Umaña, an outstanding student, was hoping for approval to pursue his dream of studying for a PhD at UCLA, but since teaching is required, it is now impossible for him to even consider it.
It was Sunday, September 22nd. It seemed like a good day. Jeffry Umaña Muñoz woke up feeling optimistic. That day could change his life, all his dreams could come true, and he could have the opportunity to live like any other California resident.
On the same day, in Sacramento, Governor Gavin Newsom had other plans. When everyone was expecting the approval of Bill AB2586, which would allow undocumented students to work within the California public university system, the state leader vetoed it, shattering the hopes of thousands of undocumented students enrolled in the UC system.
“That day… ‘chillé’ (I cried), I saw that all my years of hopes were lost. I felt angry, sad, betrayed, like we had been lied to,” says Umaña, 22 years old, a 4th-year student at UCLA double majoring in Chicano and Central American Studies, and Labor Studies, who also serves as one of the two co-chairpersons of the Undocumented Student-Led Network at UCLA.
Umaña, an outstanding student, was hoping for approval to pursue his dream of studying for a PhD at UCLA, but since teaching is required for the program, it is now impossible for him to even consider it. As an undocumented student, he does not meet the requirements to enroll in the program.
“It’s ironic; many don’t realize the damage caused by a decision like the one the governor made. Now, I don’t know if I will have the money to pay for my master’s next year. I thought I could do it with the hope of working on campus. Now, I don’t know what I’ll eat in a few months. But one thing is for sure, I will keep fighting against this inhumane policy,” adds the student leader.
Jeffry focused on studying. At three years old, he already knew how to read. The first book he read was The Very Hungry Caterpillar.
Umaña’s voice is energetic, but more importantly, each word seems measured, landing exactly in the right place. It’s clear from his speech that he’s a well-prepared young man who has dedicated his life to studying, reading, and writing—two of his passions.
Jeffry came to this country like millions of Dreamers; his parents sought better opportunities for their children and decided to leave El Salvador to settle in San Bernardino.
“It’s the case of two stories: on the one hand, a country with the best opportunities, and on the other, a country that doesn’t welcome you, that doesn’t receive you positively. We are people who came to this country and need humanitarian help, we contribute to this society, we do everything that’s asked of us, we’re good students, workers, we live cleanly, and… we suffer hardships,” he says.
He arrived at the age of two. His mother and father worked all day.
“I only saw my mom at six in the morning when she woke me up and got me ready for school, and my dad at seven when he took me to school. The rest of the time, I spent with friends; I tried to have many friends so I wouldn’t feel alone, missing them. Yes, we dealt with many things, but we did it together, as a family. Despite all their struggles, my parents never mistreated me. We had many shortcomings. On weekends, we would go to church or community centers for food; otherwise, we wouldn’t eat,” he adds.
Jeffry focused on studying. At three years old, he already knew how to read. The first book he read was The Very Hungry Caterpillar.
“I loved it. I think because it partly reflected my life. The caterpillar looked for what it wanted and always got it, I wanted to do that,” he says.
His hard-working parents have always supported him in achieving his goals. “They are always there,” he says.
At a young age, his parents made it clear they had to be careful—they were undocumented. Jeffry heard it, but he was too young to understand its meaning and impact.
“I grew up assuming it but without being conscious of it. I learned it as time passed; reality taught me I wasn’t like the others,” he mentions.
The first lesson came at the age of 12, when he was in seventh grade. At school, they were organizing a trip to Washington during spring break. However, he couldn’t go because he lacked documentation. He approached his teacher and said he couldn’t travel and had to stay home.
It wasn’t until he was a senior in high school that he confessed to his classmates that he was undocumented. And just like before, that anxiety, that clash with reality, kept getting worse, not better.
“I couldn’t benefit from DACA. I was eight years old when the policy was announced. You had to be 15 to qualify. My parents exploded with joy. I could finally fulfill my dreams. Then Trump came, and the suspension of new applications followed, and I was left out. It was devastating; I felt like I was worthless,” he says.
Time doesn’t make things easier for him. Every year, he feels more suffocated, thinking there is no awareness that they need help—it’s a humanitarian issue.
As an excellent student, he had to make choices, his own decisions to face a system that was against him.
“I wanted to go to Harvard, Yale, one of those prestigious universities. I wanted to prove that my parents hadn’t been wrong. That all this was worth it,” he adds.
He was accepted to Harvard and many other elite universities. But flying was impossible and risky. He didn’t want to be separated from his family for years. So, he ended up accepting UCLA.
“I felt a lot of anger; my dreams didn’t come true, and I had to ‘settle’ for UCLA. At first, it was hard, but later I realized they had a support system for undocumented students. Afterward, I also realized how many students would love to be admitted to UCLA. Despite my problems, I was already there,” Jeffry shares.
REALITY
Yes, he was a straight-A student, academically successful, and had moved from doubts to student activism. But those dark clouds didn’t go away. He began to question where he would work. His status didn’t allow him to. He saw his classmates sharing their dreams, talking about their trips to Mexico or other countries for spring break. And when they asked what he was going to do, Jeffry would reply, “I’ll stay home.”
His discourse on migration has changed, but what remains clear to him is the unfair way migrants are treated. “They think it’s an invasion, and they don’t realize people are coming to ask for help, to work.”
“The first thing I did at the university was to learn about social movements, different struggles. When there’s a discussion, I can argue and say, ‘You’re wrong; actually, it was like this,’” he says.
POLITICS
For Jeffry, one of the major problems is the lack of pressure from pro-immigrant organizations and politicians.
“We need to confront the politicians, confront Newsom, hold him accountable for his decisions, and withdraw support from him until he legislatively shows support for our community. But organizations keep supporting these politicians. Look at what happened with Newsom: nothing, not even a statement. They support Democratic politicians because supposedly they will support us, and nothing happens, and they stay there,” he says, frustrated.
Time doesn’t make things easier for him. Every year, he feels more suffocated, thinking there is no awareness that they need help—it’s a humanitarian issue.
He believes that some organizations claiming to protect immigrants don’t sympathize with undocumented student organizations because… they are undocumented.
“They seek leverage; they see us as confrontational. We’re not afraid to say what we think,” he says.
He believes these organizations might be more concerned about the funds they receive, and a confrontation with politicians might not benefit them.
“We’re stuck in the mud. There are about 86,000 undocumented students who are being harmed by these decisions. The worst part is that many high school students now think there’s no point in applying to university. Why? They don’t have papers and won’t be able to work. It’s the saddest thing; it’s the craziest thing, and… excuse my language,” he explains.
For him, nothing has changed. Undocumented students deserve the right to work, to dream, to continue contributing to this society. They shouldn’t be punished; they should be respected and live their lives like any other student.
“What would I say to Newsom? I’d say: ‘Why am I not enough? Why can’t I fulfill my dreams? You’ve betrayed us,’” he says. And he adds, “I would ask Kamala, ‘Why have you changed your mind so much? In the Senate, you were pro-immigrant; now everything has changed.’”
Jeffry and his peers aren’t going anywhere; they will find a way to reintroduce this bill and keep fighting.
“I’m afraid; I could be deported at any moment, but my protection is my organization, my companions,” he concludes.
Gavin Newsom vetoes a first-in-the-nation attempt to employ undocumented students
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