Flores graduated from the University of Hawaiʻi Richardson School of Law and, like many UH students, is preparing to walk across the stage this weekend. But unlike the majority of her classmates, Flores’ cheer section will be missing a key member – her mom.
For non-U.S. citizen students, the expectation that their parents will witness the ceremony has abruptly morphed into a pipe dream. Travel plans are no longer simply figuring out flight times and hotel accommodations. They now come with weighing the risk of detainment and deportation.
“It’s heartbreaking,” Flores said. “I've been able to achieve what I've done thanks to her sacrifices, and now she won't be able to witness this critical moment that is literally the fruition of her labor.”
Flores is a Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals, or DACA, recipient. DACA allows those who immigrated to the U.S. without legal documentation as children to receive social security, work authorization, and the ability to pursue higher education in the U.S. without the risk of being deported, even without citizenship.
Flores noted that despite her family members having mixed citizen status, the threat of them being apprehended during their travels outweighs the reward of witnessing her graduation. This same fear drives her wish to keep her first name and family’s location anonymous.
She has taken it upon herself to educate her family to ensure their safety by making sure her siblings and parents have all their documents and identification on hand.
She noted that her mom doesn’t speak English very well, which creates unease for Flores, knowing that her mom often goes out and works alone. She explained that she tries to call her mom weekly to update her on any changes to immigration policies.
Despite the influx of information on each phone call, her mom has remained steadfast.
“She’s taking it as it comes, just day by day, and usually she’s very calm. But maybe that’s because she's our mom. She’s always tried to seem strong for us.”
Flores struggles with the knowledge that her family is in a vulnerable state, both physically and emotionally. Her days are riddled with thoughts of them being pulled out of school or work, battling language barriers, not knowing what to do or say.
But Flores’ siblings are young, and she’s scared she’s putting too much burden and responsibility on their fragile shoulders. She said she doesn’t know if the youngest ones truly understand what is happening to their family, but she prefers it this way.
“I try not to scare them, but it’s either that or risking their safety if they don’t know what to do,” she said. “Where they are, racial profiling is basically how ICE gets people, so they could get pulled over in their car or stopped at school at any time.”
How DACA has changed under the Trump administration
With President Trump back in office, phrases like “undocumented,” “alien,” and “illegal” have gained more negative stigma, but Flores urged others not to judge based on citizenship status. She noted that many students were eligible for DACA and would have been authorized the same privileges as Flores if it weren’t for the program’s end in 2017.
“With DACA, we become the poster kids of immigrants, like we're somehow the ‘good’ immigrants,” she said. “I don't like that separation because we're all the same type of immigrants. We're just people trying to live our lives, trying to contribute to the country, just like every other person here.”
Stephanie Haro Sevilla, an immigration law attorney at the UH Refugee & Law Clinic, was concerned about racist stereotypes. She explained that people can reduce immigrants down into a box, often confined by the prejudice that they are dangerous, criminal, and job stealers — when in fact immigrants contribute heavily to the economy in both buying and working in the labor industry.
“There is so much important work done by them that is overlooked or even overshadowed by their citizenship status,” she said.
During the last Trump administration in 2017, the DACA program was stopped, meaning no new applicants would be accepted. Because Flores was already a recipient, she continued to be eligible for renewals every two years, which cost roughly $600 biannually.
But with the benefits from DACA comes the barrier of not being eligible for any federal aid. Because DACA recipients are not considered to be U.S. citizens nor “aliens,” they are disqualified from FAFSA and most student loans.
“In order for me to survive and keep living here, I basically have to pay a subscription fee to this country on top of the thousands of dollars we pay in tuition,” Flores said. “Most people, in my case, and especially the people who are fully undocumented, are barely making ends meet.”
What's happening on UH campuses
Haro Sevilla warned about the vast repercussions of targeting the immigrant community, especially for programs like DACA.
“We could see a decrease in enrollment, because they are just so scared to even leave their house at this point,” Haro Sevilla said. “Even just to go get simple necessities, go to doctor visits, or church, because even these places that are supposed to be safe, are allowed to have ICE present.”
Esther Yoo, the director of UH Mānoa’s Refugee and Immigration Law Clinic and an immigration law practitioner, noted that Honolulu’s ICE team has targeted those already in state custody and those who have previous removal orders from President Trump’s first administration.
She said that if someone has a removal order that was never executed, they are at risk for immediate deportation without the right to a hearing with an immigration judge.
Haro Sevilla explained that Hawaiʻi has only two immigration judges, which could cause the number of backlogged immigration cases to skyrocket. She worried it could lead to unfair, snap decisions in an effort to decrease the backlog, which could result in an exponential increase in deportations.
Yoo added that the buildup of cases has pushed many hearings to 2029, meaning that if someone doesn’t need to be kept in the detainment center, they could be released on bond to wait for their hearing. But for those who have reason to stay detained, like those who still have existing prison sentences, it could be another four years in custody before their case gets heard.
“If they are deported back to their country of birth, we could see people that don't even speak the language back home and who have literally nothing there,” Haro Sevilla said. “Maybe they don't have siblings, maybe they don't have any family back home, and they’d be sent to live in a country that they know nothing about.”
Flores said that she and many students are concerned about the lack of action at a campus level. She said there have only been “general statements without real action” from UH.
“I’m happy to report that we are not aware of any ICE activity on campus at any point,” said UH President Hensel in a public forum on April 21. “We have put forward specific information to ensure that we both follow the law and also ensure that rights are protected to the maximum extent that they can be.”
When asked what education is being passed onto faculty and those who may come in contact with an ICE agent on campus, she noted there are resources available on the school's website.
The UH communications team stated that “it should be noted that there has not been any reports of immigration enforcement enforcement and any UH campuses.”
“In order to encourage people to go to school, you have to make it a secure space for them,” Flores said. “Students are having to choose between risking their livelihood by going to class, or staying home and missing their education because of the threat of ICE.”
UH reported that “a few students” had their visas revoked, but as of April 25, they have all been reinstated.
Meanwhile, in the moments that Flores isn’t on phone calls or getting things in order for her graduation, Flores has been reflecting on the long hours her mom used to work — which meant she often missed important events in her kids’ lives.
“She definitely wanted to be more present with us, but I never doubted that she did what she had to do in order for us to have it better,” she said.
Her mom is missing another milestone in Flores’ life, but this time because of what’s become the new normal for those not fully documented — fear for their safety and livelihood.
Flores expressed her frustration with the system as a whole and how its complexity has trickled down to impact those around her.
“I want to hear the U.S. fixing the whole immigration system and creating something that actually allows us to get citizenship,” Flores said. “People always say just get in line and do it the right way, but that line doesn’t exist right now. Create a line for us, then we'll get in it.”
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