Students Weigh Safety, Politics in College Plans as Trump Targets Immigration

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This story is part of a partnership between the California Health Report and Chalkbeat and is supported by the Solutions Journalism Network’s HEAL Fellowship on youth mental health.

California Health Report spoke to four high school students. In order to protect the identities of the students who fear repercussions based on their immigration status, it has withheld their full names and the name of their school, in addition to generalizing the area where they live.

High school seniors around the country are graduating, a rite of passage that marks a profound shift. It can feel as if everyone is asking them what comes next. For immigrant students, these discussions have an extra layer of complexity this year.

At one northern California school, recently arrived immigrant students are thinking about safety, politics, and the culture of belonging — considerations that weren’t front of mind as they filled out their applications in the fall, before President Donald Trump took office.

In addition to fears about being deported or being separated from family members, the students now worry about financial aid complications and whether their immigration status will prevent them from getting professional licenses in the fields they hope to study. Some have changed their plans, deciding to stay close to home and attend community college instead of attending a four-year university. Others feel grateful they live in California, which has historically provided more resources and what many feel is a more welcoming environment for undocumented students than some states.

But all of the students interviewed expressed some concern about what their next steps could mean for their safety.

The stress of worrying about immigration issues can make it more difficult to focus in class, said Beleza Chan, communications director at Immigrants Rising, a nonprofit organization that helps undocumented college students in California. It can be hard to stay motivated when the future feels so uncertain, she said.

And yet, “continuing to pursue your dreams is one way to fight back,” Chan added.

A California safety net for immigrant students, interrupted

When A., who is 18, came to the U.S. alone four years ago, his eyes were set on college. To him, that meant enrolling directly into a four-year university. But for most of this year, A had started letting go of that dream. His legal protections are only temporary, and without a green card, he wondered if straying far from the home he’s built with his aunt and cousins was the best idea. “I have a lot of mixed feelings,” he said.

Then, A. learned that he had been accepted to California State University, Chico, and a local organization would cover part of the cost. With encouragement from his advisors, A. decided to enroll.

But just as A. was wrapping his head around the idea that his dream of attending college and living on campus was coming true, he learned that a special agent from the Department of Homeland Security had visited his old address, where the agent left his business card with a relative who still lives there. A. is working with his attorney to figure out his next steps, but in the meantime, his fears feel closer than ever.

S., 18, has similar concerns. She entered the country on a temporary visa with her mother, a green card holder, nearly three years ago. She immediately applied for her own legal permanent residence, but the application is still pending. In the meantime, her temporary visa has expired, leaving her in a delicate legal situation.

Her lawyer has recommended that if her green card doesn’t come through soon, she should go to her home country and wait. But that would mean putting her college dreams on hold and returning to a country where she has few family members left. According to the U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services, the average wait time for this type of green card application is 7.5 years.

Before this year, S. had no problem talking to others about her immigration status. Her application was pending, and even though she knew she had overstayed her visa, she believed it would be fixed soon. But she’s felt the culture shift.

”I feel like now I cannot be really open and talk about my experience because of how things have changed,” said S.

Early on in her college application process, S. was thinking big. Determined to study public health and medicine, she applied to 30 colleges across the country, from schools in the University of California and California State University systems to private universities on the East Coast. But after the election, she started doing more research, trying to understand not just what financial resources each school offers, but how that school does — or doesn’t — outwardly welcome undocumented students. She also wanted to know more about how states have responded to Trump’s deportation agenda.

As the acceptance letters began to pour in, S. learned that she was being offered a full scholarship to the University of California, Santa Barbara. Her excitement has been tempered, however, by the looming question of her legal status. If her green card is approved before classes start in August, she’ll enroll. But she’s already booked a plane ticket home, realistic about her chances and seeing no other choice.

Community colleges offer solutions for immigrant students

When C., who is 17, crossed the southern border into Arizona with her mother two years ago, she was nearly nine months pregnant. After spending most of her life concerned for her safety, C. said, “I’m a huge fan of all calm places.”

She found that in northern California, where she made friends in her high school’s newcomer program. C.’s teachers helped her find daycare for her daughter and support with housing and food. “I would give anything so that my daughter doesn’t have to go through the same things that I went through,” C. said.

Going into her last semester of high school, C. had already decided on her plan after graduation: community college.

As many of her peers are excited to embrace their independence for the first time, C. is experiencing something that educators say many of their newcomer students feel: a hesitancy to uproot themselves after years, perhaps a lifetime, of seeking a safe, stable place to live. C.’s community college of choice has a Head Start program for her daughter, and staying at home means she can pursue her education while continuing to live in a community she knows and trusts. C. expects to be eligible for in-state tuition; in addition, she has received a scholarship from a local philanthropic organization that will help her with living expenses.

C. plans to eventually transfer to a university to complete her bachelor’s degree and become a teacher in her northern California town. One day, she hopes to teach at the same high school she’s enrolled in now and help other newcomer students feel welcome.

For some students, though, the decision to attend community college can feel like a bit of a disappointment.

J., 18, came to the U.S. with her parents when she was just a few months old, and growing up, she’d always felt like an American. She didn’t think much about her legal status until she needed a Social Security number — to hold a job, get a driver’s license, or apply for college. She dreamed of higher education, not just for herself but to make her parents proud.

“Even if I don’t know what I want to do yet, I know that I am going to get that education,” she said.

J. is one of approximately 14,000 undocumented students who will graduate from California high schools this year. Only 10% of those students will pursue higher education, compared with 63% of students statewide who enroll in college after high school, according to the California Undocumented Higher Education Coalition.

“Financial aid has always been a big part of undocumented students’ decisions,” Chan said. These students are not eligible for federal financial aid, but California and 23 other states allow some undocumented students to pay in-state tuition or access state financial aid. Now, those local decisions could be usurped by the federal government.

The Trump administration has said it will punish states that maintain these policies; on April 28, Trump issued an executive order pressuring California officials to cooperate with the administration’s agenda, though no changes have yet been made.

To navigate these complexities, J. and her classmates have been working with advisers through her school’s Upward Bound program, part of the federally funded TRIO programs, which provides resources and guidance to students from low-income backgrounds pursuing higher education. Oregon and California had waivers that allowed students to participate in the program regardless of their immigration status. But in late March, the U.S. Department of Education revoked that waiver.

All of the students interviewed for this story have been told they can keep participating because they’re already enrolled, but going forward, schools will need to verify all students’ immigration status and only enroll U.S. citizens, U.S. nationals, and legal residents.

When J. was first accepted to California State University, Sacramento, she was thrilled, but then she began to worry about her safety. Her family worried that being hours away from home in a bigger city could put her at greater risk of deportation, and J. began considering her local community college as a safer and more affordable option. For now, J. has enrolled in her local community college, in the hopes that, by the time she finishes her associate degree, the doors to a bachelor’s degree will open for her.

Being undocumented is hard, but community helps

For A., the stress of entering the next phase of his life can feel isolating: “It’s really hard because you’re trying not to think about that, instead of just thinking about school stuff, you know?” he said. “You have a little bit more weight in your mind.”

Amid political uncertainty, educators still have the power — and the responsibility — to create a space that feels safe and welcoming for all of their students, said Xilonin Cruz-Gonzalez, deputy director of Californians Together, an advocacy group. In 2017, during the first Trump administration, Californians Together launched a project called Support for Immigrant & Refugee Students to train educators on immigration policy and ways they can create safe spaces for their students.

Chan says that a big part of creating that safe space is providing accurate, up-to-date information. Immigrants Rising has recently launched a new tool that helps college-bound immigrant students and educators wade through complicated eligibility information.

Chan has found that undocumented students’ mental health affects their academic performance. She’s been compiling research showing that depression and anxiety can lead to lower grades, higher dropout rates, decreased motivation, higher levels of self-harm and worse physical health among undocumented students. But despite the well-studied need for mental health services, a 2019 study from the University of California, Irvine showed that undocumented students in higher education use such services less frequently than their documented peers.

“Students expressed low perceived need because they normalized mental strain as a natural product of their unstable immigration status,” wrote the study’s authors. “Many viewed treatment as futile because it could not address underlying immigration-related issues.”

But that doesn’t mean students have to face those challenges alone. Immigrants Rising hosts regular virtual meetups for undocumented students around the country to share openly with one another. Many college campuses in California do similar work through UndocuAlly and UndocuLiaison programs that assign college staff members to be the official points of contact for undocumented students.

“We can’t solve all the aggressive immigration policies that are out there,” Chan said. “No amount of breathing exercises is going to get rid of that. But having community helps.”

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