Why Trump Is the Best Thing to Happen to Me, a DACA Recipient

Before you label me a Tio Tomas (Spanish Uncle Tom), you must read my reasoning. My parents made the decision to immigrate to the United States after my father lost everything. He worked for el PRI as a civil engineer and we had a middle class life. He was able to get a visa and then sneak me and my siblings into this country. I was seven at the time. My mother was forced to walk through the desert for several days, but that is another story.

Needless to say, the culture shock of America set in on my first day of school. I realized that most of the kids were far behind when it came to mathematics. This allowed me to learn english without falling behind in other courses. By age nine, I spoke english very well and had made it my main goal to hide my illegal origins.

Growing up during the Bush era made me awfully ashamed of who I was, and so I did everything in my power to assimilate. My mother made me join a swim team at age nine and my assimilation was then accelerated. By the time I was in high school, I was fully aware of my situation and I was fully aware that I could not afford college. I knew that I would be wasting my time. Regardless, I ended up taking a total of 11 AP tests in high school and graduated with a 4.17 GPA. I swam, ran cross country, played guitar, and did exceedingly well on my SATs. When it came time to apply to college, I knew only the private schools would help. The California DREAM act was not around yet. I graduated high school in 2009 but only got into UCSB and UCSD. I chose to go to UCSB and forced my migrant mother working a minimum wage job to pay for my school. I was only there for one quarter, because I realized the financial strain that it was for my mother to put me through school. She made 16k a year and spent 8k on my first quarter of college.

I made the decision to return home to Long Beach and attend the community college. After two years of community college and several failed federal DREAM act attempts, I began to feel hopeless. I began to realize that I was wasting away and that my life would never change.

It was labor day weekend of the year 2011. The Morton memo calling for an end to deportations of young immigrants in college was released that summer. I decided to, for the first time ever, go to San Diego to party with my high school friends. I had never been this close to the border for fear of being deported. However, I knew that if I got in trouble, that I would not be deported .

Surely enough, I got myself all kinds of drunk and disoriented. I do not recall how my night unraveled, but I ended up in jail. It was labor day weekend so I was moved to San Diego County Jail to wait for ICE the following Tuesday. My worst nightmare had come true. I was in jail awaiting deportation proceedings.

I finally got to the ICE detention center, I was taken outside and a field agent simply asked me, "Do you want to go to TJ today ? Or seek legal assistance and report to us in 30 days?" I chose the latter.

The amtrak ride back to Long Beach was the saddest experience of my life. I felt completely alone and helpless. I realized then the severity of my situation. I had 30 days to find a solution to this life changing problem.

All of the lawyers my family and I found said the exact same thing: "There is nothing we can do. You will most likely get deported, but pay us and we will see what we can do." They usually wanted upwards of six thousand dollars, and for what? My best friend was, at the time, attending USC and was a member of AEPi , the Jewish fraternity. He sent out a mass email to all of his frat bros about my impending demise and was able to find me a lawyer. Her name was Ginger Jacobs and she was a Harvard trained lawyer running an immigration firm in San Diego. This was the perfect attorney. She told me she would love to work with me and only charged me 2.5 thousand dollars.

When the meeting with ICE came, it was the most casual meeting in the world. Ginger knew the two head ICE lawyers at the San Diego field office. The individual in charge of me told me that I should get drunk in Long Beach next time, we agreed on regular check ins ( every six months), and in exchange, they would exercise prosecutorial discretion .

In 2012, the California DREAM act was enacted. I could now afford college. DACA was also announced that same year, and given that I was already in ICE's system, I was one of the first people to get their work permits. Somehow, having been almost deported ended up being the best thing that could have happened to me. I forced the government to deal with me.

In January 2013, I returned to UCSB and started out on a chemistry degree. This was the best experience of my life and I was able to finish my BS in Chemistry by June 2015. I applied for my second DACA permit around that time and received it. I was then able to work with my chemistry degree and did so by being hired at a pharmaceutical company.

Over the past two years I have grown frustrated by the inability to travel, visit my relatives in Mexico, and drive my professional career forward by studying or working abroad. I have been paying an excessive amount of taxes while enjoying a limited experience as a work permit holder. I am essentially trapped in this country and would have continued to be so if it was not for the Orange one.

Yes, I know, it sounds like Stockholm Syndrome. He ended the program that has made everything possible for me. But at the same time, by doing so, he realized the impact that we, the DREAMERs, truly have on the economy. We are highly educated, love this country, and are determined to grow with the economy. By forcing the senate and congress to deal with DACA, Trump has reignited my hopes of starting international businesses and studying abroad. He has once again brought to life the hope of not being just a work permit holder, but eventually a citizen of the United States. I know that if there was a democrat in the white house and republicans ran house and senate, there would be absolutely no immigration deals going through. Fatalistic as Trump's move is, it helps people in my situation figure out once and for all whether or not this country is truly ours. Quite frankly, America educated me and helped me develop into the successful scientist that I am today. America has helped me escape poverty and has given my family hope for a brighter future. It is your move, America. Let me know if I belong.