Siempre Florecemos
A future teacher reflects on the lessons of undocumented survival
My name is Mariel Joseline. When I was the ripe age of 5, I immigrated from Jalisco, Mexico to the United States. Ever since I was little, I loved teaching and learning. From learning how to translate legal forms for my mom to teaching my siblings their ABCs, supporting the learners around me came naturally. However, I never considered teaching as a possible career because I was very aware of my undocumented status.
I never considered teaching as a possible career because I was very aware of my undocumented status.
Throughout my life, my passion for teaching unconsciously guided many of my actions. In middle school, I remember choosing my elective to become a peer tutor. I was able to act as a teacher’s assistant in various classes from special education preschool to fifth grade. I remember feeling happiness as I helped students reach milestones in their own educational journey.
My mom never hid the fact that we were undocumented, but I was not aware of what that really meant until I was ready to graduate from high school. I remember finding ways to stay with the only counselor who knew anything about undocumented students–even though their knowledge was limited. This gap in my school’s support was actually another moment of teaching for me. My last two years of high school were filled with constant research and telling my counselor about opportunities on how to apply and afford college as an undocumented student, especially as AB540 had just been passed and DACA became effective.
AB540 and DACA felt like rays of hope for those of us in California who qualified; it gave us the means to afford college and have the ability to work. This was the first time I felt like a “normal” human being in this country. I was able to be excited about leaving for college and being able to work with an actual social security number. The world felt open and exciting as I embarked on my new journey. That feeling didn’t last long though. It left during my first week in college.
Transformations
No one mentions how lonely independence feels when you are the first one in your family to attend college, navigating this mountain with little or no resources. For a while I actually thought I was the only undocumented student at the University of California, Santa Barbara, until I joined UCSB IDEAS (Improving Dreams, Equality, Access, and Success), the student-led undocumented support and advocacy group on campus. It was through this group that my journey continued down the educational path. Through my work with IDEAS I was able to connect with undocumented high school students and community members. I was able to not only learn about my own undocumented identity but also found pride in it.
I was able to use that pride and knowledge to lead workshops on the CA Dream Act, AB60, and allyship. Through these experiences, I learned how education can transform individuals and communities. I felt like my life had meaning and purpose. At the height of this growth for me, the 2016 election came.
Being an outspoken undocumented student during Trump’s presidential campaign was not a safe one. During this time period, people would share with us screenshots of posts on social media from some of the far-right students posting threats of calling ICE on undocumented student leaders, leading me to fear stepping out of my house.
Since that moment, the feeling of happiness and joy has been connected with the feeling of fear and uncertainty. After Trump’s election, my life felt more unstable than ever. DACA was (and continues to be) on the chopping block and I could not choose to begin a lifelong career when so many variables were up in the air.
Undocumented Teaching
Seven years later, my uncertainty remains present. In light of teacher shortages, I decided to follow my dream of becoming a middle school teacher. I am about to graduate from Stanford’s Teacher Education Program with a job lined up to work with middle school students as a social studies teacher in August.
However, those dreams may be closing before even beginning. A court decision about the fate of DACA could be made at any point in the near future. This ruling may determine whether I have the ability to, as I often joke, renew my biyearly U.S. membership. It feels scarier now because my hopes and dreams are on the line. If I am not able to renew my DACA, I will not have the ability to finish out my first year as a teacher. The thought of leaving my classroom halfway through the year and leaving my students with no contingency plan feels scarier than the thought of losing all the DACA protections and privileges it grants. In a time when teachers are scarce resources, we are losing individuals who have worked their asses off to turn classrooms into communities that allow children to learn and expand their worldview. Where do we go from here?
The thought of leaving my classroom halfway through the year and leaving my students with no contingency plan feels scarier than the thought of losing all the DACA protections and privileges it grants.
Despite the constant state of uncertainty, knowing that I will be able to build and grow a community with inquisitive 7th and 8th grade minds—even if its just for part of a school year—is enough fill my tank of hope. To me, being a teacher is not only about teaching and learning. It is also about love, compassion, empathy, and community. This is why I continue to dream of a future where borders do not exist and people roam freely without the fears or worries of having “papers.”
Propina
We are so grateful for Mariel to share this story with us (and just days before her graduation)! If you have a story you’d like to share, please get in touch.
Here are a couple resources that Mariel recommended for La Cuenta’s readers:
Barrio Drive is an immigrant-owned online apparel shop
And here is an educator resource: Supporting Undocumented Students & Their Families
We’ll see you next week!
Thank you Mariel for sharing your story with us ♥️