Ashley Ayala remembers Nov. 8, 2016, with tears in her eyes.
When Donald Trump announced his intention to run for president in the summer of 2015, Ayala said she and her friends laughed it off, discounting the legitimacy of his campaign.
What seemingly began as a joke quickly turned into a nightmare for Ayala as election night loomed close. The possibility of a Trump presidency slowly became real.
Ayala’s feelings of insecurity continued to build when Donald Trump’s title transitioned from reality show personality to president of the United States.
“I remember coming to school and I kind of just sat down and I was just crying,” Ayala said of the days ensuing Trump’s presidential confirmation. “It was definitely a rough couple of weeks after (the election) because I just didn’t feel comfortable. I didn’t feel safe. I know I carried myself differently. I just didn’t feel strong — I didn’t feel like I belonged. It was just hard because I didn’t know — I just didn’t feel comfortable being here.”
Although the fifth-year University of Idaho student is a U.S. citizen, she still feels threatened by the changing mindsets and rhetoric regarding immigration.
When Trump began his presidential campaign three years ago, it was founded on radical immigration policy changes, ranging from building a wall across the nearly 2,000-mile U.S.- Mexico border to immediately ending the Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals (DACA) program.
Ayala sees the stress these changing policies and rhetoric regarding immigration has on those closest to her. Her mother solidified her status as a green card holder in recent months — something Ayala said her family thought would not be possible while Trump is in office — but her father was unable to do the same.
“It is really exciting for my mom because it’s something that she’s been waiting for, and it’s something we’ve all really been waiting for,” Ayala said. “Then we found out my dad won’t be able to — it’s a very bittersweet moment.”
The shifting attitudes toward minorities is a cause of concern, even for those who aren’t worried about their individual status.
Karina Zavala, a fourth-year UI student, became a permanent resident when she was a child through her father, who solidified his status after illegally immigrating to the U.S. Her mother only recently became a citizen in 2016, Zavala said.
The threats of deportation no longer directly impact Zavala and her immediate family — but that doesn’t make it any easier, she said.
“It’s very hard to hear,” Zavala said. “My parents came to the U.S. and migrated for better job opportunities … for me and my siblings to have a better future.”
Searching for the positives
Zavala and Ayala are both members of Movimiento Activista Social (MAS), a student group at UI promoting justice and equality.
The group works to educate students and staff on a variety of campus-wide issues.
When Trump began to make waves with talk of ending DACA, MAS members organized a demonstration in support of those affected. While no one in the group is directly affected by DACA, Zavala said they are all connected to people who are.
Ayala, the group’s unity representative, said they only expected their 15-member group to attend and not many more.
Around 50 people joined in the support.
“(It made us feel) really welcomed and assuring, especially after everything that was happening. We were kind of feeling defeated … and just seeing all that support was really great,” Ayala said.
As the talk surrounding immigration continues to change, Zavala said it is important now more than ever to take part in local activism.
“Even if you try to avoid it, it’s kind of hard to … I think it’s important for students to get involved in a good way,” Zavala said. “I know it’s not going to change our laws immediately, but I think it’s a slow process that can create small changes within our community.”
Yanet Rosales, a second-year UI student, said the shifts she has seen nationally made her appreciate her status as a U.S. citizen, which she hopes to utilize in the future to help those who are not in the same position.
“I might not feel the same thing, but if I’m able to be a U.S. citizen here with an education, maybe I can help them some way,” Rosales said. “That kind of helps me try to make a change within my community — if I have this opportunity — and luckily, I was able to be born here as an American citizen and I’m able to make a change.”
Minimal Diversity
The University of Idaho-Moscow student body is 79 percent white, as reported by university officials in August 2018. Hispanic and Latino students make up just nine percent of the student population.
UI’s numbers mostly resemble Idaho as a whole. The state is nearly 92 percent Caucasian, according to World Population Review’s 2018 figures.
Coupled with Idaho’s lack of ethnic diversity, the stigma of white nationalism looms in North Idaho.
Victor Canales, college assistance migrant program recruitment specialist, said he still gets questions from high school students and families worried about white supremacy in the region.
A historically right-leaning state, Idaho is in a different position politically than its Pacific Northwest neighbors.
Immigration laws and regulations are more severe in Idaho compared to nearby states. Those without status in Idaho are subject to e-verification for employment by state agencies and are not permitted to obtain a driver’s license.
Across the Idaho-Washington border, restrictions on immigrants tell a different story.
In the state of Washington, immigrants without status can receive their driver’s license and do not have to verify their employment, beyond that required by federal law. Additionally, individuals without status in Washington can access state financial aid to attend college. No equivalent program exists for Idaho students.
The difference is palpable, said Jesse Martinez, UI Office of Multicultural Affairs director.
While ‘Undocumented and Unafraid’ — a slogan used at Washington State University — Martinez said it does not hold the same weight in Idaho, where students may be more afraid to be open about their status in the conservative state.
Rosales said the voices of immigrants and people of multicultural background can be suppressed due to dominating Republican viewpoints.
“It can be difficult,” Rosales said. “(People) might support our issues, but sometimes you feel like you might not have the support and the right kind of representation of what you’re wanting to get … But if they don’t want to represent us, then how exactly are we going to get our voices out there?”
Support in a time of fear
Admission to UI does not include questions regarding a student’s immigration status, Dean of Students Blaine Eckles said.
“The University does not have a list, nor does it track how many students may be undocumented,” Eckles said. “We look at all students who are admitted as Vandals and not their immigration status.”
Despite little cultural diversity across UI’s campus, students have a number of resources available, from the Office of Multicultural Affairs to the Immigration Clinic run by the UI College of Law.
Martinez said about 75 percent of students who utilize the Office of Multicultural Affairs are first-generation college students.
The office sets up a number of touch points with students to ensure they have the framework they need to be successful during their time at the university, Martinez said.
As national politics puts more pressure on marginalized communities, Martinez said he and his office work to stay ahead of these issues as opposed to supporting affected student after the fact.
But it is easier said than done.
“I don’t even know how we can be proactive anymore, it changes every day,” Martinez said.
The College Assistance Migrant Program (CAMP) is designed to help students with a migrant background financially and academically.
Victor Canales, a CAMP recruitment specialist, works to recruit high school students to UI, saying he has met several students who have run into financial issues while trying to attend college.
DACA and undocumented students are ineligible for grant money in Idaho, placing a larger barrier between these types of students and higher education institutions, Canales said.
“It is sad. It really makes me sad and angry,” Canales said of the limited state funding for DACA and undocumented students. “I don’t say that to students because I want to empower them, but it makes me sad.”
Kate Evans, director of the UI College of Law Immigration Litigation and Appellate Clinic, sees a number of legal cases seeking status for their family once they turn 21 years old.
“Working with college communities has been really interesting because there are people who are realizing, ‘Oh, I can now look at opportunities to reunify and stabilize my family situation,’” Evans said. “Because they are young but they are getting to the age they can sort of take action on behalf of other family members.”
The Immigration Clinic provides students and their families with free legal services in a variety of legal cases related to immigration, she said.
Evans said she and the clinic saw an uptick in DACA cases, as well as students worried about their status, shortly after the presidential election.
As the conversation surrounding DACA continues to change, she said she works to get students to renew their two-year status, even if they aren’t close to expiring.
If recipients renew now, they are given the maximum amount of time before a new administration takes office or Congress makes a permanent decision on the program, Evans said.
“Most people agree with what the elements for immigration are, including people in Congress, but you’ve got these political leaders who use immigration as an electoral tool,” she said. “Common misconceptions hover over immigrant communities — ‘They’re taking our jobs,’ some say. ‘They are feeding off taxpayer dollars.’”
Despite these phrases, Evans said the opposite is most often true.
“There is a lot of healthiness in our economy that comes from immigration, (and) it is a way we’ve kind of avoided some of the economic downturns that Europe has faced, because those are aging populations that are not bringing in new, younger, members of their country,” Evans said.
Fighting an uphill battle
In 2014, there were approximately 12.1 million immigrants living in the U.S. without proper documentation, according to the most recent numbers from the Department of Homeland Security.
The laws regarding immigration have not changed, Evans said, but who enforces them has, leaving many filled with fear.
Ayala will never forget the night it all began two years ago or the tears that filled her eyes, nor will her father, who talks about packing his bags and returning to Mexico.
“He feels hopeless,” Ayala said. “Especially (with) everything that’s been going on recently. I know he’s just like, ‘Why even stay here, where I’m not welcome and there’s no hope?’”
Story by Meredith Spelbring
Graphic by Alex Brizee
Design by Alex Brizee