“Lives in Limbo vividly documents the experiences of belonging and exclusion that mark the everyday lives of undocumented youth as they transition to adulthood. Through his careful attention to the ways in which these young people navigate these contradictory processes, Roberto G. Gonzales puts a human face on the many victims of America’s broken immigration system. Theoretically rich, beautifully written, and cogently argued, this brilliant book is a landmark study of the human costs of American policy failures.”—Mary C. Waters, coauthor of Inheriting the City: The Children of Immigrants Come of Age
 
“This necessary book documents in tragic detail how American public policies prevent hardworking children from pursuing their lives as full members of the society in which they were raised. The scholarly and personal commitment required to produce a work of this caliber is evident in the intimacy of the ethnographic work. This theoretically skillful book is one of the best examples of high-quality academic scholarship that also fully engages the policy debates of our times. An impressive achievement that will set the standard for others.”—Robert C. Smith, author of Mexican New York: Transnational Worlds of New Immigrants
 
"Written after years of fieldwork, this book brings into sharp focus the plight of undocumented children transitioning to adulthood in America. Lack of a path to citizenship condemns hundreds of thousands of these youths to a life of permanent marginality. This is must reading for anyone wishing to understand the realities of contemporary immigration."—Alejandro Portes, coauthor of Immigrant America 
 
"This extraordinary study provides important details about a generation of immigrants that, through the courageous organizing and leadership of its members, has already permanently altered the national debate on immigration reform, politically united the Mexican American community across all generations of presence in the United States, and launched the most vibrant youth movement this country has seen in four decades. The book powerfully demonstrates the national shame in failing to enact, nearly a decade and a half after its first introduction, the congressional legislation that would permit the United States to benefit fully from the intellect, ingenuity, and perseverance of this generation of young immigrants."—Thomas A. Saenz, President and General Counsel, MALDEF (Mexican American Legal Defense and Educational Fund)
 
"This book accomplishes something truly remarkable. Its ethnographic commitment makes a solid contribution to scholarship without compromising on allowing the reader to experience the poignancy, sadness, distress, and emotional trauma society has inflicted on these unfortunate young people. A must-read for anyone interested in the victims of the current stalemate over immigration reform."—Leo R. Chavez, author of Covering Immigration: Popular Images and the Politics of the Nation

 

“Lives in Limbo vividly documents the experiences of belonging and exclusion that mark the everyday lives of undocumented youth as they transition to adulthood. Through his careful attention to the ways in which these young people navigate these contradictory processes, Roberto G. Gonzales puts a human face on the many victims of America’s broken immigration system. Theoretically rich, beautifully written, and cogently argued, this brilliant book is a landmark study of the human costs of American policy failures.”—Mary C. Waters, coauthor of Inheriting the City: The Children of Immigrants Come of Age
 
“This necessary book documents in tragic detail how American public policies prevent hardworking children from pursuing their lives as full members of the society in which they were raised. The scholarly and personal commitment required to produce a work of this caliber is evident in the intimacy of the ethnographic work. This theoretically skillful book is one of the best examples of high-quality academic scholarship that also fully engages the policy debates of our times. An impressive achievement that will set the standard for others.”—Robert C. Smith, author of Mexican New York: Transnational Worlds of New Immigrants
 
"Written after years of fieldwork, this book brings into sharp focus the plight of undocumented children transitioning to adulthood in America. Lack of a path to citizenship condemns hundreds of thousands of these youths to a life of permanent marginality. This is must reading for anyone wishing to understand the realities of contemporary immigration."—Alejandro Portes, coauthor of Immigrant America 
 
"This extraordinary study provides important details about a generation of immigrants that, through the courageous organizing and leadership of its members, has already permanently altered the national debate on immigration reform, politically united the Mexican American community across all generations of presence in the United States, and launched the most vibrant youth movement this country has seen in four decades. The book powerfully demonstrates the national shame in failing to enact, nearly a decade and a half after its first introduction, the congressional legislation that would permit the United States to benefit fully from the intellect, ingenuity, and perseverance of this generation of young immigrants."—Thomas A. Saenz, President and General Counsel, MALDEF (Mexican American Legal Defense and Educational Fund)
 
"This book accomplishes something truly remarkable. Its ethnographic commitment makes a solid contribution to scholarship without compromising on allowing the reader to experience the poignancy, sadness, distress, and emotional trauma society has inflicted on these unfortunate young people. A must-read for anyone interested in the victims of the current stalemate over immigration reform."—Leo R. Chavez, author of Covering Immigration: Popular Images and the Politics of the Nation

CHAPTER 1

Contested Membership over Time

It was what many had been hoping for: some sort of relief. But did it come too late? And was it enough? On the evening of Thursday, November 20, 2014, US president Barack Obama went on live television to announce a new administrative action to reform the US immigration system. Obama began, "Today, our immigration system is broken, and everybody knows it. ... It's been this way for decades. And for decades, we haven't done much about it." Responding to growing discontent among immigrant rights groups, the president and the Department of Homeland Security (DHS) together issued a memorandum expanding the Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals (DACA) program of 2012. DACA — instituted by a DHS directive rather than congressional action — provided temporary work permits and deportation relief to more than 664,000 young undocumented immigrants who had lived in the United States since childhood. The 2014 expansion announced by President Obama eliminated DACA's upper age ceiling of thirty-one years and introduced a new program, Deferred Action for Parents of Americans and Permanent Residents (DAPA), to provide deportation relief and work permits to an estimated 3.5 million undocumented immigrants with US-born children.

The president's actions followed a series of aborted legislative attempts to provide the nation's eleven million undocumented immigrants with a pathway to legalization. Legislation targeting undocumented immigrant youth, formally known as the Development, Relief, and Education for Alien Minors (DREAM) Act, had gained some political traction since first being introduced in 2001 but had not been able to pass Congress. As time passed without congressional action, immigrant communities grew increasingly desperate for reform. Their world was shrinking. Ramped-up deportations sowed fear across the country. Every passing day presented another blocked opportunity to get an education or to work, to connect with family members in one's country of origin, and to make a true home in the United States.

These actions also came more than thirteen years after the initial introduction of the DREAM Act and many years of disappointment that young people and their families had experienced watching time go by without legislation being passed. Policy makers like to say that change takes time and occurs incrementally. But legislative decisions take place at a great distance from people's lived reality. For those waiting for immigration reform, time has been cruel and unyielding.

I was wrapping up this book and trying to figure out what these administrative changes would mean for a group of undocumented young adults in Los Angeles whom I had been following for nearly twelve years. I was especially curious about what this new program would mean for them, how they would respond, and who would be left out.

Back in Los Angeles, Maria Betancourt, one of the young people whose lives I had followed between 2003 and 2014, reacted to the president's announcement with mixed emotions. In 2012, she had been an undocumented resident eligible for the DACA program, and she had been excited to apply, saving for over six months to come up with the $465 application fee. But now, as a thirty-one-year-old with only a high school diploma, her DACA status was not sufficient to raise her standard of living. With her work permit, Maria was able to apply legitimately for a cashier job at a local drug store, but her hourly wage was not enough to lift her family out of poverty.

When she was younger, Maria had aspired to become a dental assistant. She had enrolled in community college but had quit by the end of the semester because her studies would be useless without "those nine digits." Now, even with the nine-digit social security number granted by DACA, Maria did not expect to be able to return to school. She had two children and was expecting a third. Her husband Ramon, also undocumented, was unable to apply for immigration relief or a work permit because of the long shadow cast by previous gang ties and crimes he had committed as a teenager.

In the November 2014 announcement, Obama forcefully argued, "We're going to keep focusing enforcement resources on actual threats to our security. Felons, not families. Criminals, not children. Gang members, not a mom who's working hard to provide for her kids." But the distinction between "criminals" and caring, productive family members was not so clear for the Betancourts. Ramon had worked hard over the years to establish a life removed from gang ties and to be a good husband and father. He had severed ties with many of the guys from his old neighborhood, he had begun volunteering at his church, and he had worked very hard so he could help to financially support his family. But the president's words provided no offer of relief for people like Ramon, no notion of rehabilitation. Though his crimes had been committed long ago, these new programs provided Ramon with little hope for the future. Despite his connection to his church, his many years of hard work, and the steps he had taken to get his life on track, Ramon was structurally locked out.

Across the country in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, Esperanza Rivas was firmly situated among the politically "deserving" — with the exception of her undocumented status. In contrast to Ramon's criminal past, Esperanza's teen years made her a poster child for the proposed DREAM Act legislation. She had been adored by teachers and classmates alike when she was in high school in Long Beach, California, where she was at the top of her class, ran cross-country, and was a member of the marching band.

But time was not on Esperanza's side. When she graduated from the University of California in 2006, no federal programs existed to provide her with a legal work permit. She was forced to take a job from a narrow range of bad choices. She kept her hopes up by advocating for the passage of the DREAM Act with a group of friends, but her advocacy could not provide an escape from the strains of low-wage work and life "under the radar."

In 2012 Esperanza moved to Milwaukee to be close to her mom and sister. Even after receiving DACA status later that year, Esperanza struggled to support her one-year-old son as a single mom. She used her work permit to secure one job at a bank and another at a hotel — jobs similar to those she had held as an undocumented worker. At age thirty-two, her work history did not allow her to compete for jobs commensurate with a University of California education. "What sucks about this," she told me, "is yeah, I have a work permit. So what? I've missed out on so much time. While my...