University President

I remember opening my admissions letter earlier this year knowing in my heart that if I didn’t get accepted to this university, I wouldn’t have the means to learn engineering anywhere else. You see, growing up I had only seen snippets of the university because my cousin had the privilege of going here. I remember my first sight of Memorial Chapel as you go southbound on Route 1 and the first time I saw the soccer wonderland that is Cole Field House, and I recall thinking to myself: I would give anything to go here.

From the very beginning, I did not think I would make it. I had let society label me; from the start of my time here in the United States, I knew that I was undocumented, or an illegal, depending on which side of the issue one’s allegiance lies on.

From middle school to high school, I always questioned my every decision regarding education, wondering, why should I try? After all, in my mind, I had already defeated myself due to my own despair. It was like this for many years up until my last year of high school, when I realized how hard it was to see all my friends applying for college. It was a bittersweet feeling, knowing they had been accepted to college and I couldn’t even get past the residency questions on the application.

At that time, I did not even bother applying because I had no legal documentation whatsoever, and I knew the price to come here was one that my family and I could not fathom.

Yet, seeing my friends’ faces of happiness made me want to fight for my chance at an acceptance letter from a university.

I decided to start at Montgomery College, as I could pay for it by working. I went on to make the Dean’s List my first semester and felt happy knowing that if I continued this way and fixed my immigration status, I’d be able to come to this university after two years.

However, during midterms my second semester, my family and I were put into deportation proceedings, and my life changed. All of a sudden my point had been proven: Why should I try?

I spent my time in jail with my dad as my cellmate and realized I had indeed wasted my time; I should have just worked and not invested all I had into going to school. I felt ashamed of my dream and where I fell into society. But then, allies like you alongside a raging community stood up and granted me a chance.

When we were released, I came out and realized the significance of my life. After all, though I was skeptical, I had tried so hard to attain an education that it ended up being the reason I got out of jail.

Later on that year, I knew that education had to take a backseat and I realized that the only way I’d be able to go to school was if I fought for this state’s Dream Act.

I rallied and spoke at so many places, and that’s when I first heard of you, and then I heard your Peruvian Spanish mesmerize whole audiences, when those in the crowd sat in awe thinking, “¡Wow, este asiático habla bien el español!”

Or better yet, I have seen and felt the happiness to know that you were on our side for Question 4 on this state’s ballot. I have been here for a semester, and working to keep putting myself through school is extremely difficult. Nonetheless, I realized that though my time here is short, I am extremely blessed because of all that you have done for my community.

You have been a warrior for us and have given me not just the chance at an education but a voice.

I commemorate your efforts on this Thanksgiving weekend and wish you the best in all your endeavors.

Thank you for standing up for us.

Jorge Steven Acuña is a junior chemical engineering major. He can be reached at stevenacuna11@gmail.com.