Undocumented and unafraid - Despite the risks, a young illegal immigrant will publicly declare her status at downtown rally

Undocumented and unafraid - Despite the risks, a young illegal immigrant will publicly declare her status at downtown rally
By Mary Schmich
Copyright © 2010, Chicago Tribune
8:45 a.m. CST, March 10, 2010
http://www.chicagotribune.com/news/columnists/ct-met-schmich-0310-20100309,0,604645.column


Her name is Tania, and she's undocumented.

"It's a radical act just to say it," she says, sitting in her workplace, which for this column she'd rather not identify.

Tania is 26, a University of Illinois at Chicago graduate with a good job, and on an ordinary day she's gregarious and confident.

But when she speaks the thorny truth that she's carried inside since she was 10 years old — a truth that could get her fired or deported, could harm her family and alienate her friends — her hands tremble and her eyes dart off.

"It's so" — she curls her fingers and gently touches her throat — "personal."

The floor of this little room is carpeted in freshly painted banners. Tania and some friends were here the night before, painting slogans like "Undocumented & Unafraid."

On Wednesday, they'll carry their banners through downtown and Tania will stand up in Federal Plaza to say, "My name is Tania, and I'm undocumented."

Seven other young people — no last names — will stand with her and do the same.

They're calling it a "coming-out" rally, an approach inspired by both the gay-rights movement and earlier immigration marches, and they hope to inspire a lot more people their age to reveal themselves.

But sitting in a chair on a gray afternoon, despite the slogans on the banners at her feet, Tania's voice cracks.

Even though her name has been in the newspaper before, she's afraid to have it there now. She says no to a photo. I coax.

Then I realize: This is the point.

Legions of young people like her — brought here as children by their parents, now American in every way but the paperwork — continue to live squeezed between the desire to speak out and the reflex to hide.

Tania and hundreds of thousands like her have grown up vilified and marginalized. No matter how honest they are otherwise, they're trapped in a subterfuge they did not create.

"I worry about the mental health of undocumented youth," Tania says, "listening consistently to attacks."

Sixteen years ago, Tania's parents brought her and her younger sister to the United States on tourist visas. They stayed for the reason millions of other immigrants have: work.

Tania learned early to keep quiet about her status. Kids do. She didn't feel the strong pinch of life without documents until she attended Lincoln Park High School, where she was in the International Baccalaureate program and captain of the swim team.

When a student group went to France, she didn't have a visa, so said she was too busy to go.

When other swimmers became summer lifeguards, she had no valid Social Security card, so claimed she had other plans.

On the advice of a counselor, she applied to college as an international student. After she was admitted to Bryn Mawr and Earlham, she took her first trip back to Mexico, hoping to get the papers to enroll. Her passport was confiscated, and after her story became public, she made it home to Chicago on a one-year humanitarian visa.

She wound up at UIC. Once, in a class on immigration, she raised a hand and said, "I'm undocumented."

Afterward, the teacher warned, "Be careful where you say that."

Tania remains careful. But last fall, after she helped lead a successful campaign to stop the deportation of Rigo Padilla, an undocumented student, she and three friends thought: What now?

They formed the Immigrant Youth Justice League. In recent months, they've recruited members and connected with national groups advocating a path to citizenship for immigrants here illegally.

With the help of some of their former teachers, they've taken their coming-out message to students, many of whom will march Wednesday.

Anyone who watches the march with an open mind will see that these young people aren't aliens. They're us. They are Chicago, and the immigration laws are squandering their energy and possibilities. In other words, squandering our possibilities.

And her full name, which she finally says is OK to use, is Tania Unzueta. She is undocumented. She is trying not to be afraid.

mschmich@tribune.com