Photos by Eric Sueyoshi
Ask David Cho what the DREAM Act means to him, and his answer is simple.
Everything.
“It would truly change my life if it were to pass,” said the fourth-year student at UCLA, majoring in international economics and Korean. “It’s a path toward freedom for me.”
Freedom to serve in the nation’s air force. Freedom to pursue graduate studies at Harvard’s Kennedy School. Freedom to become a U.S. senator.
Freedom to dream big, as young people like Cho often do.
But his dreams, along with those of tens of thousands of other undocumented immigrants across the country, are hanging in the balance as members of Congress consider passing legislation that would give these young people legal status and a path toward citizenship if they meet a set of stringent requirements, including attending college or serving in the military. On Dec. 8, the House of Representatives passed the Development, Relief and Education for Alien Minors bill, dubbed the DREAM Act, but within 24 hours, Senate Democrats tabled the legislation, still hoping to cull together enough votes for passage.
There’s a certain urgency to the issue, as Democratic lawmakers are trying to push the bill through in the 2010 calendar year, before the lame duck session ends and Republicans regain the majority in the House. Senate Majority Leader Harry Reid has scheduled the crucial vote for Saturday, but Democrats may still be at least five votes short to win cloture.
Still, thanks in large part to young people like Cho who have risked deportation to give a human face to this issue, the bill this year has garnered unprecedented momentum—including substantial public support according to various opinion polls—and its best chance yet of becoming law. Since “coming out” as undocumented at a Los Angeles rally during his sophomore year, Cho has emerged as a vocal advocate of the DREAM Act, sharing his story with lawmakers and news outlets like CNN and the Los Angeles Times.
“In the past, no one ever talked about [the DREAM Act] because they never had students coming out saying they were undocumented,” said Cho. “This year is the first time they’ve had to actually deal with real faces. Senator [Barbara] Boxer shared my testimony on the Senate floor twice, using my picture, my name and all of my background information.”
At age 9, Cho emigrated from South Korea to the United States with his parents and his two younger sisters on a religious visa; his father is a pastor. Cho says his parents’ intention was to gain legal residency, and they worked toward that goal for over eight years. “But then it never came through, and things got very complicated with our sponsors,” said Cho. He would learn, during his freshman year of college that the family’s visa had expired. He was undocumented.
Suddenly, Cho realized he wasn’t “like his friends.” He couldn’t access financial aid nor work legally to help pay hefty UCLA tuition, and he’s not allowed to drive.
But such barriers didn’t stop Cho from taking on high-profile leadership roles, including conducting UCLA’s 250-member marching band and volunteering as a student moderator for the Alliance of Korean American Students in Action. The student group works closely with the Korean Resource Center and the National Korean American Service and Education Consortium, two nonprofits that have been pushing for the DREAM Act’s passage.
Incidentally, Cho is not the only member of his family with leadership instincts; his 13-year-old sister is co-president at her middle school.
“I knew that [our immigration] status wouldn’t dictate our path to success,” said Cho of himself and his sister. “[It] wouldn’t stop us from striving to do the best we can in every field.”
The 22-year-old knows well the arguments from opponents of the DREAM Act who say that the proposed legislation rewards those who have broken the law, will drive up the unemployment rate and will entice more people to illegally enter the U.S. But Cho asks that these critics put themselves in his shoes.
“You come to this country when you’re 9, you go through the whole education system, you get into [college] only to find that you’re undocumented. What would you do then? You didn’t make the choice to come here; your parents brought you here. What would you do? Would you go back to the country that you barely know or would you advocate for the DREAM Act?
“We’re not asking for amnesty,” continued Cho. “We’re asking for a chance to prove to you that we are capable of giving back to this country. After the DREAM Act passes, we would still have to go through a temporary status for 10 years. It’s not a direct route to citizenship. It’s 10 years for us to prove that we’re not criminals; we’re hard-working people. All we’re asking for is a chance.”
If passed, the bill would grant 10 years of conditional status to high school graduates who came to the U.S. before the age of 16, have lived here for at least five continuous years, graduated from a U.S. high school or obtained a GED, and demonstrated good moral character. These students would become eligible for legal permanent residency after attending college or serving in the military for at least two years. They must also pass rigorous criminal background checks. After three additional years, these immigrants would then be able to apply for citizenship.
Several members of President Obama’s Cabinet have come out publicly in support of the DREAM Act, with Defense Secretary Robert Gates predicting the law would help with military recruitment and Homeland Security Chief Janet Napolitano saying such a move would also allow her department to focus its efforts on terrorists and criminals, instead of innocent youth. UCLA Chancellor Gene Block has also thrown his support behind the bill, asserting that these students’ skills were sorely needed to help the nation in a global economy.
The surge in public support is a source of relief for Cho and other undocumented students who have been so vocal in their advocacy. He admitted that the night before he came out as undocumented for the first time at the Los Angeles rally, he had penned a farewell letter to his friends and family, in the chance that he should get deported or even shot. “It sounds crazy,” said Cho in hindsight, “but that’s how I felt that day.”
He said his parents initially opposed his activism, asking him, “Why are you risking so much? Why don’t you let other people do it?” But Cho told them, “I don’t want other people working so hard so I can ultimately benefit. I have to fight for my own rights.”
Now his parents are supportive, even driving him from California to Washington, D.C. over the summer so he could speak at a national conference on the issue.
Even if the DREAM Act doesn’t pass, Cho said he doesn’t regret risking so much to advocate for it. He knows his and the other faces have helped to humanize those who have so often in the past been demonized. And yet, at the same time, when asked what he would do if the bill doesn’t become law, the UCLA student leader, armed with big dreams, struggled to answer.
After a long pause, he responded, “That’s something I don’t even want to think about.”
