I am a nurse, a DACA recipient and I belong in this country
By Jessica Esparza
I started working as an intensive care unit nurse right around the time the COVID-19 pandemic hit Washington state. And while the numbers of infected patients are now decreasing at my hospital, which is about two hours outside of Seattle, I still have anxiety going into work. I’m a brand-new ICU nurse, so I worry about my patients’ health, and I’m also nervous about my own status as a resident of the United States.
I was 11 years old when my mother brought me and my then-five-year-old sister to this country from Mexico to reunite with my dad, an agriculture worker who was already living in Washington. It was rough transitioning into the seventh grade in a new country, but I loved school — digging into my schoolwork was my escape from the bullying that came with the territory of that age in life. As I got older, I decided to become a nurse because my grandpa died of a heart attack at age 52 due to untreated diabetes. I’d always thought that if only he’d had someone helping him manage his diet, counseling him to exercise and take care of himself, maybe he’d still be with us.
When I graduated from high school in 2011, I had a 3.98 grade-point average! I was devastated to learn that I couldn’t apply for financial aid or to four-year colleges because I was undocumented and didn’t have a social security number.
But then came June of 2012. That’s when the Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals program was put into place. DACA has given almost 700,000 people like me, who were brought to the United States as children, the chance for a real future here. I was able to apply for DACA and then for nursing school. And while federal financial aid isn’t available for undocumented students or DACA recipients, I was determined. So, I applied for scholarships from local organizations, colleges and my high school.
In 2015, I realized my dream of graduating (with a 4.0 grade-point average) from a community college program that offered a bachelor’s degree in nursing. Because of DACA, I have an education that no one can take away from me.
And that’s not all. DACA provides people with work permits so that we can work legally in this country, contributing to society like the members of our communities that we are. It also protects me from being deported to a country I haven’t been connected to since I was a young child. But now, with the program under threat by the Trump administration, all of that could change and the life I’ve worked so hard for could be taken away.
Any time now, the U.S. Supreme Court could issue a ruling siding with the Trump administration’s efforts to end DACA. The timing couldn’t be worse, and not just for me. I’m one of about 27,000 DACA recipients who work as frontline health care professionals battling COVID-19 and caring for patients who are fighting for their lives during this pandemic.
In April, the Supreme Court agreed to accept an additional filing by the National Immigration Law Center and others that urged the Court to consider the significant impact DACA people are having during the COVID-19 crisis, and how dangerous it would be to deport them. As I can personally confirm, the filing is absolutely correct in stating: “Termination of DACA during this national emergency would be catastrophic.”
I try not to let the worry about what could happen to me weigh down my day-to-day thinking. Mostly, I just focus on caring for my patients. My patients don’t care where I’m from, they don’t care about the color of my skin or my accent. They just know that I’m caring for them — trying to comfort them and helping them get better.
As nurses, we don’t refuse to provide care to any person because of their race, where they’re from or any other reason. It’s heartbreaking to know that there are people who want to deport me because of where I’m from and the color of my skin. It’s heartbreaking to know that, as a nurse, I have everyone’s back — but everyone doesn’t have mine.
I am so proud to have a job where I’m able to give to my community. Even if I weren’t a nurse, my work would still be something that contributes to the livelihood of this country. Whether we’re bagging groceries, working in labs, serving food or driving trucks, we’re all contributing. In fact, every year individuals and families in the DACA program pay “$5.7 billion in federal taxes and $3.1 billion in state and local taxes,” according to the Center for American Progress. It’s clear that DACA recipients are making vital economic and social impacts in the states and communities where we live and work.
I hope that one day I can become a legal resident and then a citizen of this country that I love — where my family lives and where my life is. If this crisis has taught me anything, it’s that I and my fellow DACA recipients belong in this country. This is our home.
Jessica Esparza is a registered nurse, a member of the Washington State Nurses Association and a DACA recipient.
