About a year ago, as I stepped out of the office of the New York State Youth Leadership Council I noticed some buttons on a table in the lobby left by the New York Immigration Coalition. The pins were big and in red broad letters they proclaimed, “I AM AN ILLEGAL IMMIGRANT.” By that time, most of the people in my life knew about my immigration status and that sense of fear and shame that accompanies that status had already been shed. I had noticed those pins before, but on that day I picked up one and felt challenged to place it on my breast.
I walked out of the Council in broad daylight and started walking towards 14th st. I stared at the people passing me by, wondering what they might think once they saw it. Drawn as I am to pharmacies, I went inside a Duane Reade and and after wandering through the aisles bought something. The man at the cash register, noticed the pin, stared me up down, and finally told me in cracked up english something along the lines of good for you. I felt good about myself, proud to be sporting part of my identity on my shirt. The next day I wore the pin on my schoolbag and waited for the reactions. My health teacher was the first to ask. “Why do you have that pin,” she said, to which I answered plainly “it’s the truth.” But, she insisted and this time I couldn’t muster up a quick retort. It was then that I realized I had the message all wrong.
To start off, I didn’t feel completely at ease wearing that pin on my shirt. If it was in fact part of my identity, then I would have worn it without paying attention to stares, comments and reactions. In fact, I realized that all throughout that day I was trying to change an image that had already been mauled over and destroyed. Illegal immigrant, once a legal definition, entered the mainstream media and became a form of attack. I couldn’t accept the words written on that pin because that is not who I am.
I am not an illegal immigrant, I am a human being who happens to an UNDOCUMENTED immigrant living in the United States.

