By Daniela Carvajal

When I was two years-old, I left my home country, Colombia, with my parents. Poverty and the lack of employment opportunities pushed my parents to make the difficult decision to leave our homeland and loved ones. We traveled to the U.S. with tourist visas and began living in this country undocumented after overstaying our visas. I later learned that my parents had planned to stay in the U.S. for two years, work hard, and return to Colombia in a better financial position than when we had left. 

My parents were open with me about our immigration status from a young age. I remember being aware of my undocumented status at ten years old, feeling fear and shame while I listened to my classmates joke about “la migra.” As I grew older, I began to worry that being undocumented would prevent me from reaching my goals. Despite being aware of the obstacles my immigration status could pose, my parents motivated me to pursue a higher education, knowing that I wished to go to college to become a therapist. In 2012, I could apply for Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals (DACA), and my dream of attending college became more attainable. Being a DACA recipient meant I had protection from deportation, was eligible for a work permit, and could even apply for a driver’s license. With DACA, I could begin my college education at Bunker Hill Community College, finish my undergraduate degree at the University of Massachusetts in Boston, and eventually complete a master's in Social Work at Boston College. 

As a beneficiary of this program, it is important to credit the students and activists who pressured former President Obama to sign the DACA executive action. Inspired by the courage of those who came before and fought for the rights of immigrants in the U.S., I first became involved in immigrant rights advocacy in 2016, right after the presidential elections. I was devastated by the results of the election because, during his candidacy, Donald Trump had threatened to cancel DACA, which he and his administration claimed was unconstitutionally enacted by former president Barack Obama. I was tired of feeling alone and frozen by fear, so I joined Centro Presente, an immigrant-led community organization in my neighborhood, East Boston. Before joining Centro Presente, I had felt too ashamed to share my story. I was mainly afraid that the hateful, xenophobic comments and stereotypes about immigrants in the US would overshadow my immigrant experience. As a member and volunteer of Centro Presente, I gained a community that accepted me and made me feel at home, a feeling I had longed for for so long.

Since 2018, I have worked with Centro Presente as an Immigrant Rights Organizer. I have had the opportunity to contribute to my community by supporting Central American immigrants, especially women and children who flee their countries of origin, including El Salvador, Honduras, and Guatemala, due to multiple forms of violence. The women and girls who seek support from Centro Presente carry a lot of trauma from the abuses they have experienced in their countries of origin, on the migrant route, and in the U.S. Still, they are also incredibly strong and able to show immense amounts of empathy and solidarity with one another. Through this work, I have had the privilege of witnessing the power of collective healing through storytelling and acknowledging the root causes of forced migration and the systems that perpetuate violence against Central American women and girls. This collective healing makes it more possible for women and girls who have been denied their basic human rights through multiple types of violations, to engage in self-advocacy. This is what energizes me to continue fighting for change despite the uncertainty around the future of immigration policy in the U.S. 

Everyone deserves to live a life with dignity, whether they decide to fight to stay in their country of origin or they are pushed to migrate. The fate of DACA recipients, TPS recipients, millions of undocumented immigrants, and thousands of recent migrants is uncertain. As a DACA recipient, there are moments when I still feel afraid about losing my status but I don’t feel alone anymore. I feel embraced by the power of my community.

‍