Once a Dreamer and now a citizen, my journey was long but fulfilling
Last week, I took the oath to become a U.S. citizen after 26 years of living in the U.S. — with more than 20 of those years as an undocumented immigrant. It’s been an arduous journey for me and my family — but even now, as a citizen, I remain as committed as ever to fighting for the rights of immigrants, people of color, LGBTQIA, the working class and women.
As I took the oath, I began thinking of everything that led me to finally becoming a U.S. citizen.
I migrated with my mother and sister in 1992 to Austin. From seventh through 12th grade, my teachers told me I was college material, though my schoolmates teased me for my accent. I grew up thinking it was bad to be an immigrant — that it was something to be ashamed of. I was taught to disregard my mother’s courage and bravery to migrate for the love of our family — and for survival.
Like the millions of undocumented immigrants, I too had a plan in case la migra — or immigration enforcement — ever showed up at my job or school. Thankfully, I never needed to use that plan, but it did mark my life.
I was waitressing to pay for college and become a nurse, my dream career. Back then, I didn’t dare say I was an immigrant, much less undocumented. I lived a double life: I was trying to be a nurse and fit in, so that if immigration agents ever showed up, I’d be able to get away. I’d pray to the Virgen de Guadalupe to make me invisible. I was undocumented and very scared — and unable to live out my dream.
I finally saw a glimmer of hope. It was January 2005, and I was about to earn my bachelor’s degree in nursing from the University of Texas that May. Depression, although not clinically diagnosed, was setting in. I’d lay awake at night crying, thinking about another beautiful frame with a diploma hanging on the wall — and knowing I would never get to practice nursing.
This reality led my sister and I to speak our truth — to share our story and demand the DREAM Act, a bill that would allow undocumented students like myself to work and live in the U.S.
We co-founded the first immigrant youth-led organization in Texas, then I co-founded United We Dream, the first and largest national immigrant youth-led network. United We Dream allowed me to witness the power of people organizing and speaking our truth as undocumented immigrants. I now feel proud of my heritage and my journey.
It was through that journey that began 13 years ago that my mission in life became clear. Although I started organizing because my dream was to practice nursing, I learned through the movement that being bilingual or professional — or being undocumented or a U.S. citizen — should not dictate if one is treated with dignity and respect. It’s the mere fact of being a human that mandates dignity and respect for everyone. I never got to practice nursing, but I get to practice a more fulfilling job: community organizing.
In November, I had my U.S. citizenship exam. Ironically, it was exactly seven years after I got married. Regrettably, my marriage was nothing close to my happily ever after. I actually call it my “lucky-unlucky break,” as I ended up applying for the Violence Against Women Act after my spouse kicked me out of our home — and after making threats to call authorities on me because he knew I could get deported.
Last week, as I took my oath of citizenship, I also pledged with my heart to work for and with the young “Julietas” out there, who are too scared and feel lonely because they are undocumented — for the folks surviving domestic violence or abuse day by day, and for the courageous immigrants who are trying to survive and who should have every right to thrive with dignity and respect in this country.
I am Julieta Garibay, proudly Mexicana — and now officially adopted by the U.S.
And now I’m a voter. I plan to vote for my community — and to honor my journey and my truth. I will always salute my mother’s courage and bravery for migrating in the name of love for our family.
Re: April 29 commentary, “Why work requirements for public assistance are harmful.”
Food assistance for communities of color is especially important. The poverty rate for African-Americans, Hispanics, and Native populations was two to three times higher than the poverty rate for whites in 2016. That same year, SNAP — formerly food stamps — helped 13 million African-Americans and 10 million Hispanics put food on the table monthly.
The proposed House Agriculture Committee farm bill imposes stricter guidelines on “categorical eligibility,” which many states use to decide who can access SNAP, penalizing families for earning more. It also imposes harsh work requirements on SNAP benefits for those looking for work, families with children and older Americans.)
This will hit communities of color the hardest; African-American, Hispanic and Native households are more likely to face long-term unemployment than white households. These policies reinforce racist stereotypes that have continually denied communities
I’m writing to express my concern regarding the recent influx of electric scooters in Austin, particularly on and around the University of Texas campus.
As an environmentally friendly transportation alternative, the electric scooter has many appeals, but also generates significant concerns about safety and feasibility.
I urge the California-based companies, LimeBike and Bird, as well as the city of Austin to consider the safety of users as well as the negative impact of scooters on the aesthetic of the city. Police officers must enforce the use of helmets and adherence to local traffic rules. The city must take action to regulate parking guidelines to ensure the scooters do not impede pedestrian or motor traffic. Additionally, the companies must create a system by which users are penalized for not observing these rules.
Given the explosive growth of electric scooters in Austin, action must be taken immediately.