A moral, logistical, and economic disaster.
There’s
an image that’s stayed with me for weeks: A sea of people holding up “Mass
Deportation Now” signs at the Republican National Convention.
Mass deportation was the method used by the Turks
to carry out the Armenian Genocide (1915-17)
Since
then, I’ve been plagued with nightmares of mass raids by the military and
police across the country. I see millions of families being torn apart,
including families with citizen children. And I see DACA recipients — like me —
carried away from the only life we’ve ever known.
Mass
deportation wasn’t just a rallying cry at the GOP convention. It’s a key plank of Project 2025, a radical
document written by white nationalists listing conservative policy priorities
for the next administration.
And
it would be a disaster — not just for immigrants, but for our whole country.
I
moved to the United States when I was six. Until my teenage years, I didn’t
know I was undocumented — I only knew I was from the Philippines. I grew up in
Chicago with my twin brother. Our parents worked hard, volunteered at my
elementary school, and ensured we always had food on the table. They raised us
to do well and be good people.
But
when my twin and I learned that we were undocumented, we realized that living
our dreams was going to be complicated — on top of the lasting fear of being
deported.
Everything
changed right before I entered high school in 2012: The Obama administration
announced the Deferred Actions for Childhood Arrivals policy, or
DACA. The program was designed to protect young people like my twin and me who
arrived in the U.S. at a young age with limited or no knowledge of our life
before. We’re two of the 600,000 DACA recipients today.
DACA
opened many doors for us. It’s allowed to drive, attend college, and have jobs.
And we’re temporarily exempt from deportation, a status we have to renew every
two years.
DACA
helped me set my sights high on my studies and career. Although I couldn’t
apply for federal aid, with DACA I became eligible for a program called
QuestBridge that granted me a full-ride scholarship to college. Today I work in
public policy in the nation’s capital, with dreams of furthering my career
through graduate school.
But
if hardliners eliminate DACA and carry out their mass deportations, those
dreams could be swept away. And it would be ugly — mass deportation would
be a logistical disaster, taking decades and costing
billions.
Imagine your friends, neighbors, colleagues, peers, and caretakers being dragged away from their homes. For me, it would mean being forced back to the Philippines, a place I haven’t seen in two decades. My partner, my friends, my work — all I’ve ever known is here, in the country I call home.
This
country would suffer, too.
An
estimated 11 million undocumented people live here.
We’re doctors, chefs, librarians, construction workers, lawyers, drivers,
scientists, and business owners. We fill labor shortages and help keep
inflation down. We contribute nearly $100 billion each year to
federal, state, and local taxes.
Fear-mongering
politicians want you to believe we’re criminals, or that we’re voting
illegally. But again and again, studies find that immigrants commit many fewer crimes than
U.S.-born Americans. And though some of us have been long-time residents of
this country, we cannot vote in state or federal elections.
Despite
all the divisive rhetoric, the American people agree with immigration
advocates: Our country needs to offer immigrants a path to legalization and
citizenship. According to a Gallup poll last year, 68 percent of Americans support this.
My
dark dreams of mass deportations are, thankfully, just nightmares for now. And
my dreams of a secure future for my family and all people in this country
outweigh my fears. We must do everything possible to keep all families
together.
Alliyah Lusuegro is the Outreach Coordinator for
the National Priorities Project at the Institute for Policy Studies. This op-ed
was distributed by OtherWords.org.
