By William Lopez & Maria Ibarra
On September 5, 2017, President Trump rescinded the Obama-era immigration policy known as DACA, or Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals. Under the policy, undocumented immigrants were allowed to apply for work permits and driver’s licenses and were granted a two year reprieve from deportation if they met a certain set of criteria. These criteria included arriving before their 16th birthdays, being under 31 years of age, having no felony convictions, and having attained or being in the process of attaining a high school education, among others.
The days after DACA was rescinded, we noted an overwhelming outflow of support for those affected by DACA’s sudden removal. Many spoke out in support of those they called “Dreamers,” (a label that originated around 2001 with the proposal of the DREAM Act), and many other individuals and organizations raised money to pay the $495 DACA application fee (here’s a handy guide if you are still looking for funds).
But why were “Dreamers” able to garner the support of so many while other movements have been met with indifference? Specifically, why are some of the very people who vocally support Dreamers so hesitant to say that Black Lives Matter?
The answer can be observed nearly every time a politician or immigrant ally speaks in support Dreamers. Dreamers are “innocent” immigrants who “did nothing wrong,” and were “brought” to the U.S. through “no fault of their own.” They are the “best and brightest,” who only want to contribute to their communities and work and join the military. In exchange for letting them work, they are offered the bare minimum of support: a license to get to and from work and school, permission to go to work and school, and discretions that means they probably won’t be deported in the next two years. And it only costs $500. This support, while, again, enormously beneficial to those who receive it, requires nothing of the citizen allies who offer it, nor does it require our immigration system to restructure the way in which it functions. We, as citizens, do not have to think about how our system exploits undocumented labor, nor wrestle with the racist history tied to immigration policy. We do not have to question the violence inherent in immigration raids, nor the ways in which these raids can damage the health of entire communities for generations. And we do not have to dig into the deeper, uglier causes of immigration, such as the U.S.’s enormous hunger for drugs that fuels much of the poverty and violence south of the U.S. border to begin with. Simply, welcoming Dreamers into U.S. society does not require any changes to the systems in place. On the contrary, the Dreamer narrative fits nicely into the immigrant ideal so often praised throughout the U.S.: immigrants want to work, and if they are allowed to work, they will do so, endlessly, happily sacrificing their bodies for the stars and stripes before pulling themselves up by the bootstraps to learn English and achieve the “American Dream.”
The Black Lives Matter movement provides a powerful contrast to the ally rhetoric surrounding DACA and Dream act advocacy. This movement is fundamentally about “humanity” and “resilience,” not economic output. Value is placed on a range of identities, including those of different gender identities, ability statuses, sexual orientations, and, yes, immigration and refugee status. BLM activists support the Water Protectors who organized at Standing Rock and have spoken out when Black transwomen have been killed. That is, this organization forces us to rethink the systems of race-based, heteronormative, capitalist oppression that allow the system to work as it does at the cost of the lives of those who fall outside a narrowly defined norm.
And, unlike embracing the image of the innocent, hard-working Dreamers, this makes us deeply uncomfortable, as we are forced to consider our roles — as allies — in an oppressive and exploitative system.
To be clear, in no way does this mean that allies SHOULD NOT support some form of the DREAM Act, nor raise money to support DACA applicants. Indeed, for those of us who have been fortunate enough to have worked alongside DACA-mented colleagues, we are aware that they are among some of the most dedicated, intelligent, and compassionate coworkers and friends out there (Of course they are. They have experienced more turmoil than many ever will). Yes, please, raise money. Support a DREAM Act. Absolutely. Actually, you can even donate here or here.
But let’s also listen to those most affected by immigration policy and look far beyond the narrow protections granted by DACA. To be clear, undocumented advocates themselves have long supported advocacy platforms that, like BLM, upturn the status quo and critique the established systems and the people who sit comfortably within in. In fact, both BLM and undocumented youth organizers modeled their tactics on the LGBTQ advocacy movements, unapologetically owning their identities and using strategies such as ‘coming out of the shadows’ and demanding an end to the the criminalization of black, brown, and queer people. Other undocumented advocates have written eloquently about how allies have forced them into a narrative that sacrifices their parents for their own protection, or, most recently while interrupting House Minority Leader Nancy Pelosi’s announcement of forthcoming immigration negotiations, used them as political “bargaining chips.”
Listening to the voices of those directly affected by immigration policy necessitates an inclusion not only of Latino immigrants, but of immigrants from all backgrounds, including those who simultaneously experience oppression for being Black in the U.S. In the past few years, there has been a push to take a more nuanced look at the immigrant landscape and highlight the ways in which the normative immigrant narrative erases the experiences of non-Latino immigrants, making undocumented Black immigrants much more deportable than their counterparts in other racial groups. This begs the question, if we will march for Dreamers, but cannot say that Black Lives Matter, do we support all undocumented youth? Or only the ones who aren’t Black?
Let’s refuse to tie our support to immigrant productivity or to some notion of “innocence.” Rather than embrace the images of Dreamers holding diplomas, let’s find inspiration in the images of Dreamers holding the parents, sisters, brothers, or friends unprotected by a DREAM Act, saying to each other, “All of us or none or us.” Similar to the Black Lives Matter platform, let’s build an immigration movement that not only challenges the status quo, but also acknowledges immigrant humanity.
