Cohen and Chaffee, 2013). In fact, ‘natural-born’ citizens have the freedom to ‘take everything for granted’ (Coutin, 2003: 517).

Perry (2006) found that legal citizens and non-citizens largely agree about what constitutes ‘substantive membership’ in a national community: residency, acculturation, identity, communal investment, and acceptance of community ethics. During US debates on immigration reform, it is frequently asserted (by both political parties) that undocumented immigrants who want to join the ranks of citizens must (1) pay taxes, (2) pay a fine, (3) learn English, (4) display ‘good moral character’, and (5) pass a test about US government and citizenship. In certain ways, this means displaying active citizenship. Natural-born citizens are not held to such standards. A person might go a lifetime and never vote once, yet his or her legal citizenship will not be reduced in the least; a person might commit murders, and regardless of punishment, the one thing that will not be taken away by the legal system is legal citizenship. In short, there is no such thing as ‘good’ or ‘bad’ legal citizenship; for those who are born as legal citizens, our expectations are very low.

Naturalized citizens are those who join by choice—choice of the individual, coupled with choice of the nation-state. According to Coutin (2003), ‘naturalizing citizens and thus incorporating and disarming difference could be seen as part of efforts to Americanize peoples, markets, and territory’ (p. 519). To become naturalized, active citizenship is necessary but not sufficient; even in cases where every rule has been painstakingly followed, it is not uncommon for an immigrant to wait 6–10 years, paying tens of thousands of dollars in legal fees. Among legal citizens, the natural-born are presumed to be equivalent to the naturalized, in that natural-born citizens are presumed to have allegiance to the Constitution, even if they have not sworn such an oath (Coutin, 2003: 521). Notably, US officials have described naturalized immigrants as ‘the most authentic Americans’ (p. 517). Undocumented immigrants, on the other hand, are often presumed to be the least authentic Americans, regardless of their displays of Americanization and active citizenship.

This is not a case of one word having two independent definitions. These definitions of citizenship influence each other. Groups seeking inclusion or expanded rights under the legal definition have historically presented active citizenship as proof of worthiness. For example, the political activism and ‘moral and mental elevation’ of former slaves was cited by the US abolitionist movement, in their fight for legal citizenship for all Black people (Rael, 2002: 119). Just as importantly, an alleged lack of active citizenship has been cited as evidence that certain groups do not deserve legal citizenship. The passage of the Chinese Exclusion Act was an instance of this, supported by arguments that Chinese immigrants were lacking in virtue, and culturally incompatible with the United States (Takaki, 1989: 110). Our understanding of active citizenship influences our implementation of legal citizenship, and vice versa. Pérez (2009) and others essentially argue that for undocumented students, evidence of active citizenship and Americanness warrant the awarding of legal citizenship. Torres and Wicks-Asbun (2014) argue that undocumented students construct their own form of liminal citizenship. Yet research on active citizenship and civic engagement often excludes the perspectives of undocumented immigrants (e.g. Cohen and Chaffee, 2013).

Leadership development

New social movements develop leadership while they organize. Rim (2009) and Edwards and McCarthy (2007) cite the role of prior leadership skills and education, yet members without prior experience often emerge as leaders (Morris and Staggenborg, 2007: 179). Leadership is developed during nonelectoral political action, such as grassroots organizing or protesting; this type of democratic participation can become a viable alternative to voting (Rim, 2009). This is especially true for people who directly lose or benefit, depending on the outcome of a policy debate (Verba et al., 1995). Undocumented students have a lot as stake in immigration debates, and they are statutorily excluded from electoral participation. Nonelectoral organizing and protesting may be their most realistic option.

To this end, it is important for organizations to encourage all members to develop leadership skills, by distributing duties and building leadership teams. Ganz (2009) argues that organizations build the most effective leaders if they:

Have frequent, open deliberations, allowing members to give input;

Tap resources from diverse constituencies;

Hold leaders accountable;

Have leadership teams with connections to both insiders and outsiders.

If a group’s leaders are outsiders, there will be decreased understanding and decreased motivation (outsiders have less at stake), potentially leading to bad strategic decisions (Morris and Staggenborg, 2007). Similarly, when one or two people make decisions alone, other members feel less invested in projects. Actual financial resources can make a difference, but a specific group’s success is better explained by factors such as commitment and leadership effectiveness (Andrews et al., 2010).

Immigrant leaders, says Wong (2006), need to know the language, culture, and politics of their own communities. Undocumented students develop leadership skills in their neighborhoods, communities, and schools (Seif, 2011: 66). They learn to exercise political agency, despite exclusion from political activities such as voting (Corrunker, 2012). As leaders, they show initiative, training their peers in organizing and media strategies (Costanza-Chock, 2010). While leadership is needed to promote student rights, the students also become ‘empowered through their leadership and activism’ (Corrunker, 2012: 157). The act of telling their stories can be described as a leadership act, educating the public and supporting those undocumented students who are still undeclared (p. 167).

In recognition of this, explicit efforts have been made to develop leadership for undocumented students. At UCLA, the Migrant Student Leadership Institute developed critical literacies and supported college leadership (Gildersleeve, 2009). This decade-long program was not exclusively for undocumented students, which likely has the added benefit of helping the undocumented students develop support networks and allies. These patterns of organizing do not apply to all undocumented students—the majority of undocumented children never attend college. However, those who make it to college have defied the odds, and as high-achievers, they are in a position to develop leadership and even influence the public. If leadership is essential to students’ success, we need to understand how they develop leadership. A complicated aspect of teaching is that leadership shown by teachers generally hinders students’ development of leadership skills, such as decision-making and event planning (Des Marais et al., 2000). While teachers must be capable of leading their students, assertion of that authority stifles the students’ intellectual growth.

Methods

This was a qualitative, critical ethnography (Rosaldo, 1989). I embraced the Freirean ideals of the students themselves (Freire, 1973), as they used their experiences to overcome disenfranchisement (Delgado-Gaitan and Trueba, 1991; Gutiérrez and Rogoff, 2003). This is an ethnography about the IDEAS group, at organizational meetings for the CDA conference. I enrolled in the undergraduate course and joined a planning committee. Participant-observation took place during IDEAS meetings and the UCLA course, where classmates formally planned this conference. Meetings included professor and guest lectures, discussions, videos, slideshows, contests, and testimonios (Pérez Huber, 2009). I fully participated in discussions, debates, scheduling, and so on. My fieldnotes were gathered during 40 hours of site visits on the UCLA campus. These fieldnotes were then written into memos and analyzed with open coding (Emerson et al., 1995). Although my descriptions are in the past tense, the IDEAS group at UCLA continues, more active than ever.

Although there have been attempts to build quantifiable taxonomies or measuring scales for student leadership (e.g. Astin, 1993) and organizational citizenship (e.g. Reeskens and Hooghe, 2010), these attempts have used questionable variables and failed to capture or explain behavior (Dugan, 2011; Miles et al., 2002; Pond et al., 1997). Qualitative research may be a better way to build understanding of these concepts.

It was important—to me, to the participants, to IDEAS, and to its community—that I not fully document or disclose individual identities involved. The family of one student was under Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) investigation during my observations. There is no easy formula for what to disclose or withhold. In this ethnography, I have erred on the side of privacy. Most participants in this ethnography were undocumented, while a few were sympathetic US citizens with undocumented family members (several held quasi-legal status as former refugees or citizens of defunct nation-states).

In relation to IDEAS, I was an outsider. I have US citizenship. I am white, while they were mostly Latina/o and Asian American. I was already in grad school, they were still undergraduates. Despite shared political goals, there are obvious lines separating any ally from activist undocumented students. Students were open to my observing, and participating in, their conference planning. We studied, planned the conference, socialized, and attended supplemental meetings. I contributed without taking charge of the group. IDEAS is, above all, led by undocumented students.

Findings

My research findings cover conceptual categories of Leadership, Opponents, and The (dis)enfranchised. Analysis of the conference planning centers around these themes as they relate to immigrant students and acts of citizenship.

Leadership: student-led

IDEAS as a group placed heavy emphasis on leadership. As Fabi explained, they were thoroughly ‘student-led’. IDEAS distributed responsibilities to new members, so they gradually build leadership and agency. Members conducted the board and general meetings democratically, explicitly turning the decisions over to each member present. Members with more experience serve on the board, but leadership is promoted for all members. There was never a clear line between members and visitors. The group’s staff advisors did not direct the group in any way; instead, they protected the group from university bureaucracy.

An IDEAS meeting in February duplicated the original interactive teaching in Pedagogy of the Oppressed (Freire, 1970). The IDEAS historian projected laptop images onto the wall, while members contributed memories, thoughts, and questions about themselves as a group. Any of them, at any moment, became an authority. Problem-posing was central to discussions, covering topics such as immigrant identity, privacy, deportation, and jobs. Class meetings similarly allowed substantial student input:

The professor asked, ‘What are ways to move the governor?’

female student answered, ‘The best way to get to him is through his staff. Susan Kennedy, a member of the staff. She’s the one who advised him to veto it’.

A male student nodded and asked, ‘Have we ever thought of approaching him physically, every event he attends? If every month each group picks an event to show up at, if we can keep that type of constant pressure …’

The professor had his own plan, which had not accounted for specific staff members, or for trying to influence Schwarzenegger in person. Student contributions usefully shifted the focus.

During small meetings and the conference’s workshops, leadership development was constant. IDEAS members appeared on panels with lawyers and legislative deputies. In the absence of mandated authority figures, or even while seated next to experts, numerous IDEAS students showed leadership. After a meeting in March, Fabi helped new members prepare for a presentation in front of university officials. Instead of doing it herself, which would be easier (and safer, since funding is at stake), ‘New members are actually the ones attending the dinner meeting, and experienced members are talking to them about being prepared’. This developed additional leaders, further assuring the future of the group, explained Fabi:

At first, our advisors would always be there, kind of guiding us through the process of organizing. But very quickly the organization turned into student-run, student-led. Whenever we do need advice, we seek it, but the presence of staff and faculty is usually non-existent. I cannot emphasize that [too] much, it is so important for the oppressed to develop their own curriculum for liberation, according to Freire. To have the students doing the organizing is crucial to their own awareness, their own situation. Rather than just following.

College students are familiar with dysfunctional, authoritarian classrooms; in contrast, IDEAS meetings involved sharing, problem solving, brainstorming, and negotiating.

IDEAS’ friendly meeting room was ideally suited to such functions. Outside the room was a sleek, stylized bridge and elevator. You could see down from the lobby, or gaze up from the room itself. Its warm colors were inviting, its glass wall suggested transparency. Another wall was actually a sliding curtain to adjust the size of the room. Ikea chairs were arranged casually around the room, and a table was stocked with soda, juice, and hot pizza. While this IDEAS meeting room felt lively and well-ventilated, the classroom felt institutional and stuffy—conducive to displays of a professor’s authority and leadership.

Leadership: teacher-led

Much of the IDEAS conference planning was done as part of a UCLA course. This course combined traditional assignments with planning activities and was led by university professors. Our enrolled course met every Monday evening. The room was nondescript and crowded. The small, dusty windows were relatively dark, so most light came from fluorescent tubes in the suspended ceiling. A massive, unused blackboard featured an old-fashioned chalk dispensing device. Four garbage and recycling containers obstructed the heavy doors, which were difficult to open unless we used both hands.

This course’s existence represented a victory for undocumented students, as it gave scholarly legitimacy to their cause. The course’s two professors knew the subject material thoroughly and had themselves planned multiple conferences. Their leadership in this classroom was unchallenged. During traditional lectures, students disengaged and lapsed into a passive, listening mode. In conversation, three IDEAS leaders cited Freire by name; the professors did as well and used words such as ‘empowerment’ and ‘collaboration’—unfortunately, in the middle of extended lectures.

These professors were (and are) dedicated workers for immigrant and student rights. Yet during 8 of the 10 class meetings, they depended on highly scripted ways of running a classroom. Professors exerted authority and paternalism. Sometimes, perhaps usually, students had distracting ideas, which one of the professors would ignore or squash. If she had not done so, attention and energy would have been expended on efforts the professor’s experience tells her are fruitless. One illustrative example was a male student’s idea of bringing governor Schwarzenegger to the conference, which the professor was skeptical about:

‘He vetoed the California Dream Act twice’, said the professor. Another male student asked about the first lady, Maria Shriver … The professor, not quite convinced, proposed ‘let’s put it to a vote. All in favor of inviting Maria Shriver?’ A slim majority raised their hands. The professor nodded, said they’d send an invitation, but we should not count on her showing up. The first male student, again, said ‘And Schwarzenegger?’ There was silence for a couple seconds, I was expecting the professor to have us vote again. Instead he shook his head, ‘Schwarzenegger isn’t going to come’, and moved on to the legislator list.

Schwarzenegger had previously been invited but never showed up. There was little reason to expect him during an election year, when even Republican immigrant allies had disavowed the Dream Act and immigration reform. So, the professor was certainly correct; the professors did not think there was time, during a 10-week quarter, to wait for leadership skills to develop. Fabi agreed, saying, ‘these are students who might not be so active on the issue. The professors are in charge’.

After our first class meeting, the class debated whether the event was called a conference or a teach-in. A male student asked a professor to explain the difference. The professor said teach-in refers to the 1960s’ ‘student protest movements’ and implies ‘collective learning’. A nearby student answered that she had no idea what teach-in meant. I told them I prefer ‘conference’ because it lends academic legitimacy to student voices. The other professor shrugged and said ‘Maybe it’s a generational thing’. Another female student walked over and added, ‘When I first heard “teach-in,” I figured it would be a bunch of crazy people in a room’. The male professor packed his books and said ‘“teach-in” is probably best’. Over the course of the classes and IDEAS meetings, students repeatedly called the event a ‘conference’ in conversation and on online social networks. The ‘teach-in’ designation remained on flyers and the official program. It is not that there was anything inherently bad about this word itself, only that students did not choose it.

Students need the autonomy to make mistakes. An argument can be made that this conference was too important to be used as a learning experience. Still, I wonder how imperfect the conference would have been if the professors had allowed students to follow dead ends. Would students have felt more ownership over the planning process?

Opponents

A vocal segment of US society continues to speak out against immigration in general, and undocumented immigrants (derided as ‘illegals’) in particular. They regularly level accusations of ‘criminal’ and ‘un-American’ behavior against undocumented immigrants, thereby denigrating the students’ active citizenship and leadership. Before and during the semester, conservative activists like Sean Hannity, Lou Dobbs, and Arizona sheriff Arpaio lashed out at several laws designed to benefit undocumented students. Laws are, by definition, legal; from IDEAS’ perspective, conservatives are political opponents with their own agenda. While planning the conference, California Republicans attempted to repeal AB540, claiming that college should be reserved for US citizens and full-tuition international students only. IDEAS recognized this as a challenge to its very existence. Members’ assertions of active citizenship were in direct response to such challenges. The conference itself, a public event, is the best example of this response.

Governor Schwarzenegger was considered a crucial opponent, more powerful than but not as dangerous as the anti-immigrant groups. Schwarzenegger actually met with IDEAS’ members in 2007, and they pitched the CDA to him. They thought he seemed sympathetic, but he vetoed the law just weeks later. This was brought up several times in class. For years, Schwarzenegger was under pressure from anti-immigrant forces and lobbied by fiscal conservatives who worried about California’s massive deficit. Government agencies and bureaucrats were likewise seen as opponents. A number of members had deportations within their immediate family. One student said he was ‘just living in fear’ of ICE raids until he found IDEAS. In the early 2000s, even university administrators were potential threats, as interceptors of students’ merit scholarship money. Specific administrators selectively followed rules—dismissing immigrant students with insults like ‘you’re not even supposed to be here’.

While such antagonism became less common at UCLA, it remained de rigueur at other California universities. Incoming IDEAS students almost universally reported bad experiences with high school counselors, who (falsely) claimed it was illegal for them to attend college at all, or who advised valedictorians to pursue technical training. Collectively, opponents were a force aligned against IDEAS’ own allies—parents, researchers, Democratic legislators, Coalition for Humane Immigrant Rights of Los Angeles (CHIRLA), California Dream Network, and religious groups.

Experienced members of IDEAS had lobbied in D.C. and Sacramento; they understood the strength of their opponents. Once, after talking about the strength of IDEAS’ own coalition, several freshmen downplayed the power of anti-immigrant activists. Opponents had ‘less influence than students’, claimed one female member. A male student concurred, ‘Does anybody take them seriously?’ A professor immediately disagreed:

Has anybody listened to the republican debates? That’s half of what they talk about, fight over, who can be more anti-immigrant than the rest. Who can accuse each other of having an immigrant nanny, or voting for amnesty. Lou Dobbs, radio shows, they’re spewing anti-immigrant rhetoric every day.

The students nodded at this. While they continued to value their own forms of active citizenship, subsequent discussions recognized the influence of those who see them as criminals.

Planning continued, with anti-immigrant activists and lobbyists as a focus of the conference, drawing especially from the power analysis which was used to prepare conference workshops. The CDA Strategy workshop named names. Specific opponents make campaigns ‘much more effective’, according to one professor’s lecture. Attendees were encouraged to increase their civic engagement and mobilize their communities toward political activism. Before the 1980s, said one participant, ‘most of the organizing that went on was outside the political arena. They thought working with politics was a waste of time’. Since focusing on opponents, he said, the unions and neighborhood groups of Los Angeles (LA) had begun to pressure politicians successfully on specific issues.

The (dis)enfranchised

Because it is so taken for granted by citizens, enfranchised is not a commonly used word. I relate enfranchisement to active citizenship, as expressed in campus and statewide political action. Disenfranchisement refers to immigration status and the procedural or rhetorical forms of exclusion that impact undocumented students.

Citizenship and exclusion from American society are of great interest to IDEAS. In the initial planning stage of the conference, a professor summarized the possible speaking topics, and then asked the classroom if there is ‘anything else to talk about in the plenary’. A student proposed ‘discussing questions about who gets to be a citizen, and defining the nation. How is it the students don’t count as members?’ The next week, responding to a question about ‘second-class citizens’, a guest speaker again raised these issues:

Does it make sense from a public policy perspective to have a group of young people who grow up in our neighborhoods and schools, and buy into the dreams and ideals, but then and denied membership in America? What sense does it make to keep them disenfranchised?

Nation-state exclusion did not become a conference topic. The professors claimed intent to include all student voices, but in spite of student interest, membership issues had second-class status in the conference.

Speakers other than the professors did recognize and talk about legal citizenship. In a lecture on immigrant civic engagement, one guest lecturer laid out what ‘immigrant rights groups want’: ‘A path to citizenship. We have a system that’s broken, people are waiting years and years’. UCLA counselor Jerry said those immigrant activists who gain citizenship and ‘who no longer need it still work for it’. One conference panelist briefly talked about citizenship as arbitrarily given but powerful, and another recommended that citizens use their privileges to reach out to the undocumented.

Aside from that theoretical discussion of citizenship, immigration status was constantly related to personal experience. At every meeting, students discussed pitfalls of documentation such as a visa, a social security number, or a taxpayer ID number for California resident purposes. When Fabi was in high school, she ‘didn’t know what it meant, what a social security number was or why I needed it’. Beyond driving a car, government ID was required for renting an apartment, getting a library card, seeing R-rated movies, or taking the SAT. Immigration status as non-citizens restricted them in all these. In an IDEAS meeting, during a true/false game, one question was ‘Students have been deported because they were members of IDEAS, true or false?’ A member gave the correct answer: ‘false—members have been detained, but not deported’.

For IDEAS, the most useful identity was AB540. A researcher at the conference explained the importance of AB540 to immigrant students who previously fit no category at all:

Before, they were embarrassed about being undocumented, didn’t want to tell their friends. But now, they say they’re AB540, the term has allowed students to get access … People who are supportive will recognize it, but opponents will not.

In this way, she explained, AB540 ‘legitimizes’ students with government status. While not an immigrant classification, it is arguably the defining status of their university life. Many IDEAS members said learning about AB540 occurred simultaneously with their decision to attend college. The ‘AB540 Project’ is their ongoing commitment to outreach within LA high schools and became part of the conference. The ‘path to citizenship’ of federal immigration reform bills was referenced by all professors and guest speakers. While legal citizenship is the students’ ideal, it was not part of their direct strategy. They did not dwell on those rights conferred only to legal citizens, but on those conferred to anyone with residency. This meant financial aid; the right to work; no fear of deportation. Having said that, the act of voting had strong symbolic power for IDEAS.

Undocumented students are by definition ineligible to vote in federal or state elections. As political activists, their voices were not heard figuratively, through the ballot box, but only literally, through conversations and protests. These are concrete acts of citizenship, and they suggest membership in local and national political community. IDEAS members spoke to elected officials: Schwarzenegger, LA mayor Villaraigosa, senators, assembly members, city councilors. According to Fabi, all IDEAS members were politically engaged; this may be a byproduct either of their situation or of the selection process of selective universities. At one IDEAS meeting, students held a mock congressional election, in the closest thing to enfranchisement they would get. Fabi described a get-out-the-vote phone call she received from the Obama campaign: she ‘told ‘em I can’t vote, but I’ll tell five friends’.

Members did vote in other ways. Their monthly board meetings (which I did not attend) followed Roberts’ Rules of Order. In weekly meetings, decisions were made with a spontaneous, informal vote. While deciding on a T-shirt design, they actually took a vote on how many votes to have; this voting seemed excessive to me, but settled a dispute and ultimately led to a consensus decision. Even in class, when students disagreed with the professor about the conference planning, he often (but not always) agreed to let them vote. Perhaps most influentially, IDEAS members were heavily involved in student government. Several missed our conference to attend the University of California Student Association Lobby Conference. There are, for IDEAS members without legal citizenship, many ways to vote.

Walking across campus one day, an IDEAS member confided to me that during high school, she had been politically conservative—and anti-immigrant. Although she is a person of color, she had no tolerance for people who ‘played the victim’ of discrimination; she thought Latinos just needed to ‘work harder and stop complaining’. Finally, during junior year, this student’s mother disclosed that their entire family was undocumented. This prompted an identity crisis, after which she learned about the inequity of the immigration system and came to question her own beliefs about race and her own ideas about what it meant to be a ‘good citizen’. You could argue that her shift in opinion was mere self-interest. However, you could also argue that deeper knowledge, coupled with complementary insider and outsider perspectives, led to better understanding. Regardless, this speaks to the complexity of immigration status as a lived experience. Her tireless work for enfranchisement and equity was largely caused by disenfranchisement and inequity. Does this hint at most citizens’ apathy about the plight of immigrants? If there were a Dream Act path to citizenship, would college immigrants rest easy with their inclusion and stop caring about the plight of non-college immigrants?

Implications

For universities

Undocumented students are a growing presence on US campuses. College offers students an opportunity to take control of their lives, but their treatment as second-class students, especially related to financial aid, is a constant burden. IDEAS members cherished the ways they can function as ‘normal’ college students. They channeled frustration and effort into actively doing something about obstacles. One way IDEAS is notable is in how tightly connected their personal stories were to their group mobilization. On campus, they were more active than many students in terms of participation.

I state unequivocally, every undocumented student at a selective university is gifted. They have not had the privilege of coasting. Universities must understand and explain policy (Gildersleeve et al., 2012). They must offer advisory support—though without infringing on the student-led nature of such groups. UCLA’s ad hoc system of support can serve as a model for universities:

A hands-off advisor, focused on navigating campus bureaucracy;

Specific courses that integrate the undocumented group into the curriculum;

A university office to field undocumented students’ questions, explaining admissions, financial aid, DACA, and employment;

Dispersal of leadership responsibility, development of new leaders;

Promoting privacy and localized political activism.

Rather than an expense, activist undocumented immigrants must be considered an asset to a campus community. Notwithstanding nation-state citizenship, these are active campus citizens, joining and even initiating in a broad range of student activities. Their initial participation leads to evolving leadership roles, which help the university achieve its goal of creating engaged global citizens.

For students

High school students need to know about the options already available in many states. They need to realize that college is attainable, and that many campuses have support systems. The students I worked with identified themselves as Chicana/o, Latina/o, Asian American, or biracial, but they all considered themselves Americans. Identity, here, is not abstract; identity is limited by identification cards they do not have. US society defines them negatively—as illegal (not following laws) and undocumented (not having documents). In the face of this, college students define themselves positively—as DACA recipients, as AB540 students, as campus leaders, and as political activists. Immigrants with strong support systems can succeed in college. The planning process engaged IDEAS students in the conscious construction of leadership and change. They have a societal vision of greater equality and access to resources, as expressed in their acronym name. This sounds melodramatic, but I believe they dream of our Constitution in a way I never have; disenfranchisement has taught them to hope. Even when the federal Dream Act is passed, even when Comprehensive Immigration Reform is passed, IDEAS will continue its mission to educate and enfranchise.

For college students, the struggle has shifted since our conference. Schwarzenegger’s terms has ended, the new governor has signed the CDA. IDEAS and other groups now firmly focus on the federal DREAM Act and Comprehensive Immigration Reform. Following a marketing recommendation presented during the conference, IDEAS began to identify itself with national efforts such as United We Dream, DreamActivist.org, and the National Immigrant Youth Alliance. Through affiliations, they support creation of additional student-led groups, focused on leadership development and activism strategies. In recent years, IDEAS members and alumni have participated in events such as a nationwide march, lobbying in D.C., a protest at senator McCain’s office, Occupy Wall Street protests, and public coming-out announcements as ‘undocumented and unafraid’, successfully integrating civil disobedience (Anguiano, 2011; Summers Sandoval, 2008). After pressure and sit-ins by IDEAS and other groups, Obama finally announced the DACA policy (Preston and Cooper, 2012).

Not all is good news: Comprehensive Immigration Reform remains stalled; ICE continues to deport immigrant students; DACA is subject to revocation at any time; and there have been recent suicides by desperate undocumented students. IDEAS has responded with expanded support through psychological counseling and legal counseling. Undocumented groups should reach out to individuals in need, so they will understand they are not alone. Since our conference, two IDEAS founders were killed by a reckless driver (Wong et al., 2012). Cinthya Felix and Tam Tran died while in the middle of their graduate studies, at Brown and Columbia, respectively. This death of two national leaders dealt a significant, emotional blow to organizing efforts. But undocumented students continue the struggle, inspired by the love they feel for their friends Tam and Cinthya. Tam was a lead organizer of our conference. I came to know her as a colleague and friend, and her death has left an ache in my heart.

Additional IDEAS members from this study have continued to graduate school, including fellowships at Dartmouth, Northwestern, UC Berkeley, UC Irvine, and UCLA. Those I worked with have chosen fields connected with their activism—law, education, political science, public policy, and public health. Most are activists in the push for Comprehensive Immigration Reform. They have founded additional organizations, devoted to developing the leadership and citizenship of undocumented students at many campuses. This is a positive sign. However, we should also consider an explicit reason high-achieving students chose graduate school: as non-citizens, many were excluded from employment in their profession. While DACA has changed the equation, recipients are still ineligible for permanent visas or legal citizenship, a deterrent to many employers. One IDEAS member half-joked she might keep earning degrees until immigration reform passes. Some country—if not the United States, then Mexico, Canada, or Great Britain—will benefit from the experience and expertise she has developed at California’s public institutions.

For researchers

As others have suggested, undocumented college students are clearly taking leadership roles in a civil rights movement. Since they have little incentive to preserve the status quo, their dedication to immigration reform may exceed that of other demographic groups. It is crucial for educators and social scientists to better understand undocumented student leaders. The civic engagement of immigrants illuminates gaps between conceptualizations of active citizenship and legal citizenship. Those who theorize citizenship must confront the contradictions revealed by legally mandated second-class ‘citizenship’. Further study could answer questions hinted at by my findings:

As undocumented students become less marginalized, will this amplify the activism of younger undocumented students, or will they take their rights for granted?

How does the presence of a high-profile undocumented student group affect a campus?

How can professors and administrators guide undocumented students toward empowerment, without stifling their voices?

What happens to the majority of undocumented students, who never attend college? What happens to those who finish college and apply for DACA?

What would it mean for research on active citizenship to confront legalistic definitions of citizenship?

As one of the course professors explained, immigrant students have power. They use rhetorical skills, political connections, strong leadership, and social bonds to overcome status as second-class citizens. Especially with their conferences and national organizing, undocumented student groups have gone beyond the reaction of protests. We can learn from their active citizenship—they exhibit membership in local and national communities, with informed participation in the political process and commitment to the public good. This is the lesson of ‘good citizenship’ that our public schools hope to teach every student. In the case of IDEAS members, I believe that lesson was successful. Some of our society’s best members are ‘noncitizen citizens’ (Bosniak, 2006). Undocumented students reveal our contradictions, as they initiate political movements.

Footnotes

Acknowledgements

I thank members of IDEAS for their participation, Kris Gutiérrez for guidance, and anonymous reviewers for revision advice.

Funding

This research received no specific grant from any funding agency in the public, commercial, or not-for-profit sectors.

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