More than 14,000 California high school graduates can't work: This is a tragic waste of talent

Ariel Carmona

June 18

By Ariana Aparicio Aguilar

In 2011, shortly before I graduated from Sonoma State University, I broke down in tears in my sociology professor's office. She had generously gathered information for me about graduate programs in social work and career paths in teaching and counseling.

But I knew there was no point in applying because I was undocumented. I'd come to America from Mexico when I was four, so my parents could work the oyster farms near Pt. Reyes Station, north of San Francisco. Any teaching credential program required fingerprinting and background checks to work with children, so my immigration status disqualified me.

I had wanted to be a teacher since the age of 10 and help students the way my teachers had helped me. Having to put my dream on hold was one of the lowest times in my life. I was a college graduate with a stellar GPA who couldn't hold a legal job. I spent the next year taking childcare gigs and telling people "I'm taking a break while I figure things out." Except that wasn't true. I was eager to move forward with my life.

I was lucky, however. The next year, a new program called the Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals (DACA) gave young immigrants like me work authorization and temporary resident status here. My life changed: I was able to get a job at an education nonprofit, and my confidence soared. For the first time, I felt hopeful.

Now, sadly, I'm watching history repeat itself. In 2021, a federal judge ordered the DACA program to stop accepting new applications. Since then, a new generation of young immigrants has graduated high school in the shadows. This year about 14,000 undocumented students in California – 100,000 across the nation – are estimated to graduate from high school without the ability to legally live and work in this country.

I can't tell you how horrible it feels to hear your friends excitedly talk about their futures while you are left out. There are no summer jobs or internships for these new graduates. And even students who are headed to college can't escape the dread of what will happen to them after they graduate.

The inability to work also means that some students won't be able to afford college at all. Undocumented students have never qualified for federal financial aid and often depend on part-time, under-the-table jobs to make ends meet. In California, they qualify for in-state tuition if they attend a U.S. high school for three years. But only 24 states and the District of Columbia offer in-state tuition to undocumented students; Alabama, Georgia and South Carolina restrict them from enrolling in all or some state schools altogether.

There used to be momentum to enact permanent safeguards for undocumented teens. However, Congress has failed to rally behind the latest version of the Dream Act, which would establish a process for these students to apply for legal status and become citizens. That's despite the fact that polls have shown strong bipartisan support for Dreamers among the American public.

It makes little sense to congratulate high school graduates and then forbid them to use their talents and education. Without any legal options, we are condemning them to a permanent state of limbo while they "wait" for our dysfunctional political system to offer a solution.

Imagine putting yourself in these students' shoes. Think about how anxious and depressed you might feel watching your friends pursue their dreams, while you're paralyzed simply because you graduated without legal status.

After I received DACA, I blossomed. I went to Harvard for my master's degree and am now finishing my doctorate in education at the University of California Riverside. I'm fortunate to be able to renew it for now and have a path forward in a career I'm passionate about. But I still feel vulnerable. I worry that if DACA is eliminated in the near future, I will be at risk once again.

This new generation needs a permanent solution. The idea of wasting the talents and dreams of this many young lives is simply too much to bear.

Ariana Aparicio Aguilar is an education Ph.D. candidate at the University of California at Riverside and a former fellow at the Presidents' Alliance on Higher Education and Immigration.