As I read the headlines surrounding the still uncertain future of the Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals program, even as we reached its 11th anniversary on June 15, I cannot help but reflect on the privilege that many of us hold as U.S. citizens.
This is highlighted, for example, in the story of Jaime Avalos, a young man who was stranded in Mexico for six months due to an error in his immigration paperwork. Unlike Avalos, I can choose to read these headlines (or not) with confidence that regardless of what is said, my life and home will very likely remain the same. My U.S. citizenship affords me that certainty.
But for many DACA recipients, their status is increasingly tenuous. An October 2022 court ruling placed more than 600,000 undocumented youth who are protected by DACA in danger of losing the only home they have known. By ruling that DACA was unlawful, the court threw those enrolled in it into a deeper state of fear.
DACA was established in 2012 during the Obama administration as a means of offering work and educational opportunities — and a reprieve from deportation — to young people who entered the United States as children. On average, most DACA recipients entered the country at age 7. Since its inception, DACA recipients have faced countless hurdles, such as in 2017 when the Trump administration decided to rescind the program.
In January of this year, nine states appealed to a federal judge in Texas to end the DACA program with a decision pending on the legality of the program. The only things that remain certain now are the hope, tirelessness and perseverance from youth across the country who continue to wait for their future to be decided. One source of relief came on Feb. 10 with the reintroduction of a bipartisan Dream Act, which would offer a pathway to citizenship, but the ultimate outcome remains to be seen.
As a child and adolescent psychologist, I wonder what this chronic state of uncertainty will mean for the long-term mental health of undocumented youth who are protected by DACA. The short answer is that it is unlikely to mean anything positive. Narratives from unauthorized youth depict common challenges, dreams and the disorienting experience of remaining invisible. In 2020, United We Dream, the largest immigrant youth-led network in the United States, partnered with the Latinx Immigrant Health Alliance to survey more than 650 unauthorized youth and adults; 68% of those surveyed had DACA status. The report revealed high levels of stress and clinically significant levels of depression and anxiety.
As someone living in the United States, I can’t help but consider the impact of lost jobs and economic contributions on the economy if DACA is rescinded. DACA households contribute an estimated $6.2 billion in federal taxes and $3.3 billion in state and local taxes each. If these workers are forced to leave, the United States is projected to lose roughly 22,000 jobs per month for the next two years.
As a human being, I feel compelled to act and speak out. Undocumented youth who are protected by DACA should have a familiar and safe place to call home. While immigration is undeniably polarizing, we can all identify with the universal feelings of angst and excitement that come with young adulthood. It’s a time for figuring out who we are, what we like and where we fit in. DACA recipients are like the teenagers we were — except that they’re living with the perpetual threat of being uprooted.
Inaction should no longer be an option. I choose to believe that good outcomes are still possible, but hard work and determination are not always enough to finish the job. Empathy and a willingness to truly see and respect the “other’s” humanity are also needed.
To close his State of the Union speech in February, President Joe Biden expressed his optimism for the future of America: “We just have to remember who we are. We are the United States of America and there is nothing, nothing beyond our capacity if we do it together.”
Yes, Mr. President and members of Congress, let’s finish the job and help pave the way for a new generation of youth to enjoy the privilege of believing that, too.
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ABOUT THE WRITER
Michelle Alejandra Silva is an associate professor in the Department of Psychiatry, Yale School of Medicine, and a Public Voices fellow of the OpEd Project and Yale University. This column was produced for Progressive Perspectives, a project of The Progressive magazine, and distributed by Tribune News Service.
