This art icle was downloaded by: [ Universit y of Texas Libraries] On: 05 Oct ober 2014, At : 13: 12 Publisher: Rout ledge I nform a Lt d Regist ered in England and Wales Regist ered Num ber: 1072954 Regist ered office: Mort im er House, 37- 41 Mort im er St reet , London W1T 3JH, UK The Professional Geographer Publicat ion det ails, including inst ruct ions f or aut hors and subscript ion inf ormat ion: ht t p: / / www. t andf online. com/ loi/ rt pg20 Undocumented Students’ Narratives of Liminal Citizenship: High Aspirations, Exclusion, and “ In-Between” Identities a Rebecca Maria Torres & Melissa Wicks-Asbun a b The Universit y of Texas at Aust in b Wayne Communit y College Published online: 08 Jan 2013. To cite this article: Rebecca Maria Torres & Melissa Wicks-Asbun (2014) Undocument ed St udent s’ Narrat ives of Liminal Cit izenship: High Aspirat ions, Exclusion, and “ In-Bet ween” Ident it ies, The Prof essional Geographer, 66: 2, 195-204, DOI: 10. 1080/ 00330124. 2012. 735936 To link to this article: ht t p: / / dx. doi. org/ 10. 1080/ 00330124. 2012. 735936 PLEASE SCROLL DOWN FOR ARTI CLE Taylor & Francis m akes every effort t o ensure t he accuracy of all t he inform at ion ( t he “ Cont ent ” ) cont ained in t he publicat ions on our plat form . However, Taylor & Francis, our agent s, and our licensors m ake no represent at ions or warrant ies what soever as t o t he accuracy, com plet eness, or suit abilit y for any purpose of t he Cont ent . Any opinions and views expressed in t his publicat ion are t he opinions and views of t he aut hors, and are not t he views of or endorsed by Taylor & Francis. 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Term s & Condit ions of access and use can be found at ht t p: / / www.t andfonline.com / page/ t erm sand- condit ions Undocumented Students’ Narratives of Liminal Citizenship: High Aspirations, Exclusion, and “In-Between” Identities∗ Rebecca Maria Torres The University of Texas at Austin Downloaded by [University of Texas Libraries] at 13:12 05 October 2014 Melissa Wicks-Asbun Wayne Community College This study illustrates how national immigration policy relegates undocumented immigrant children to spaces of liminal citizenship, which shape their aspirations for higher education. Recognizing the power of migrant narratives, and the importance of privileging youths’ voices through children’s geographies, we present the narratives of undocumented high school students from several rural North Carolina communities. Despite various barriers facing undocumented students, most have high academic aspirations. Students construct new forms of citizenship, legitimating their claims to higher education access through their achievement. Their liminal status, however, contributes to the formation of conflicted, “in-between” identities. Key Words: children’s geographies, Latino immigrants, liminal citizenship, migrant narratives, undocumented students.  (liminal citizenship) ,  ,   ,  ,  , ” ,  ” : , , , ,  ()  El presente estudio ilustra la manera como las polı́ticas nacionales de inmigración relegan a los niños inmigrantes indocumentados a espacios de ciudadanı́a liminal, lo cual incide sobre sus aspiraciones de educación superior. Tomando en cuenta el poder de las narrativas de los migrantes y la importancia de las voces de jóvenes privilegiados a través de las geografı́as de los niños, presentamos las narrativas de estudiantes indocumentados de la escuela secundaria en varias comunidades rurales de Carolina del Norte. A pesar de los diferentes obstáculos que tienen que enfrentar los estudiantes indocumentados, la mayorı́a de ellos se distinguen por sus aspiraciones académicas altas. Los estudiantes construyen nuevas formas de ciudadanı́a, legitimando sus reclamos de acceso a la educación superior con base en el rendimiento. Su estatus liminal, sin embargo, contribuye a la formación de identidades en conflicto, o “de lo intermedio.” Palabras clave: geografı́as de los niños, inmigrantes latinos, ciudadanı́a liminal, narrativas migratorias, estudiantes indocumentados. T his article examines how being undocumented, and the in-between and ambivalent legal and social status this embodies, influences immigrant youths’ educational aspirations, experiences, and opportunities. Building on Menjı́var’s (2006, 2008) notion of liminal legality, we contend that undocumented children experience a form of liminal citizenship that has profound impacts on their educational goals and experiences. Recognizing the inherent power of migrant narratives (Silvey and Lawson 1999; Lawson 2000), as well as the importance of privileging youths’ voices through children’s geographies (Matthews and Limb 1999; Holloway and Valentine 2000; Aitken 2001), we present the personal narratives of undocumented high school students from several rural communities in eastern North Carolina to illustrate how national immi- gration policy relegates immigrant children to spaces of liminal citizenship: They are trapped between states of belonging and exclusion. Many of these children feel American, having little recollection of their parents’ homeland and sharing many of the same hopes and dreams as their classmates. They are granted legal rights to a K–12 public education1 and are groomed along with other children to aspire to higher education and the associated promise of upward mobility. Although there are numerous barriers to higher education for undocumented students, their liminal legal and citizenship status, in this case closely interrelated to financial obstacles, is arguably the most insurmountable. This situation shapes their everyday experiences in a way that ultimately impinges on their opportunities, aspirations, and goals for the future and arguably has ∗We are grateful to the students and parents who shared their stories with us, as well as the school system that provided access to study participants. Special thanks are due to the ALIGNED principal investigators, Patricia Solı́s and Ines Miyares, for organizing this Focus section. This research was made possible due to generous support from the National Science Foundation Geography and Spatial Sciences Program (Award #0547725 and #1005927) and The University of Texas at Austin Harrington Faculty Fellows Program and the College of Liberal Arts (COLA). The Department of Geography at East Carolina University provided much-appreciated graduate student support. We wish to thank Marina Islas for her assistance with producing our map and Lindsey Carte and Joy Adams for providing insightful suggestions on an earlier version of this article. Any errors or omissions remain our sole responsibility. C Copyright 2014 by Association of American Geographers. The Professional Geographer, 66(2) 2014, pages 195–204  Initial submission, September 2011; revised submission, March 2012; final acceptance, April 2012. Published by Taylor & Francis Group, LLC. 196 Volume 66, Number 2, May 2014 the effect of creating and perpetuating an entrenched underclass of frustrated youths, whose talents and potential are ultimately lost to society as a whole. Downloaded by [University of Texas Libraries] at 13:12 05 October 2014 Latino Students in the U.S. South Since the 1990s, the southern United States has experienced a dramatic increase in its Latino population. In some North Carolina counties, the proportions of Latinos within student populations have reached as high as 25 percent (North Carolina Department of Public Instruction [NCDPI] 2010). This study focuses on rural eastern North Carolina,2 which is one of the most economically disadvantaged areas of the state and the nation. Agriculture and concentrated animal feeding operations, primarily hogs and poultry, play a prominent role in the region’s economy and in attracting Latino immigrant workers (Torres, Popke, and Hapke 2006). Latino student enrollment in North Carolina public schools increased almost eightfold, from 20,000 in 1996 to more than 150,000 students in 2009 (North Carolina Public Schools 2009). Despite positive progress in academic achievement and performing better on end-of-course tests than other minority groups, foreign-born Latinos have the highest dropout rate in North Carolina public schools (NCDPI 2007a, 2007b). In addition, relatively few Latino students continue their education after high school, in contrast with other ethnic and racial groups such as whites and African Americans. Addressing the plight of undocumented youth is critical to increasing diversity in both higher education and the discipline of geography. An estimated 65,000 undocumented students graduate from high school each year—many among the top of their class—but they are unable to attend college (Immigration Policy Center 2010). The Development, Relief, and Education for Alien Minors (DREAM) Act, S952, which made its debut in 2001 as S1291, would award undocumented students the right to pay in-state tuition and provide temporary legal residency status if they complete at least two years of higher education or military service (Lopez, Gonzalez-Barrera, and Motel 2011), thus reducing difficult impediments to their education and their social and economic upward mobility. Findings from a recent study by Kaushal (2008) reported statistically significant positive effects on college enrollment and educational attainment for states with policies granting in-state tuition subsidies to undocumented Latino youth. Federal adoption of this legislation would help bridge the gap between aspirations and attainment for many foreign-born Latinos. Unfortunately, to date no congressional session has been able to pass any measures related to or similar to the DREAM Act. Currently, twelve states grant in-state tuition to undocumented students3; North Carolina is not one of them, despite previous attempts to implement such policies.4 Children’s Geographies and Liminal Citizenship: Understanding Educational Aspirations and Experience The following is a brief review of children’s geographies and the notion of liminal citizenship, which we use as a theoretical lens to examine how being undocumented in the United States shapes students’ educational subjectivities, aspirations, and experiences. Children’s Geographies Children’s geographies, a subfield of human geography focusing on the places and spaces of children’s lives (Holloway and Valentine 2000; Aitken 2001), emerged in response to the critique that the voices of children and young people have been silenced in social, political, and environmental studies (James 1990; Matthews and Limb 1999; Matthews 2003; Philo and Smith 2003; Weller 2006). Privileging children’s experiences goes beyond enriching research outcomes; it has been argued that to advocate successfully for children, and to do so in an ethical manner, children must have a real interest in, and a concern for, the research in which they are participating (Valentine 1999; Horton and Kraftl 2005). With respect to migration and population studies, McKendrick (2001, 461) contended that children “are ever-present, but never really there” in that they are often “objects” (a means to an end) of study rather than “subjects” worthy of study in their own right. Similarly, Philo and Smith (2003, 107) noted that, although children are sometimes included in political geography research, they are often portrayed as the “collateral damage” of adults’ creations. They further emphasize the importance of focusing on the possible suffering of the children and young people who are “unavoidably involved” and in particular on children’s geographies that are shaped by political–economic and social–cultural transformations at the macro scale. This study seeks to answer this call by considering the experiences of the undocumented teenagers who suffer, on a daily basis, the effects of federal immigration policy and state higher education policies. Liminal Citizenship Although there have been numerous studies on the roles of parents, teachers, socioeconomic status, and peers in shaping minority students’ educational goals and experiences, there is less research on how they are impacted by immigration policy (Menjı́var 2008). We build on Menjı́var’s (2006, 2008) notion of liminal legality to argue that undocumented immigrant children and youth occupy an “in-between” space of liminal citizenship that profoundly influences their aspirations for higher education. Immigrants are suspended in a state of “permanent temporariness” (Bailey et al. 2002) or “legal limbo” (Mountz et al. 2002; Menjı́var 2006), precariously straddling realms of legality and illegality. Their ambivalent legal position, particularly the Downloaded by [University of Texas Libraries] at 13:12 05 October 2014 Undocumented Students’ Narratives of Liminal Citizenship 197 prolonged states of uncertainty and long-term marginality they experience, affects their opportunities, goals, perceptions, and plans, often steering them and their children away from higher education (Menjı́var 2008). We contend that Menjı́var’s notion of legal liminality can be expanded to a “liminal citizenship” that describes the plight of undocumented students in the United States (McKean 2009; Skeiker 2010). Abrego (2008) suggested that, unlike their parents, undocumented students possess liminal status because they arrived as children and have learned the language and adopted customs that allow them to blend in with their U.S.-born peers. Undocumented students are granted access to some benefits of citizenship because, as children, they are entitled to certain social citizenship rights. In this context, citizenship is conceived beyond the confines of formal legal documentation to include processes of inclusion and belonging (Nagel and Staeheli 2004); economic, social, and political relations between social groups and power structures (Kurtz and Hankins 2005); collective action and activism (Holston 2001); and civil, political, and social rights (Bosniak 2000; Castles and Davidson 2000). In this sense, the performance of citizenship is scaled down to more local contexts, extending beyond formal legal membership in the nation-state (Desforges, Jones, and Woods 2005). Undocumented students’ liminality emerges from the exclusion and criminalization that results from their undocumented status, yet they can be legitimated through their status as successful students. Scholars have noted that undocumented students form legal subjectivities, drawing on a sense of justice informed by meritocracy, claims of legitimacy, and entitlement to higher education based on their work ethic and high achievement, rather than their documentation status (Diaz-Strong and Meiners 2007; Abrego 2008). Indeed, in the face of adversity, many students demonstrate resilience and persistence (Contreras 2009; Castro-Salazara and Bagley 2010) through their achievement and enduring commitment to their future educational goals and aspirations. Student-Centered Methodology Given the complex layers of factors that are interwoven across multiple socio-spatial spheres to influence student aspirations, we adopted a multimethod approach that included both qualitative interviews with students and parents and a quantitative survey of students. Interviews and surveys were conducted simultaneously in three rural eastern North Carolina counties selected because of their significant growth in Latino population over the past decade. The analysis we present in this article focuses heavily on the in-depth interviews with students, although we present a few selected survey results to support our discussion. Based on a modified version of the instrument developed by Portes and Rumbaut (2001), we conducted a survey with high school students in one county school system. All eighty-one Latino students were invited to participate, with forty-four completing the survey after obtaining parental consent. The student sample included nineteen females and twenty-five males, of whom thirty-one were foreign-born and forty-two were of Mexican origin. The survey was designed to capture students’ own ideas of their academic aspirations, as well as their perceptions of what shaped those aspirations. Questions addressed factors such as home life, school environment and activities, neighborhood characteristics, and access to higher education, among others. The survey was triangulated with in-depth, semi– structured interviews with fifteen high school students (different from those surveyed) in three counties. Working with several high school administrators and faculty, students, and other local contacts, we identified Latino students from two additional counties to participate in interviews. Their academic levels ranged from English as a second language (ESL) students to college-bound honors students with grade point averages (GPAs) ranging from 2.0 to 4.0. All had lived in the United States for five years or more. Interview participants ranged in age from fourteen to eighteen, including seven males and eight females. All students, with the exception of one Guatemalan, came from different regions of Mexico and thus reflected regional settlement demographics. Interviews were typically conducted at school or in the home with the approval of school officials and parents. Information sought from participants mirrored that collected by the survey, but because interview questions were open ended, students had significant opportunity to elaborate in their responses. One interview was conducted with a foreign-born, undocumented college graduate, age 27, who graduated from one of the high schools participating in the study. This interview provided additional insight into the obstacles confronting Latino students following high school and helped identify tools that might assist Latino students to overcome systemic constraints on their educational aspirations. Although not presented in this article, semistructured interviews were also conducted with five parents as well as selected social service providers and immigrant advocacy group representatives. Undocumented Students’ Narratives of Liminal Citizenship: High Aspirations, Exclusion, and “In-Between” Identities The following narratives of liminal citizenships illustrate how macroscale immigration policies impinge on the lives of undocumented students—shaping their hopes, dreams, fears, achievements, and aspirations. These narratives reveal agency—that is, how students play an active role in constructing new forms of citizenship to legitimate their rights to higher education through their achievement, hard work, drive, and desire to contribute to society. These stories also illustrate some of the ways in which legal status plays a role 198 Volume 66, Number 2, May 2014 Downloaded by [University of Texas Libraries] at 13:12 05 October 2014 in immigrant reception, subjectivity, and identity formation. Given the space limitations, we present only three students’ stories as a touchstone for analysis of the major themes that emerged across interviews, and we also incorporate excerpts from other informants’ narratives. The stories and selected quotes are relatively representative of the experiences and sentiments shared by most students. The case of the college graduate is presented in greater depth, as he was able to share his postgraduate and subsequent employment experiences. Raúl, High School Valedictorian, Undocumented College Graduate, MBA Raúl came to the United States just two weeks before his tenth birthday. His parents had been in Florida working in a factory and then moved to rural North Carolina to work in tobacco processing. The following is part of his story, mostly in his own words. The first thing I remember is being at a gas station and there was a huge American flag waving. I was pretty miserable at first. Kids can be pretty mean sometimes, especially not even knowing what they are saying, but knowing it’s not kind. I think they had their own stereotypes and comments they would make, not so much intentional but just a reflection of what they grow up with. You are a product of your environment and surroundings . . . and we are in the South. After a while it wasn’t so bad . . . you find the better crowd. It wasn’t actually until high school that I started thinking about things. I never thought about the technicalities; I just always knew I was going to go to college. It wasn’t until junior year, laws started getting tougher and then it really hit me senior year because now it’s time to start to apply and start thinking about funding . . . that’s when everything started happening. It was really tough to face that. For the longest time in high school I wasn’t even comfortable with the fact that I was undocumented. Because somehow I did feel guilty . . . I had done something wrong . . . I felt that maybe they were right. I actually told one of my good friends and she laughed because she thought I was joking. So eventually I thought, “Why even bother?” It was tough to sit there and smile and pretend you have all these options when you’re really struggling to keep your head above water and find a rescue. Looking at schools . . . I didn’t even indulge myself in those thoughts because it was just an exercise in imagination. Raúl graduated as valedictorian of his class from a rural high school in eastern North Carolina. He excelled in academics because he felt school was the only personal satisfaction that no one could take from him. As graduation approached, Raúl knew his options were limited. At the time, North Carolina public universities did not allow undocumented students to enroll. With no access to federal financial aid and few scholarships, he depended on his teachers and community leaders to help him find a way to get to college. Raúl was awarded a private scholarship for $6,000 a year at a small private college in the western part of the state. With additional scholarships, working his way through school, and his entire family (including his brothers) working to pay for his education, Raúl was able to cover the remainder of the $20,000 annual tuition. He graduated in four years with a double major in business and international studies through the honors program. After graduation, he began working as a foodservice manager for a large corporation. The company quickly recognized his talents and he was promoted to senior financial analyst for the regional office. The company began paying for his master’s in business administration degree in preparation to promote him to work under the chief financial officer. But one day, everything changed. Like many undocumented immigrants, Raúl was working with falsified documents, paying state and federal taxes as well as Social Security taxes for benefits he could never claim. Just three and a half years after beginning his career, and one semester away from receiving his MBA, the Social Security Administration sent a letter to his employer indicating that Raúl’s number and name did not match. When his employers discovered that Raúl was undocumented, they looked into sponsoring him, but “it would have been a ‘catch22.’ The only way to do it would be [for me] to leave the country, but the law they passed in ’96 would bar me from coming back for ten years. Everybody was pretty shocked . . . they would have never known.” At different times Raúl has considered returning to Mexico. In addition to the difficulties and hardship he would face, this would mean separating from his U.S.based parents and siblings. He does not consider it a viable option: Even now when you may think I have the choice to go back, it’s not really a realistic or pragmatic choice. And when it’s not a realistic or pragmatic choice—is it really a choice at all? I may look like everyone else [in Mexico], I may have a slightly different accent in Spanish—but it’s completely different not growing up there. You don’t share the same values anymore; you don’t know how the system works. It’s not enough to look and sound like someone else. You have to share the common set of values and beliefs. I know I probably would end up feeling like a stranger in my own land. Raúl had saved money during his years at the company, anticipating that his documentation status might be discovered. He finished his last semester of school and graduated in 2006 with an MBA. He is now a project accountant for a large consulting firm. He explains: At some point in time you may really wonder if it is worth it, because what happens when you finish? You have a degree but you may not be able to work in the profession you have chosen. I say to kids, “Don’t lose hope, and the goal of going to school, because education is the one equalizing factor. Just don’t lose sight of that goal.” You somehow accept the fact that it may take a while and that you are making an investment for the long term . . . and eventually it will pay off not only for yourself but the community. Downloaded by [University of Texas Libraries] at 13:12 05 October 2014 Undocumented Students’ Narratives of Liminal Citizenship 199 Angela, Ninth Grade, Academically Gifted Program Angela is a straight-A student at a rural eastern North Carolina high school where she participates in the Academically Gifted (AG) program. She plays soccer and is a member of the BETA club. On several occasions she has been chosen to participate in special programs, including LeadAmerica. She loves school and has a passion for science and math. Although Angela is a bit timid, she is unwavering in her determination to continue her education after high school and dreams of being a biologist one day. Angela came with her family to eastern North Carolina from Queretaro, Mexico, when she was five years old. Since 1986, her father had been migrating, undocumented, to the United States to work on a seasonal basis. After several years alone, her mother decided she wanted the children to grow up with their father, and the family came to the United States together. “I didn’t really know why we were coming here,” Angela recalls. “My dad just said our life was going to be better. I didn’t know we were crossing the border illegally.” Her father came to work in the construction industry and her mother has been working in tobacco and other odd jobs since their arrival nine years ago. Angela’s first years in school were challenging. The language barrier was a major hurdle initially. Angela also suggests that she still deals with “racism” from both students and teachers on a regular basis: I have white, black . . . any race friends. I try to get along with them. But then they say racist stuff, and I tell them, “That’s not right.” One time, one of my white friends told me they were calling us wetbacks. I think that was bad because it’s really racist. This new girl thinks we just send our money to México, that we give it to our family . . . but we work for that money and it’s our money, and they don’t know how they live so you can’t judge that. I told her it’s not funny . . . you don’t know how hard people work. Another time there were these girls talking about paying taxes, and the teacher said, “Some people don’t pay their taxes,” and the other girl said, “Yeah, like Mexicans.” According to Angela, Hispanic students at her school are often confronted with comments such as “Why don’t you go back to your country!” or being called “wetback.” For Angela, however, it is more complicated than just being an immigrant or being Hispanic: “I know I was born in México, but I don’t know if I am from here or there . . . I’m not from México or here.” Angela would consider returning to Mexico but only to visit, because her life is in the United States. For Angela’s family, education is their first priority. Her parents remind her that education is the key to a better life; they struggle so she will not face the same hardships. Angela knows and understands this but feels that she might run into a brick wall once she graduates. “Nobody gives scholarships to undocumented students,” she says. Angela has had friends who were awarded scholarships but then had them revoked when their legal status was revealed. She also notes that even good students become disillusioned when they realize they will not have the opportunity to attend college, often losing motivation and even dropping out: Some people are very smart and they are supposed to get a scholarship but just because they don’t have a Social Security number, they don’t give it to them. I think if they did, more people would graduate. . . . I think that’s not fair because we could make a difference; we could be another biologist or someone who helps. As she begins to talk about going to college, tears come to Angela’s eyes: “If I don’t get to go to college I will be really disappointed . . . it’s not fair . . . I’m trying my best.” In the fall of 2011, Angela entered a small private college with an athletic scholarship. Claudia, Eleventh Grade Claudia and her younger sister came to North Carolina from Veracruz with their mother, who is a single parent. When they arrived Claudia was only eleven years old, but she quickly learned English and immersed herself in school and building friendships with the other students. Claudia explains that this was not always easy because of the negative perceptions Americans have of Hispanics: “They don’t trust you. They think you are bad for coming over here . . . and you’re making it bad. They have a really bad impression of who we are.” English came very easily for Claudia and she currently maintains a B+ average in school. Until recently, no one ever encouraged her to continue her education past high school: “People kept telling me I couldn’t go to college because I’m not a U.S. citizen.” The out-of-state college tuition Claudia would need to pay because of her documentation status seems almost insurmountable. According to Claudia, her mother does not talk to her about continuing her education because “she says we don’t have the money for it.” Along the way, however, educators have pushed Claudia to continue her studies after graduation. In particular, Claudia recalls her tenth-grade English teacher, who has been particularly encouraging, always reminding her that she can “do better.” One day she hopes to become a social worker. “I like to help people!” she exclaims excitedly. Despite the barriers she knows lie ahead, Claudia explains, “I’m trying to prepare myself, so I can be somebody . . . then I can give back.” At the same time, Claudia is a realist. She sets limits for her dreams and aspirations: “I would really like to go to a community college and then once there, if I have the opportunity to go somewhere else, I would. But I don’t think I could. . . . I don’t have the money for it.” Claudia has considered going back to Mexico to continue her education, but she feels that she has become Americanized and is not convinced she would know how to live there. Like many undocumented Latino students at her stage, Claudia feels confused. She says she has always tried to do her best in school. Because of her documentation status, though, there is no real reason to push herself beyond high school. At times she feels very discouraged and in despair, but she remains hopeful that 200 Volume 66, Number 2, May 2014 the laws will soon change: “Right now, they [Latino students] say, ‘I can’t go to college so why does it matter?’ I think it would give them hope.” Downloaded by [University of Texas Libraries] at 13:12 05 October 2014 High Aspirations: Dreaming of a Nueva Vida Despite the presence of significant barriers, both real and perceived, that lower educational aspirations (Bohon, Johnson, and Gormon 2006; Kaushal 2008), the undocumented Latino students in our study have relatively high academic aspirations. They view higher education as a path to superarse (to better oneself) and a way to build a nueva vida (new life). This is consistent with earlier findings on the academic aspirations of foreign-born youth (Kao and Tienda 1998; Menjı́var 2008). In response to our survey, nearly 80 percent of students indicated that they would like to finish college or obtain a graduate or professional degree, but only fifteen (45 percent) thought they would realistically be able to achieve their educational goals. High academic aspirations were expressed in nearly all of our interviews and surveys. This might reflect, in part, a bias in our sample, which included only enrolled high school students (with the exception of Raúl). Students who arrive in the United States at an older age often drop out due to language issues or simply forgo school altogether to begin working to help support their families (Clotfelter, Ladd, and Vigdor 2010). Raúl’s, Angela’s, and Claudia’s aspirations to become professionals were relatively typical; our interviewees dreamed of one day becoming nurses, doctors, lawyers, engineers, policemen, and teachers, among other careers. Often their narratives of aspirations are couched in terms of helping others and providing service to the community—undoubtedly a sincere desire but also a way of asserting their social citizenship and belonging while legitimating their access to higher education (Diaz-Strong and Meiners 2007; Abrego 2008). For example, Cecelia, a teen mother in the eleventh grade who maintains a 3.0 GPA, expressed her desire to study nursing: I have always wanted to be a nurse since I was a little girl. I like the healthcare profession and I like to help people. There are still so many people who cannot speak English; I can help them. Comments indicating the students’ high aspirations were often immediately followed by concerns about attainment. Tenth-grader Victoria commented: I would really like to go to a community college, and then once there, if I have the opportunity to go somewhere else [university], I would, but I don’t think I could. I don’t have the money for it. The manner in which Victoria self-limited her expectations, ruling out the university and settling for community college, was common among students who set “more realistic” goals. The irony of their liminal position was not lost on students, who often reflected on the contradictory pol- icy of granting students access to K–12 education and then blocking their access to college by requiring outof-state tuition. Cecilia observed, “The government is paying for us to go to high school . . . it is such a waste that we can’t continue on to college.” Exclusion from Higher Education: The Realities of Liminality Social exclusion is a broader concept than poverty, encompassing not only low material means but the inability to participate effectively in economic, social, political, and cultural life, and, in some characterizations, alienation, and distance from the mainstream society. (Duffy 1995, 5, in Vanderbeck and Dunkley 2004, 178) Our notion of liminal citizenship acknowledges the agency that undocumented students demonstrate in constructing new forms of citizenship, claiming rights, and legitimizing themselves through their success in school, positive work ethic, commitment to community, sense of belonging, and identification as Americans. Students do face exclusion in many aspects of their daily lives, however, because of their legal status. As a result, there are gaps between students’ high aspirations and what they consider to be attainable, notably with respect to receiving a college education. The concerns that students expressed are justified. State-level statistics reveal that, although Latino students make up more than 10 percent of the North Carolina K–12 student population, they comprise only about 2.5 percent of degree-seeking students in institutions of higher education (including public, private, and community colleges; UNC-GA 2007). For even the most motivated students, the issue of legal status weighs heavy as they look toward college. As evident in our three touchstone stories, as well as in our interviews with other students, their legal status causes great anxiety, frustration, sadness, and fear regarding their higher education prospects and the chance to “be someone” in the future. Seventy percent of surveyed students believed that their documentation status would affect their ability to attend a university. Since 2001, North Carolina’s public universities have admitted undocumented students, but there is still a perception of barred entry. According to Manuel, a ninth grader who is in ESL classes: I have had four friends that say, “I don’t have a Social Security card, I can’t go,” and that’s what is messing everyone up. They don’t really think about it just because of that. I tell them that I want to go, but they say, “You can’t if you don’t have it.” Manuel is painfully aware of his liminal citizenship and how it excludes him from opportunities and also leaves him vulnerable to deportation: Most of the times in the news I see it and it gets me scared that they’ll probably kick me out. They come and they go to people’s house and take them back; that’s why I think there is probably a chance. . . . I don’t have the same opportunities as students with their citizenship Undocumented Students’ Narratives of Liminal Citizenship 201 Downloaded by [University of Texas Libraries] at 13:12 05 October 2014 . . . I wanted to be a police officer, but I don’t think that is going to be possible. Regardless of aspirations, a lack of resources and funding—often directly related to documentation status—presents the greatest barrier to educational attainment. With few exceptions, study respondents came from low-income families with few or no assets to finance the costs of higher education. Ninety percent of foreign-born students who expressed a desire to attend college indicated that money is the principal reason why they might not continue their education after high school. This is a function of the economic marginalization faced by relatively recent Latino immigrants in the region, as well as the prohibitively high cost of tuition. Scholarships are therefore critically important to access. The financial burden on undocumented students is further increased because they are ineligible for instate tuition or financial aid from state and federal sources. Victoria, a tenth grader, complained: I really haven’t looked at any [four-year universities] because they are too much money. . . . It really aggravates me knowing that just because we are undocumented we don’t have the same privilege. We cannot pay as much as everyone else; we have to pay more. I’ve heard there are some colleges that won’t let [undocumented] students in. Even if we get to go to college and graduate from college, it’s still going to be hard to get a job for the same reason. It really worries me, because I don’t want to waste money and waste time going to college if I can’t get a job. Raúl’s poignant story of struggle, even after beating the odds to complete undergraduate and graduate school, validates Victoria’s fears of exclusion from job markets after graduation. As observed in other studies, we found that many students and their families were concerned about their future employment prospects because of their legal status (Annand 2008; Contreras 2009; Shah 2009). The realization that higher education would not necessarily result in upward mobility leads some students to drop out or give up their dreams of college (Muñoz 2009; Perez et al. 2009). Despite strong perceptions of obstacles, participants in this study still expressed high aspirations for future academic participation. One student reflected on the irony of undocumented students’ liminal citizenship: I really actually think it’s unfair, you know, they are promoting all this “America is free, you can do what you want, new opportunities”—but they are limiting you on what you can do. Especially around here, since it is an agricultural environment, a lot of people’s parents work in the fields. Liminal Citizenship and “In-between” Identities Through these stories, we witness the agency and subjectivities of liminal citizenship as undocumented students negotiate belonging, exclusion, discrimination, and racial and cultural differences. Their positionality as liminal citizens illustrates the power of immigration law and the nation-state in shaping identity at various scales (Mountz et al. 2002). Many students in our study felt that they were not fully from their home country or the United States. Isabela, a mother of two undocumented high school students, explained: My children are between two countries. They tell me, “I don’t feel like I’m from here because I still don’t have papers. Nor do I feel like I’m from México. I know that I was born there, but I don’t feel completely from there because I don’t know that country.” The students themselves echoed this sentiment of being “in-between” or, as Castro-Salazara and Bagley (2010) describe, existing in a state of “ni aqui, ni alli.” All three of our touchstone cases conveyed a sense of being neither “from here, nor there.” During the interviews, most identified themselves as Latino, Hispanic, or Mexican American but, when asked if they would consider going back to their birth country to pursue a university education, most students talked about feeling uncomfortable. Half of the foreign-born students surveyed have been in the United States for more than ten years, the majority of their lives to date. Because they have become well integrated into American life, they see returning to their country of origin as a less realistic option than going to school here. To Cesar, like many children of immigrants, his country of origin can seem as foreign and distant as if he were born in the United States. He says, “I don’t really know much about Mexico. I know more about this country. I guess I think of myself as half-and-half, as Mexican American.” Similarly, Victoria explained, “I just grew up here and I don’t feel like I could stay there very long. I just prefer to be here, I know everything here.” Reflecting on the possibility of returning to Mexico, Raúl believed he would “feel like a stranger in my own land.” Angela expressed fear: “I’m scared of going back [to Mexico]. It’s scary, it looks different.” The constant barrage of anti-immigration sentiment at school, in their communities, and on the television is disheartening to undocumented students and can even cause issues with self-esteem. Many students’ narratives revealed deep shame, anxiety, and embarrassment associated with being labeled illegal. Raúl discussed internalizing these feelings of guilt—maybe he was a criminal, as public discourse suggested. Abrego (2008) asserted that students’ liminal status—in which they straddle inclusion and exclusion and are legitimated as successful students yet criminalized for being undocumented—magnifies the role of immigration policy and legislation in their lives and, we would argue, in their identity formation. Conclusion Although this research focused on North Carolina, our findings are relevant to the other thirty-eight states that do not allow in-state tuition for undocumented students and especially to new migrant destination states that have a high proportion of 1.5-generation Downloaded by [University of Texas Libraries] at 13:12 05 October 2014 202 Volume 66, Number 2, May 2014 youth who arrived at a young age. Undocumented students’ narratives reveal the various structural barriers to higher education faced in their quest to pursue a college degree, to one day superarse and build a nueva vida. Through these highly affective testimonials, we begin to comprehend the in-between space that undocumented children inhabit and how this liminal state of citizenship constructs their aspirations and experiences in the U.S. educational system at multiple scales. We gain insights into undocumented students’ conflicted identities, which are, in part, a function of the complicated and somewhat blurry position they occupy as child “citizens” entitled to a public education and yet who face the looming specter of criminalization as undocumented “aliens” after graduation and into adulthood. Their narratives reveal how macroscale immigration legislation and policy shape immigrant children’s reception, experience, aspirations, and lives. Their stories convey emotions such as sadness, isolation, exclusion, loss, and separation that can potentially evoke an affective response among policymakers and the broader public (Pratt 2009) and appeal to society’s sense of justice (Abrego and Gonzales 2010). In the face of growing anti-immigrant sentiments, these counternarratives recounting the lived experiences of undocumented immigrants are increasingly important (Castro-Salazara and Bagley 2010). Geography, a discipline that rightly focuses on issues of social justice, transnationalism, migration, and the voices of “others,” has an opportunity to influence conversations about public policy regarding undocumented students. As educators, we increasingly encounter the plight of undocumented students in our own classrooms, and we are positioned to advocate on their behalf within our universities and in the wider public policy arenas. Studies have shown significant positive effects on college enrollment, educational attainment, reduction of social stigma, and empowerment in states that have implemented in-state tuition rights legislation for undocumented students (Abrego 2008; Kaushal 2008). Research suggests that geographers can contribute to supporting DREAMers and thereby increase diversity by identifying and generating financial support for low-income students, mentoring undocumented students in our classrooms, advocating on behalf of students within our respective institutions, and educating our students and the public on the plight of the DREAMers. As geographers, we have an opportunity, and perhaps even a responsibility, to lobby for the federal DREAM Act currently under consideration in Congress, which would partially remedy the unfair and precarious conditions for undocumented students in our nation. Many undocumented students have skills and experiences essential to areas of geographical research and praxis, including language abilities, acute awareness of and experience with what it means to grow up on the blurry boundaries between cultures and nation-states, a commitment to social justice, and a critical eye toward the society in which they live. We must no longer permit the talent, skills, motivation, and hard work of these bright young students to be wasted and lost to society as a whole.  Notes 1 In 1982, undocumented children were secured the right to a K–12 free public education through the Supreme Court ruling in the case of Plyer v. Doe, which struck down the state of Texas’s ability to deny funding to schools educating undocumented students. 2 The Federation of North Carolina Historical Societies (2012) defines eastern North Carolina as thirty-one counties, which according to the U.S. Census Bureau are all “rural” with the exception of one. 3 These states include California, Illinois, Kansas, Nebraska, New Mexico, New York, Oklahoma, Rhode Island, Texas, Utah, Washington, and Wisconsin. 4 Since this article went to press, in 2012 under President Obama, the federal government implemented a new initiative called Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals (DACA). This program is meant to prevent the deportation of certain undocumented youths. Currently youths aged 15 to 31 who arrived as children and are in school, have graduated from a U.S. high school, or served in the military with an honorable discharge are eligible to apply. The program allows them to obtain a social security number, effectively opening up the opportunity to work and obtain a driver’s license. This initiative offers a step in the right direction to decriminalizing undocumented youth, however, it does not provide them with permanent legal status and is limited to two years at which time they must reapply. Thus, youth are left in a perpetual state of limbo (U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services 2012). Literature Cited Abrego, L. J. 2008. Legitimacy, social identity, and the mobilization of law: The effects of Assembly Bill 540 on undocumented students. California Law & Social Inquiry 33 (3): 709–34. Abrego, L. J., and R. Gonzales. 2010. 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Consideration of Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals Process. http://www.uscis.gov/portal/site/ uscis / menuitem . eb1d4c2a3e5b9ac89243c6a7543f6d1a / ? vgnextoid = f2ef2f19470f7310VgnVCM100000082ca60a RCRD&vgnextchannel=f2ef2f19470f7310VgnVCM10000 0082ca60aRCRD#guidelines (last accessed 8 November 2012). Valentine, G. 1999. Being seen and heard? The ethical complexities of working with children and young people at 204 Volume 66, Number 2, May 2014 home and at school. Ethics, Place and Environment 2 (2): 141–50. Vanderbeck, R. M., and C. M. Dunkley. 2004. Introduction: Geographies of exclusion, inclusion and belonging in young lives. Children’s Geographies 2 (2): 177–83. Weller, S. 2006. Situating (young) teenagers in geographies of children and youth. Children’s Geographies 4 (1): 97–108. Downloaded by [University of Texas Libraries] at 13:12 05 October 2014 REBECCA MARIA TORRES is Assistant Professor in Geography and the Environment at The University of Texas, Austin, TX 78701. E-mail: rebecca.torres@austin.utexas.edu. Her research interests include international and internal migration, U.S. Latino communities, and rural and community development. MELISSA WICKS-ASBUN is Adjunct Instructor in Geography at Wayne Community College, Goldsboro, NC 27534. E-mail: mlasbun6473@staff.wayncecc.edu. Her research area is in immigration, education, and rural children’s geographies.