llegal status gives Harvard grad few options
Back in the concrete suburb of Los Angeles where he grew up, they call him “Harvard.’’ He is the pride of a neighborhood of children who grew up just as he did, bouncing from one crowded apartment to the next, sleeping on sofa cushions on the floor, wired to the constant threat of violence.
Alan was not just a street-smart kid in a baseball cap but a gifted student who breezed through math problems and quoted Milton and Dante. He was a voracious reader, the high school salutatorian, and last month, he graduated from Harvard with a degree in the humanities.
But now Alan has hit a dead end, because one night 19 years ago his mother led him across the Mexican border into California, making him an illegal immigrant. His only legal employment option as a college graduate now is to return to Mexico, where he has few contacts and fewer prospects.
Alan is among a growing number of students who have climbed to the country’s highest academic echelons only to find themselves mired in the rancorous national debate over illegal immigration.
“One of the biggest ironies was that I’m going to graduate from Harvard and not be able to do anything,’’ he said, sitting in one of Harvard’s leafy courtyards, fallen quiet for the summer, wearing an engraved class ring on his right hand. “Every class is like, you’re the leaders of tomorrow. They build you up . . . and you’re like, yeah, yeah, oh wait, they’re not talking about me.’’ He spoke to the Globe on the condition that his last name not be used.
Elite private universities such as Harvard have long been a haven for illegal immigrant children, granting them generous scholarships because they are ineligible for federal financial aid and struggle to pay nonresident tuition at public schools. Now the schools are increasingly pushing for legal residency for such students, under pressure from student groups and others working on their behalf.
In May, Harvard president Drew G. Faust endorsed federal legislation known as the Dream Act, which would allow an estimated 2.5 million illegal immigrant students to apply for residency, if they meet certain conditions. Stanford president John L. Hennessy came out in support of the measure last month, and Brown president Ruth Simmons in July.
This month, the American Council on Education, on behalf of 30 groups, including the Association of American Universities, said it “strongly’’ supported the act, which has been pending since 2001.
Illegal immigrant children are entitled to a free K-12 education under a 1982 Supreme Court decision, but that protection does not extend to college. In most states, illegal immigrants can enroll in college, but they are generally required to pay the pricier nonresident tuition at public colleges and are ineligible for federal financial aid.
Some of the strongest voices in support of the Dream Act are from college students themselves, who are saying it is unfair to educate illegal immigrants and then quietly abandon them after graduation.
“These are some of the best and brightest kids in the entire country,’’ said Scott Elfenbein, who formed a Harvard student group last year to aid undocumented students after his best friend in Miami, now a student at Georgetown, was nearly deported to Colombia. “Most are people you would want running some organization.’’
But others say the private schools are wrong to admit such students.
“I think we really need to step back and say why are private institutions, or any institutions allowed to enroll illegal aliens in the first place?’’ said Mark Krikorian, executive director of the Center for Immigration Studies in Washington. “Essentially they’re being trained for jobs that it’s illegal for them to take.’’
From the beginning Alan, the son of Mexican laborers, loved school. He was the only child in his family who did not cry on the first day of kindergarten. He devoured books, loved math, and enrolled in a program for gifted students.
He loved computers so much that he persuaded his mother to sell his video games to buy him a bare-bones computer from a JCPenney catalog.
“For me things just like, clicked,’’ Alan said.
Though she had a sixth-grade education, his mother monitored his report cards and made sure he got A’s and B’s.
But at home, things were tense, he recalled. His mother had three more children, and they moved a lot, often bunking with another family to save money. At one point, his entire family shared a single room.
“Teachers would say go home and find a study place,’’ he said. “I was always like, ‘Yeah right.’ There was no place I could work for school.’’
Worse, his father grew violent, and would beat his mother, he said. Eventually, the two separated.
Alan did not know that he was here illegally until high school, when he wanted to apply for a job. He brought applications home to fill out and asked, “Mom, what’s a Social Security number?’’
His mother winced and shook her head.
“I always knew I was born in Mexico,’’ Alan said. “But I never really knew the implications of all of it.’’
In high school, he enrolled in more than a dozen Advanced Placement classes, including English, European history, and calculus.
A teacher, who confirmed the details of Alan’s life for the Globe, said she and Alan joked that he was bound for Harvard.
A year later, when he told her he was here illegally, she realized that a private college like Harvard was Alan’s only hope. California is one of few states that allow students like Alan to pay the cheaper resident tuition at public colleges, but even that he could not afford.
With his teacher’s help, Alan filled out college applications. When Harvard accepted him on scholarship, they were thrilled. They thought the Dream Act would have passed by now.
“That’s what’s frustrating as a teacher,’’ the teacher said, speaking on condition of anonymity. “He did what he was supposed to do, and we did what we were supposed to do. And what’s the end result? Everything was against him. Everything. And he rose above it all.’’
At Harvard, Alan had his own desk and room for the first time in his life. He attended lectures by world leaders, and had professors who appeared on CNN. He sat in auditoriums and watched Alan M. Dershowitz and Steven Pinker, and took a class with a leading scholar on Buddhism.
Alan kept quiet about his legal status. His mother sent him $200 every few months, and he worked cash-only jobs such as flipping burgers to pay for T passes and other expenses.
But it was clear that he was different. While his classmates studied abroad in Chile, Japan, and China, Alan stayed behind, knowing that if he left the United States he could not get back in.
When throngs of classmates in business suits hit the job fairs seeking internships or careers on Wall Street or at nonprofits, Alan made up excuses for not going.
“I would say, ‘Oh, I missed the application deadline,’ ’’ he said. “There was no point.’’
But he celebrated like any student this spring when he graduated, with a B average. His mother flew out for the ceremony.
Now Alan sees Mexico as his only option. His mother is against it: Alan barely knows his relatives there, and he has no professional connections. It is unclear whether Mexico’s elite would welcome him, even if he is a Harvard man.
A maxim he learned at Harvard often runs through his mind: To whom much is given, much is expected. He has $15,000 in loans he intends to repay.
“I should be able to take care of myself,’’ he said. “I don’t want to go home and sit on my butt and watch SportsCenter. If I do that, then these last four years have been a waste.’’
Maria Sacchetti can be reached at msacchetti@globe.com. 
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