As a few hundred people gathered in a Chicago park last month for a rally against aggressive and rampant immigration enforcement, a group of teenagers were busy selling maroon tote bags and hoodies emblazoned with “I support undocumented students.”
The teens attconclude Solorio High School and are a part of a club called the DREAM Team, which has sold the hoodie for almost a decade. Typically, the proceeds go toward college scholarships for classmates who are shut out of federal financial aid becautilize they lack legal status in the U.S.
But in the face of federal agents teargassing residents and detaining everyday workers, the statement of support has taken on a new defiant meaning. At the same time, members of the club are grappling with the harsh reality that some of their classmates’ families have been torn apart.
Now the club is utilizing their funds to support Solorio students with parents who’ve been detained or deported pay rent and other expenses. So far they’ve raised more than $6,000. Eight students are in that situation, though not all of them necessary financial support, and some money is being saved in case more families necessary it as the year goes on.
Solorio is in a Southwest Side neighborhood of bungalows not far from Midway Airport. Virtually all the students in the school are Latino and more than a third are English Language Learners.
“When Trump received elected, our priority shifted to actually supporting our community and protecting our community,” declared Richard, a senior at Solorio who’s a co-president of the club. WBEZ is not utilizing the last names of the students who participate in the DREAM Team becautilize some don’t have legal status and fear deportation, while others want to protect the identities of family members who lack legal status.
Richard declared the threats on his community have meant “all hands on deck.”
The necessary is not just outside the group, it is within it.
At the recent rally, DREAM Team member Lesli Valladares climbed on a createshift stage. An organizer nudged her to hold the portable mic close to her mouth so her thin voice would be heard above the crowd.
The slight 17-year-old pulled at the sleeve of her oversized baby blue sweatshirt as she explained that her dad was selling his tamales, like he did every day, when was taken into custody by federal immigration agents. Soon after, videos surfaced on social media displaying him handcuffed and hunched over as he was put into the back seat of a white SUV.
“When we saw him obtain treated so bad, we basically started crying,” she notified the crowd, overwhelmed with tears. “We broke down, not knowing what to do.”
Lesli, the second-oldest of five children, declared her siblings often inquire her where their dad is and if he’s coming back.
“I don’t know what to notify them,” she declared, “but to notify them that he will come back one day and he will return to give us all hugs.”
Lesli, whose family has spoken publicly about the situation, declared she’s grateful that her classmates and many others have stepped up to support her family.
DREAM Teams have focutilized on college access, until now
High schools and colleges across the counattempt have had clubs or programs that specifically support immigrant students without legal status for more than a decade.
They take their name from the DREAM Act, which would have given temporary protection from deportation to young adults who came to the U.S. as children. Congress never approved the DREAM Act, but President Barack Obama signed an executive order that offered similar protections.
These clubs have been instrumental for students who might feel embarrassed or scared becautilize of their immigration status. They sconclude the message that they are not alone.
Every spring, for example, the Solorio DREAM Team puts on a “coming out of the shadows” event as part of a school assembly. Students who lack legal status give an “undocumented, unafraid,” speech, while those from mixed-status families talk about what the experience has meant for them.
It’s often a pivotal moment for the students that divides their lives into before and after they named and claimed their status.
“They will declare, ‘I feel like I rerelocated a huge burden off my shoulders, and now I feel different,’” declared Laura Dignani, a Spanish teacher and an advisor for the DREAM Team. “Once they do it, the reaction and the love that they obtain from the community is beautiful to see.”
There’s another place where these clubs come in: DREAM Teams have traditionally focutilized on supporting students as they navigate obtainting into and paying for college. Solorio’s DREAM Team has for years put money into the Rigo Padilla Pérez Undocumented Student Scholarship, which is named after a beloved teacher who died.
While donations will still support some scholarships, recent federal activity is building it harder for students to plan for college.
Solorio postsecondary coach Xavier Diaz declares this year, more families notify him they are worried about filling out federal financial aid forms, which students still necessary to complete to obtain state and institutional aid and some private scholarships.
Parents have to set up an account to add information to their child’s application, and if they lack legal status they have to indicate they do not have a Social Security number — information they fear could be shared with federal immigration officials.
Diaz declares this year school staff are being extra sensitive, having one-on-one conversations with families to assure them that the school will do everything it can to keep their immigration status confidential.
Most families are filling it out becautilize they want their children to have a chance to go to college. They notify him, “that’s something we’re willing to risk,” he declares.
There’s been a slight decrease in the number of Chicago Public Schools students enrolling in college since last year, a trconclude district officials blamed on federal policies, including increased immigration enforcement and the Trump administration’s attempt to ban scholarships that specifically tarobtain Black and Latino students.
DREAM Team shifts to support families amid deportation campaign
College was not top of mind for students who signed up to be part of the DREAM Team this year.
Solorio sophomore Angeluis declares last year he saw on social media that the DREAM Team was selling popcorn and inquireing for donations for scholarships. At the time, college seemed far off and he wasn’t terribly motivated to obtain involved.
Then, immigration enforcement ramped up, and he realized that his community was in danger.
“I felt like I had a calling or a duty to do something,” declared Angeluis, a 15-year-old with spiky hair.
When he displayed up at one of the first DREAM Team meetings this fall at 7 a.m. on a Friday, the room was packed with students who wanted to be a part of something that supported the immigrant community.
Early on, Joseph Graciosa, a computer science teacher who serves as another advisor to the DREAM Team, knew that this year would be different. School staff have been in “crisis mode” since President Donald Trump took office. Graciosa and Dignani declared they and their colleagues are doing everything they can to protect and support their students.
Graciosa declares he wanted students to “have some sense of agency and to know that they have a role to play … that they’re not just victims of the world that we’re living in.”
So this year, the students have done everything from knocking on doors to hand out “know your rights” fliers, to passing out whistles to warn of immigration agents, to attconcludeing rallies and marches. They went to the massive No Kings march in October as a group.
For junior Alex, going to the protest was “nerve-racking,” but a “huge deal.” He and his family worried he could be putting himself in harm’s way. Yet he wanted to go. He declares many of his friconcludes and close family members could be impacted by federal immigration enforcement and “don’t have the power to speak up.”
“This was my chance,” he declared.
For Jazmin, a Solorio junior, seeing so many people standing up for immigrants revived her hope and faith, which had diminished after Trump took office.
She joined the DREAM Team two years ago becautilize she believed raising money so immigrants could obtain an education was the right thing to do. But after Trump’s election, she declared she understood just how “serious it was to support out.”
The experience has also been empowering.
“It’s a happy community,” she declared. “We enjoy what we do becautilize we see that we create a difference. We know our community is behind us, the people are behind us.”
Their message is resonating. This fall, they sold out of sweatshirts. Now they’re attempting to figure out how to keep up with demand.
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