“La tierra se secó.” That was my dad’s short explanation for why he left Mexico as a teenager in the 1970s. His family relied on their small farm in rural northern Mexico for subsistence. But when the droughts came, the land could no longer sustain them. So, he, like my mother, moved to the U.S. to find new opportunities.
My dad worked in construction before becoming a baker at a grocery store for over three decades while my mom started in a factory and later transitioned to a call center. They raised three kids who all graduated from college—a source of immense pride for our family. Their story is one of perseverance, resilience, and the belief in the promise of a better future. It is also one of millions of untold stories that rarely find their way into media headlines or policy debates.
While the national conversation about immigration often centers on tragedy or fear, the reality for most immigrants is far more ordinary.
I think of my friends like Martha*, a DACA recipient who works in the nonprofit sector. She has been advocating for immigration reform since she was a teenager. She is now in her thirties with two kids. She faces an uncertain future as the DACA program winds its way through the courts, with a possible end by the Trump administration. Or Miguel* and his wife Rosa*, who I recently met while giving a community presentation. They have lived in the U.S. without an immigration status since the late 1990s—through five presidential administrations. They have three kids and own their home but are making a family preparedness plan in case either of them is detained and deported in the coming years. These are people who are deeply woven into the fabric of the U.S. yet remain excluded from stories that drive immigration policy in Congress.
Consider this: of the estimated 11 million undocumented people in the U.S. as of 2022, 79 % have lived here for nearly 15 years. These are people who have built lives, families, and careers in this country.
Instead of addressing this reality, we’re seeing proposals that lean heavily on enforcement and fear. These bills amplify the narrative that immigrants are a danger to society. This fearmongering not only dehumanizes millions of people but also ignores the actual contributions immigrants make to our communities and economy.
We’re told that if we spend more money to lock people up – even those who are never charged with a crime – and deport them, we’ll find safety and prosperity as a society. But history tells us otherwise. Decades of increased spending on enforcement agencies like Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) and Customs and Border Protection (CBP) have not addressed the root issues of migration or improved public safety. Instead, they have further entrenched a system that is both inhumane and inefficient.
Despite these inequities, the singular focus on enforcement continues. Some lawmakers are willing to allocate an additional $120 billion to ICE and CBP but won’t invest even a fraction of that amount to improve the system’s functionality. For instance, in late 2023, the Biden administration requested $2.2 billion in supplemental funding to hire more asylum officers and judges, $1.4 billion to support cities’ and counties’ integration efforts for newly arrived migrants, and $3.2 billion to fund refugee resettlement in the U.S. and abroad. Yet, that request failed to advance in Congress.
Immigration is not just a political issue—it is a human one. In the 1980s, my parents were able to get green cards and eventually integrate fully into society as U.S. citizens. Unfortunately, there are millions of people that have yet to experience the relief and certainty that my parents were provided.
Congress has a choice. It can continue down the path of punitive policies that exacerbate dysfunction, or it can pursue reform, like a pathway to citizenship, that reflects, and honors, the everyday stories of people like Martha, Miguel, and Rosa.
* names were changed
FILED UNDER: Congress, Customs and Border Protection, Immigration and Customs Enforcement
