Mary blended into the sea of blue and white gowns last week at Annapolis High School’s graduation. But she didn’t quite fit in.
Her report cards have been full of A’s and B’s and her dreams are just as lofty – she wants to be a psychologist. But while her classmates move on to college, she’ll be looking for a job where her employers won’t ask questions.
Mary (not her real name) is an undocumented immigrant, which means that to attend a state university or community college in Maryland, she’d have to pay out-of-state tuition. That’s more than her mother can afford on the wages she makes cleaning houses. And because Mary doesn’t have a Social Security number, she can’t get financial aid or take out a student loan.
She’s not the only student in this predicament. As Anne Arundel’s immigrant population grows, the county’s schools are watching more students each year hit the end of 12th grade with nowhere to go but underground.
Or as Mary says, more often these days, “Some students see a future, and some see a wall.”
Under state law, undocumented students can attend state colleges, but they have to pay out-of-state tuition. That means that for each class at Anne Arundel Community College, they pay about $1,000 instead of $300, and to attend the University of Maryland, they pay about $22,000 each year instead of the $8,000 that in-state students pay. And they can’t get loans or financial aid.
Out of the 15,000 students at Anne Arundel Community College, just five in 2007 and 13 in 2008 were undocumented immigrants, said Leonard Mancini, dean of student services.
“The fact that they have to pay out-of-state tuition makes it difficult,” he said. To attend the community college, undocumented students also have to promise they’ll seek legal status.
Crossing the border
Mary, a petite girl with blonde streaks through her hair, was born in El Salvador. It’s a poor country still recovering from a destructive civil war and even though her parents worked hard – her father painted houses and her mother worked in restaurants – they couldn’t make ends meet.
So like many families, they came to America, leaving behind their children with promises that when they earned enough money in the U.S., they’d send for Mary and her two sisters.
Mary was 8 at the time and was left in the care of her grandfather, who died not long after her parents left.
“When he died, it was like I was dying, too,” she said. “My whole world went with him.”
Mary moved in with her aunt, where she lived until she turned 14. By then, her parents had saved the $8,000 needed to bring her over the border.
It took two tries and more than two months for Mary and her aunt to reach Annapolis. On their first try they were caught by the Border Patrol and sent back; the second time they made it to Mexico City before hitting trouble.
Their guide died in a drunken driving accident, and they spent that night, Mary remembers, in a public park. Eventually they found a place to stay, a house full of people trying to cross into the U.S. It was so crowded, they had to sleep packed side-by-side on the floor.
Sometimes they walked, sometimes they traveled in cars. Once they reached Los Angeles, another guide forged papers that allowed them to fly to Maryland.
Everything in Annapolis was strange to Mary, and starting at a new school was particularly hard. She had to learn English fast to keep up, and she had trouble making friends. But her family was better off than before.
“The money’s not much, but it’s still better than El Salvador,” she said. “You can pay the rent, you have a place to live. Just to have a place to live is big.”
More each year
Like the rest of the nation, Anne Arundel’s schools give undocumented immigrant children a public education, no questions asked. But because the schools aren’t allowed to know students’ legal status, they can’t keep track of how many undocumented students are here.
What they do know is the number of Hispanic students in county schools has gone up 400 percent since 1993 and more than 230 percent in the past decade. The county schools had about 1,800 English for Speakers of Other Languages, or ESOL, students last year, of which 70 percent were Spanish speakers.
They’re coming here from Latin American countries, particularly Mexico and El Salvador, and settling mostly in Annapolis, Edgewater and Glen Burnie, said Tema Encarnacion, the international student registrar for county schools.
Most immigrant students do well in school and could aim for college, said Peggy Wheeler, chair of Annapolis High’s ESOL department. But their high school drop-out rate is high. Many need to work, and others get discouraged when they realize they can’t afford college tuition.
“It’s sad,” Ms. Wheeler said. “Especially when you have to tell them about the fees and you see their mouths drop. They say, ‘I don’t have that kind of money.’ ”
Annapolis High had 186 ESOL students this year. Twenty-one received their diplomas, which is the largest ESOL graduating class in at least the past five years, Ms. Wheeler said.
Just one of those graduates is going to college this year, Ms. Wheeler said, and her family is scraping to find the money to pay for it.
Staying in school
One of Mary’s friends, a documented immigrant, is dropping out of Annapolis High. “He has a green card, and he’s dropping out,” Emily said, rolling her eyes. “He’s so stupid.”
Mary wanted her diploma. She liked school, earning good grades despite working in restaurants so she wouldn’t have to ask her mother for spending money. Her favorite classes were U.S. history and government, and if she could go to college, she’d want to study psychology, an idea that emerged from her role as unofficial counselor to her friends. She tells them to stay away from the teenage traps of alcohol and drugs, that they can overcome their problems.
“I tell them, think about your mom, your family,” she said. “They haven’t lived what I have lived. Their family hasn’t been away, they haven’t missed them.”
She also wanted to graduate from high school because she believes the laws governing college tuition will change, and then she’ll need the diploma.
“Things won’t always be the same,” she said, twisting a pink cell phone in her hands. “I really hope so.”
Ten states offer in-state tuition to undocumented immigrants. Maryland’s legislature has debated its laws on undocumented immigrants and tuition, but hasn’t changed them. In April, a bill with the support of Gov. Martin O’Malley passed the House but was stalled by the threat of a Senate filibuster right at the end of session.
Legislators who have opposed measures to change the law, including Sen. Janet Greenip, R-Crofton and Sen. Bryan Simonaire, R-Pasadena, have said the state should not extend benefits to people who are breaking the law by being in this country illegally.
Mrs. Greenip also is concerned that legal Maryland residents could get squeezed out of public colleges if undocumented students take aid and seats at those schools.
“You’re putting them ahead of Maryland students,” she said. “I understand that there are young people who want to go to college… but it’s a different ball game when the state is footing the bill for people who are here illegally. I’m looking at the big picture here instead of the individual.”
She added undocumented students can look for privately funded scholarships. Ms. Wheeler also said there are scholarships available, but they’re extremely competitive.
Mr. Simonaire echoed Mrs. Greenip’s sentiments, saying Maryland residents are having enough trouble paying for college without also funding tuition for undocumented immigrants.
“It’s not a matter of compassion,” he said. “There’s only limited resources and it should go to our taxpayers first.”
Graduation
For now, Mary is applying for jobs in restaurants or cleaning houses, anywhere employers might overlook her illegal status.
It’s been hard to watch classmates making plans, like Mary’s best friend, who’s getting ready to study nursing at the University of Maryland Eastern Shore.
But there’s not much Mary can do about it. Some undocumented students have taken their fight for college to court, arguing their parents should be legal, that their families didn’t understand the immigration system when they arrived in the U.S. But exposing her situation carries the risk of being deported, and Annapolis is Mary’s home now. After five years here, there’s little left for her back in El Salvador.
So she’s storing away her crisp high school diploma and plans for the future, hoping someday the rules might change.
“Everybody needs opportunity and it’s not fair that some people have to leave their dreams,” she said. “I want to study. I want to be someone. But that’s all you can do, wait and see.”
