First Year Writing Award
4,680 Mile Commute
By: Nicolla Papa
Walking to the Immigration BIOS building in Boston was one of the most exciting days of my life. My sister and I were there to receive our biometrics (fingerprints, height, weight, pictures) for our work visas. The building looked fairly new, with glass panes and a brick structure. As my sister and I walked in, we both glanced at each other, and we knew we were thinking the exact same thought, we don’t belong here. That room went from families talking quietly to such a quiet area that you could hear a pin drop a mile away. We were the only English-speaking people other than staff members and security guards. We slowly walked over to the security guards, and they started speaking to us as if we only knew broken English. It was in a slow, very simplistic cadence. It felt to me as if they were looking down upon us, and that they were better people for being born in the United States and having more opportunities than us. It shouldn’t have bothered me as much as it did, but since I have grown up with the same level of education as anyone else my age in this country, the same experiences as everyone my age in this country, and the same goals as everyone else in this country—it did bother me. It made me furious that I even had to be in this building, doing paperwork for something I have no control over: where I was born.
My mother and father had decided to immigrate to the United States from Greece in 1998 in order for Kristina and I to receive a better education and for the whole family to begin to pursue the American Dream. My father’s dream was to one day own his own pizza shop, and that was how he planned to put me and Kristina through college. My parents did not know any English when they had first arrived to Massachusetts, and they had no formal education.
Kalamata, Greece was a very poor town, almost to the point of poverty. The town had extremely limited employment opportunities, and those who were lucky enough to receive a job were not compensated well. “Nick, why haven’t you visited Greece? It is such a lovely place over there!” I get asked this question on a daily basis, and many people seem confused when I respond with, “It’s a one-way street.” Due to my legal status, I can go back to Greece, but I will not be able to come back to the United States. It is not as hard on me as it is on my parents. They have left everything they had behind them, knowing that they may never see their families again. Seventeen years have gone by, and I still see the pain in their eyes every time they make a phone call to their relatives back in Greece. I can’t imagine what it would be like to go seventeen years without being able to see your mother, father, and your siblings.
Our parents enrolled us into elementary school, and they were working full time at a pizza shop in Beverly, my mother as a dishwasher and my father as a cook. Kristina and I had learned English in school, and our parents continued to teach us Greek at home. As the only two in the family to know how to communicate in English, we took on a role that many children will never have the opportunity to experience, which resulted in maturing at an extremely young age. My father showed me what hard work and dedication was all about. Seeing him come home exhausted, day after day, falling asleep as he’s eating his dinner at ten o’clock at night, just to make minimum wage, changed the way I will look at a dollar bill for the rest of my life. My sister acted as the guardian angel over me while I transformed from a small caterpillar in a cocoon, into a monarch with wide-spread wings. Having her footprints to follow in the sand molded me into who I am today. My mother instilled in me perseverance—that no matter what you are going through, you will get through it. The calluses on her hands never seemed to bother her after work, because she knew she was working for family, and one day things will change for the better.
My sister and I had a very tough time applying for colleges, and it wasn’t due to the fact that our grades and SAT scores weren’t adequate enough, because they were. It was due to the fact that we had to apply as “international students” even though we have lived in this country almost our entire lives. Why? You may ask. Not having a Green Card in this country will limit you very fast. If you are an aspiring young student with a 4.0 G.P.A, and an SAT score of 2400, graduating as the valedictorian of your class, and you do not have a green card because you’re parents decided to come to this country when you were at the age where you had no idea what was happening, you are straight out of luck. The government will not give you a single penny to help pay for college, and in fact, they will make you pay more out of your pocket because you will not be able to receive in-state tuition without fighting for it. I went through the process of applying for in-state tuition, which in my opinion was the most illogical thing I think I have ever done. Showing my high school transcript was not enough to prove that I have been living in this country, as if I was making a 4,680 mile commute every day from Kalamata, Greece to Ipswich, Massachusetts. I had to provide my school records from the day I entered elementary school; every landlord we had ever rented from had to write us a letter stating that we had been living at said residence. I had to scavenge every single bill that has my name on it, had to make photocopies of every single photo picture that was government issued, and even write a personal essay that gave a “good enough reason” for why I was in this country. The whole process took a month to complete—a month more than anybody born in this country needed.
How is it fair that I have to show documentation of my entire life to receive in-state tuition, but it is automatically given to those who don’t even know what a Green Card and Citizenship document looks like? How is it fair that those students who have parents that work very well-paying jobs, that go on vacations every year, own multiple luxury cars, and own multiple homes are given financial aid and allowed to take out student loans, yet my family who has worked minimum wage their entire life, has never gone on a single vacation, and has been renting a 2-bedroom house their entire life was not given a single dime in financial aid and not allowed to take out student loans? Why has nobody noticed that this is a form of accepted discrimination against hard working immigrants? How is it unacceptable to be discriminatory over someone’s race (something they have no control over), and completely acceptable to discriminate against a student who came here when he was two years old (something they have no control over)? My parents are not able to earn $4,000 very easily, let alone save $4,000, and fortunately enough, I was able to receive in-state tuition.
The fact of the matter is the government only cares about people born here, and I can say that with confidence because I have witnessed it first-hand. They try to show concern and sympathy to those who immigrate here by passing a “temporary law” under the DACA program, which in my eyes is a very well-planned scheme in order for immigrants to pay taxes to the government, with no real benefits of citizenship. The DACA program gives students who have come to this country at a young age the right to apply for a Social Security Number and a Work-Visa, but it does not allow for a path to a Green Card or citizenship. This was a lesser version of the DREAM Act that would have allowed a complete path to citizenship. This Act lost in the senate by a vote of 55-41. The Act needed 60 votes to pass; only 5 away from passing.
This situation is as if we are stuck in a ten-foot deep ditch, and the government is reaching down and trying to give us a hand so it shows that they are making an effort to assist, but they’re not because the government has 41 members of the senate over their shoulder telling them to not use a ladder that would lift us out of the ditch, which would in turn put us on the same level of ground as everyone else in this country.