While Latinos Take to the Streets, Undocumented Indo-Paks Stay in the Shadows

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 Hina Naveed is a DREAMer an unauthorized youth who was brought into the country as a child. For most of her life in the United States she has been an undocumented immigrant, one of the 11 million in the nation. Her family came to the U.S. from Pakistan, legally, on a tourist visa in 2001. 10-year-old Naveed accompanied them on this life changing trip to seek treatment for her sisterís brain condition. Doctorhad told the family that she would receive the best care in the U.S. and Boston Children's Hospital became their medical home until their visa expired.

When the family's attorney misfiled their immigration papers and they were ordered to leave the country within 30 days, Naveedís father made the difficult decision to overstay their visa to continue her sister's treatment. "Because of that decision, my sister is still alive today—13 years longer than her doctors expected," says Naveed.

Her family bought a business in New York and moved there, silently building a life in the shadows. Unable to even get a driver's license, Naveed's life was stuck in limbo. Despite being President of her high school's National Honor Society, her dreams of going to medical school were hinged on an unattainable social security number.

Naveed talks about the stigma of being undocumented, especially in the South Asian community. She didn't come out about her immigration status as it would label her family in the Pakistani American community. Her brother was the first to start speaking up about their status, urging her to also shrug off the stigma and get involved in the movement for comprehensive immigration reform, especially the passage of the Development, Relief, and Education for Alien Minors (DREAM) Act. The DREAM Act is a bipartisan legislation introduced in 2001 pioneered by Sen. Orin Hatch [R-UT] and Sen. Richard Durbin [D-IL]. If passed by Congress, it would give qualifying undocumented youth a six-year long conditional path to citizenship, provided they complete a college degree or serve for two years in the military.

"My father has always been very open with us about our undocumented status. He explained that we had to choose whether to leave the U.S., interrupting my sisterís treatment and risking her life, or stay behind and face the consequences," says Naveed, who spent her teen years in angst about her immigration status...until DACA—the 2012 Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals program. On June 15, 2012, President Obama created a new federal policy giving temporary permission to stay and work in the United States for certain undocumented youth who came to the U.S. as children.

After paying her $465 and submitting her DACA paperwork: Naveed was safe from deportation, got a work permit and a driver license in New York, paid in-state tuition, and enrolled in a nursing program. "It was huge relief [and] made life a lot easier," says Naveed. Her status expires in March and she is working on her DACA renewal process.

In his November 2014 address on television, President Obama said that mass amnesty for all undocumented immigrants would be unfair and mass deportation ëwould be both impossible and contrary to our character.  With Congress unable to address the broken immigration system, he gave a recent executive order to protect five million unauthorized immigrant parents who have lived in the U.S. for at least five years and have children who were either born in the U.S. or are legal permanent residents from deportation, including Naveed's parents. The new changes in the Deferred Action for Parental Accountability (DAPA) and DACA will help families stay together. Starting in May, pending a background check, those qualifying under DAPA can also apply for employment authorization.

This order also toughens security along the nationís southern border. Seventeen states have already filed a joint lawsuit in federal court to try blocking the executive order. Like many undocumented people, Naveed doesn't want to be a political pawn, used for election year rhetoric. She dreams of a life without the burden of travel restrictions; dreams of being able to have long term goals.

Education about the process is important as many vulnerable people are scammed. Naveed gives the examples of notarios in the Hispanic community; she works for El Centro, a storefront immigrant day worker center in Staten Island. Notario means lawyer in Spanish, but in the boroughs of New York a notario is just a notary public. Many notarios have committed immigration fraud, charging fees for help they never provide and submitting unneeded paperwork that can often get undocumented people in trouble. They apply for things that undocumented people donít qualify for, putting them at risk for deportation. According to the American Bar Association, victims often permanently lose opportunities to pursue immigration relief because a notario has damaged their case.

Immigration is often viewed as a Latino issue, but it affect all communities. At a recent DACA information panel at a library in a 'desi' neighborhood in New Jersey, Naveed met several young women from South Asia who came to the US on H-1 visas with their husbands. Due to the recession, many of their spouses lost their jobs and work authorizations, and they overstayed. It is tremendous emotional and psychological burden to carry.

Having these difficult conversations is important, says the 24-year old. "Communities have to provide safe spaces where these conversations can take place," she adds. Mistrust of authorities and fear of deportation also stops many from talking about their status or applying for status change. For those concerned about give their information to the government, Naveed says honesty is key; the government is collecting information. There are very revealing questions asked in the forms about places lived and schools attended, says Naveed. But it is a benefit that seven million other people are not getting, she says, and those eligible should take advantage so they can become productive members of society. She acknowledges the fear; but no one is being fined, not even employers, says Naveed, encouraging eligible people to sign up for DACA.

The leaders in community, especially those on the pulpit, set the tone of countering the stigma—if a message of confidentiality and help is sent to undocumented congregants. A poster with resources such as contacts to attorneys, or immigrant rights groups that can help file paperwork without fraud on a Islamic center bulletin board would be beneficial. "You can't force someone to come out of the shadows; you can provide a safe space for them," she says.

DACA is temporary; it is not a pathway to citizenship but it does have many advantages, reminds Naveed. "No one wants to worry that will I make it home tonight? Will there be a raid at work tonight? Don't make it harder on yourself and your children than it has to be," she advises those who qualify. Deferred action or DACA is only a temporary measure and is not intended to, and does not grant, legal status to the individuals that the DREAM Act seeks to benefit. Only Congress can award lawful permanent resident status or citizenship, so immigrant advocates think it is essential that work continues towards the passage of the DREAM Act.

As she fills out paperwork for her parents, Naveed thinks about the many friends and community members among the 7 million that did not qualify and continues to organize for immigration reform.

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