Los Angeles Times
By Lalita Clozel
March 24, 2014
WASHINGTON
— Working as a Jack in the Box cashier, Marissa Cruz Santos breathed a
sigh of relief last year when she qualified for an Obama administration
program that
defers deportation of young immigrants who came to the U.S. illegally
as children.
With
high expectations and a freshly minted work permit, Santos, 27, hit the
job market, hoping to leverage her new status and a Cal State Fullerton
degree into an entry-level
office position. But after applying for several jobs near her Riverside
home, Santos got only two interviews and no offers.
Yes,
she said, the president's Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals program has made it easier for her to apply for jobs that were
previously out of reach, but obstacles
remain to actually getting them, mostly because of gaps in her skill
level and a weak resume caused by years toiling at low-paying fast-food
jobs.
"I
don't think we were ready for the fact that a lot of us have been out
of school for a long time and that we don't have experience," Santos
said.
As
prospects for comprehensive immigration reform this year fade, many
young immigrants like Santos are confronting the limits of the
president's program, saying it has
not transformed their lives as much as they had hoped.
The
program offered a two-year deportation deferral and work permits to
hundreds of thousands of undocumented immigrants who came to the country
illegally before age 16.
Santos and others, dubbed the "dreamers," were encouraged to come out
of the shadows and build new lives. The program was hailed as an
important first step in addressing the plight of more than 11 million
immigrants living in the U.S. illegally.
But
since the program started, more than 40% of participants have failed to
land new jobs after receiving work permits, and only 45% reported
getting pay increases, according
to early results from a 2013 survey of 2,381 participants, conducted by
Roberto G. Gonzales, an assistant professor at Harvard University's
Graduate School of Education.
He
said the "prototype dreamer" that most immigration activists talk about
— straight-A students and valedictorians who are now free to pursue
successful, productive careers
— represents the minority. Most participants, he said, are having "a
hard time reentering mainstream life."
Many
have been unable to take advantage of new opportunities because they
lack a high school diploma or college degree, Gonzales said. He noted
that the program did not
make participants eligible for financial aid or in-state tuition in
every state.
"The biggest barriers to higher education … still exist," he said.
Maria
Del Carmen Reyes, 31, an unemployed Santa Ana waitress, said she had
enrolled in a program to become a licensed vocational nurse but quit
after four months because
she realized it was futile. "I was almost going to finish," she said,
but "people were telling me, 'You don't have a Social Security
[number].... You're not gonna be able to work.'"
Through
the program, she received a work permit and hopes to go back to school.
But that could take years. Reyes, who is expecting a baby in July,
recently quit her restaurant
job to take care of her other three children and a husband, who is in
the country illegally and cannot qualify for deferred deportation
because of his previous gang ties.
Even
those with degrees and education are finding that they lack adequate
work experience to get jobs in their desired fields. Some have
internalized the stigma of growing
up in the country illegally and lack confidence during job interviews.
Antonia
Rivera, 32, who moved from Mexico when she was 6, received a degree in
literary journalism from UC Irvine. After graduating in 2006, Rivera
applied for a position
at an insurance company but didn't reveal her immigration status. Rivera said she just wanted to see whether she could get a job on her merits.
Rivera
not only got the job, but the firm offered her a better position than
the one she applied for, she said. When the company asked for a driver's
license, however,
she never called back, knowing it would not hire someone in the country
illegally.
Nearly a decade later, she has almost no experience except for fast-food and customer-service jobs.
Now
with a work permit, Rivera renewed her search for a job at another
insurance company. But when potential employers review her resume, they
invariably ask her to explain
the long gap since graduation and why she took such low-level jobs.
"They would kind of look at me weird," she said, wondering to themselves, "Why haven't you done anything with your abilities?"
She
said she was still nervous about explaining her circumstances to
potential employers. "I'm so used to being undocumented. When I go into
an interview, I think that's
kind of holding me back," she said.
Hoping
for a fresh start, she recently moved to Des Moines, where she found a
job as a clerk at Wells Fargo's home services division. But because the
deferral program
is temporary, Rivera and other applicants say it's difficult to make
long-term plans. Though the two-year program is expected to be extended,
U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services still has not released
instructions on the general reapplication process.
Santos, who recently quit her job at Jack in the Box to devote more time to her job search, said she too feels on shaky ground.
"If
deferred action is not renewed or the government takes it away, it's
going to send us back to basically nothing again," she said. "I'm just
kind of taking it day by
day."
For more information, go to: www.beverlyhillsimmigrationlaw.com
No comments:
Post a Comment