If they met all these conditions at the time the act passes, they could adjust their status to conditional residency. They then would have six years to either obtain a two-year college degree or complete two years of military service.
Only after successfully completing college or military service could they gain citizenship status. And even then, it would be a one-time deal for people already here; it would not extend to the next generation of undocumented people brought here as kids.
Malia Politzer
The road leading into Oscar Vasquez's new home in Mexico.
Allan Cameron
Oscar Vasquez's house in Magdalena, Mexico.
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This is the first article this year of
New Times' occasional series
"Are Your Papers in Order?" in which we examine the treatment of undocumented aliens, brown-skinned U.S. citizens, and legal residents at the hands of local and U.S. law enforcement.
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If the DREAM Act had passed when it was introduced in 2001, Oscar Vasquez would not have had to return to Mexico — he could have put his engineering degree to use in the United States. Virginia Gutierrez would probably be in medical school now, and Teresa in nursing school. Joe Arvizu might still be alive and serving in the military.
Like with everything concerning immigration, people are polarized when it comes to the DREAM Act — particularly in Arizona.
In 2007, Representative David Lujan introduced a state version of the bill in the Legislature, calling it the Arizona DREAM Act. It would have allowed undocumented juveniles brought here by their parents to pay in-state tuition. It never made it out of committee.
State Senator Russell Pearce regularly refers to the national DREAM legislation as the "Reward Lawbreakers Act," condemning it as amnesty that rewards parents who entered the United States illegally because it benefits their children. His objections are consistent with those of others who oppose the bill — organizations like the Federation for American Immigration Reform and the conservative think-tank Heritage Foundation. FAIR and Heritage are worried that undocumented kids will take college spots and funding that should go to U.S. citizens. Pearce has expressed concern that allowing undocumented students to pay in-state tuition would further deplete already diminished state coffers, at a time when Arizona is grappling with the biggest budget crisis in modern history.
The opposition is not doing its homework.
"When I hear some describe this as amnesty, I wonder — if someone is willing to risk his or her life to serve in our military in a combat zone — how that is a giveaway? Is that citizenship for nothing? I don't think so," said U.S. Senator Dick Durbin (D-Illinois), when he introduced an earlier version of the DREAM Act in 2007. "It has really been fundamental that we don't hold children responsible for the errors and crimes of their parents. Why, then, would we hold these children responsible?"
At first blush, many concerns voiced by the opposition sound sensible. In Arizona, out-of-state tuition is roughly three times what in-state students pay. So it seems logical that state schools would lose money if undocumented students paid in-state tuition. As it turns out, though, upping the college costs means that fewer undocumented students can afford to go. Fewer students mean less tuition overall.
When Proposition 300 went into effect in 2007 — tripling state tuition for the undocumented — ASU and the University of Arizona were forced to deny in-state tuition to more than 1,500 students, according to that year's state legislative committee report. Today, the number of undocumented students enrolled in Arizona universities has dwindled to 300.
As for the concern that undocumented students displace qualified citizens, a 2009 study by the National Immigration Law Center shows that the effect is "minimal." The center's analysis of the 10 states that presently allow undocumented students to pay in-state tuition — among them Texas and California, home to the largest illegal populations in the country — demonstrates that less than 2 percent of last year's high school graduating class were undocumented, and only a fraction of them would attend college even if they were able to pay the in-state rate.
For the most part, that translates to "only a few dozen or a few hundred particularly talented students" enrolling in college in each state, according to the study.
Last March, a group of senators and representatives introduced the DREAM Act to Congress again, as a stand-alone bill. With Comprehensive Immigration Reform (a massive re-examination and overhaul of the country's broken immigration system) near the top of the national legislative agenda, the DREAM Act has a chance of passing.
"We all recognize the value of higher education and service to our country. To serve these federal policy interests by giving legal stability and opportunity to young people caught in the limbo of our laws through no fault of their own is the right thing to do," said Senator Patrick Leahy (D-Vermont) when introducing the bill. "The promise this bill holds for so many young people will reinforce the spirit that underlies the history of American immigration and the diversity that has moved us so far."
Arizona's economy may be the big loser when it comes to deporting immigrants brought to the state illegally as children.
In 1987, a 19-year-old undocumented immigrant named Alfredo Quinones-Hinojosa from a small town in Mexico clawed his way over a border fence in Calexico, California, and took a job picking weeds and tomatoes in the fields of San Joaquin Valley. It was his second attempt at illegal entry — the first time, he was caught by U.S. Border Patrol officers and deported.
