Undocumented, Undeterred

Seated in the back of his parents’ van, Enrique Ramírez ’16 felt a surge of panic as the blinding red and blue lights of a police car blared behind them. Enrique and his parents had just moved his older sister into her dorm at the University of Texas at Austin. Driving back to Houston, his father had unknowingly crept over the speed limit. The family escaped with only a speeding ticket, and the officer moved on. As the police car drove away, Enrique sighed with relief. He, his parents, and his siblings are all undocumented immigrants to America. Had the officer inquired further, their routine traffic violation might have led to deportation.

Natives of the central Mexican state of San Luis Potosí, Enrique’s parents decided to move to the States in 1996, driven primarily by a grave devaluation of the peso in the early-1990s and the resultant rise in their debts. In his attempts to recoup some of their losses, Enrique’s father moved to Houston, Texas to work alongside his brothers in the petroleum industry. But having discovered the better quality of education that existed in America, he stayed, bringing his wife and children over on visas that quickly expired.

At the time of the northward trek, Enrique was only two years old. “Everything I know about San Luis Potosí, my extended family, my culture, and my family’s transition to the United States, I learned through my parents,” he recounts. “I do not have any memory of Mexico whatsoever, which is kind of weird for me, because it is the country of my citizenship.”

Enrique’s childhood was typically American: he joined the Boy Scouts (eventually becoming an Eagle Scout), attended church regularly, and dreamed of one day enlisting in the Air Force. He developed a strong sense of patriotism and appreciation for the States fostered by his parents’ comparisons of how much better life was in America than in Mexico.

“Knowing that my parents were willing to give up everything that they had in Mexico, were willing to never see their own parents again, only reaffirms for me how much better life in America must be.”

But realizing the legal disabilities imposed by his status as an undocumented immigrant, Enrique began to feel a sense of disillusionment, trepidation, and above all, alienation. During his childhood and adolescence, he never once spoke publicly about his status. Writing his admissions essay for Harvard, an opportunity many use to tell their immigration stories, Enrique left the issue aside.

Upon his arrival in Cambridge, though, Enrique recognized the necessity of opening up about the experiences and needs of undocumented students. Reconciled to the prospect of deportation, and inspired by the Obama Administration’s 2012 “Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals” directive, he “came out” as an undocumented immigrant in the pages of The Crimson. In a later piece he published in support of an Undergraduate Council referendum on immigration reform, Enrique detailed the routine difficulties he encountered because of his status. His interactions with friends and teachers, he wrote then, were marred by “fear, secrecy, a sense of being undeserving, illegitimacy, invisibility, and a heavy form of guilt.”

Choosing to write under his name and not anonymously, Enrique hoped to ease the coming out process for other undocumented undergraduates. “My family was mad at me at first because openly acknowledging our status was something totally unheard of for them, but I felt compelled to speak out and give a voice to the many students in my situation who had similar fears about opening up.”

Since coming out, Enrique has joined several immigrants’ rights organizations on campus. During his freshman year, he co-chaired an immigration policy group at the Institute of Politics, working to outline improvements to Harvard’s support structure for undocumented students. His work, along with that of others, led to the appointment of Dean Emelyn dela Peña as the University’s first administrator to be given the specific task of assisting undocumented immigrant students at the College.

To help undocumented students adjust to life on campus, Enrique has also started a mentorship-based support group in which undocumented freshmen and upperclassmen are paired together. “There were times freshman year before I came out when I would just cry because I felt like I didn’t know what to do when I needed help,” he remembers, adding that he also hopes to launch an awareness campaign in the coming months to demystify common misconceptions about undocumented students.

While his future and, indeed, his ability to stay in America remain uncertain, Enrique is committed to continuing his advocacy for immigrants’ rights.

“Being undocumented is a struggle, but I see it as only one struggle among the many others that Harvard students face. Sometimes people feel like they can’t come out, that they have to face the challenges alone. I had lived my whole life hiding. I hope to help other people to be open, to look for help if they need it, and to be more comfortable in coming out.”

Matthew M. Beck ’14 is a history and literature concentrator in Quincy House.