When I was fifteen, I was privileged enough to be welcomed into the world of adulthood with a grand quinceañera, a traditional Hispanic coming-of-age party. In contrast, when my mother turned fifteen, she traveled over 3,000 miles — about the width of the United States — from her home country of El Salvador to Los Angeles, California.
My mother embarked on her journey across the country at the halfway mark of the twelve-year Salvadoran Civil War. She was pulled from school and placed in charge of doing the household chores of cooking, cleaning, and raising her siblings. The responsibilities only continued to pile up when her father, my abuelo, lost his arm in a tragic accident. All the while, the civil war persisted, political tensions increased, and the death toll continued to climb. My mother went to bed every night, in fear, wondering if one day she too would contribute to the number. She did not know the war would continue for six long years; all she knew was she had to escape.
On her fifteenth birthday, she had no party: no fancy dress, or matching bouquet and cake. There was no family gathering, no dancing, no celebration. Just a solemn conversation with her parents: she would be leaving for the United States, alone, with the promise to help her family financially. At sundown, she would kiss her siblings goodbye in the hammocks they shared and creep out into the deserted streets. My grandfather watched from the doorway, silent tears streaming down his face as he watched his young daughter leave the only land my ancestors had known and had tended to for generations. He wanted to tell her to stay, that the war and conflict would be over soon, but he knew better. If she had any chance at a future, at safety, it would not be in El Salvador. He whispered a quiet prayer to her and watched her chase after the sun; her journey had begun.
In 1985, there were approximately 67,000 refugees accepted by the United States, just shy of the 70,000-ceiling set for that fiscal year. Many came alone, forming friendships and comradery along the way, cautiously aware that many of them would be separated and more would not be able to finish the journey. My mother, a refugee, was fortunate enough to obtain a visa for Tijuana, Mexico, where she stayed for a brief period before moving to California. My father was not as lucky, having to travel for over a month on foot, embarking briefly on “La Bestia,” also known as “The Train of Death”. Earning its title due to the high number of immigrants unfortunate enough to fall off, upwards of 500,000 migrants board this train each year. Amongst these individuals, countless are fleeing religious persecution, gang violence, and corrupt governments in hopes of being granted asylum. They are often turned away or denied entry despite their long journey and sacrifice. Asylum seekers are required to be present in the United States before starting the application process which can take up to six months before any decision is made on their case. If they are rejected, they are subject to immediate deportation. Refugees and asylum seekers are forced to navigate multiple federal agencies throughout their application process, with little, if any, assistance. The process is difficult, outdated, and borderline unachievable for a vast majority of migrants seeking safety. Ultimately, it’s up to Congress to provide the necessary resources and reforms needed to update our immigration system.
In 2002, the same year I was born, the estimate of the legal permanent resident (LPR) population living in the United States and of the population eligible to naturalize for individuals born in El Salvador was 278. My mother was lucky enough to be a part of this number and was able to obtain her residency after a long grueling process, and five years later became a U.S. citizen. My mother is an inspiration and a symbol of persistence, hard work, and dedication. From an early age, I knew I had a role to play in the achievement of her American Dream. My time at the National Immigration Forum has allowed me to learn about the different avenues and topics surrounding the immigration reform conversation. It has given me the tools and information needed to continue my pursuit of a career in immigration law. As my internship reaches its conclusion, I hope to continue following the work of the Forum as the call for bipartisan immigration reform continues. I strive to contribute to the push for immigration policy reform for the hardships my mother, my father, and all the family members whom we lost along the way endured and for all the refugees waiting for their own chance to pursue the great American Dream. The American Dream is real, possible, and achievable. But the American Dream requires resources, support, and policy reform.
*Written by Alexandra Arias, Digital Communications Intern, Summer 2023.