Words can hurt, some more than others. Much of the time, insults don’t really make us feel anything real—we only recognize that they’re supposed to be insults, that certain words are meant to be hurtful. 

At Harvard, I’ve learned that, as an undocumented student, I should be insulted when I hear the word “illegal” followed by “immigrant” or “alien.” But I just can’t get with the times. “Illegal” has always been my go-to word to describe my status. To me, being illegal doesn’t mean being wrong. It just means being a victim of this country’s flawed immigration system.

I’m not alone. Eric Balderas ’14, an undocumented student, told me he thinks the movement to stop the use of the word “illegal” is a “form of censorship” that’s “often misplaced.” In fact, according to Balderas, no one has ever asked him about his opinion on the word. 

“It’s an idea introduced by an elite audience,” he said. “Most illegal immigrants…aren’t even aware that this is a controversial topic or don’t care.”

And this is precisely the problem with avoiding the word. By doing so, we subscribe to a theory about immigration that comes from an elite group out of touch with the reality of being undocumented instead of from those who live in that reality. And that means we deny those who came here illegally the opportunity to define themselves on their own terms.

When we consider word “illegal” automatically offensive—rather than consider how we actually feel about the word—we are letting the word’s user, person, or institution, assume a position of dominance over us. We admit we care about what they have to say, and, to an extent, accept their authority and claim—that to be illegal is to be bad.

But we should not accept that claim. We should fight against it. We should remember that the illegality of students and workers is a consequence of our country’s broken immigration system, not of an intrinsic inferior quality in those immigrants. We should remember that there are many laws that act against the best interest of society as a whole, instead mostly serving the interests of the politically influential.

This nation’s immigration laws fit that bill. They deprive immigrants of the chance to become integrated into society and to contribute. They treat immigrants as criminals, when we enter the United States not to violate the sacred laws of the land but simply to survive.

There are families to be fed, children to be clothed and educated, and parents with no alternatives. These pressing needs—needs that must be met in order to live—often must take precedence over legal codes. And that’s why those codes need to shift to accommodate immigrants who want to work hard in the United States, for the country and for their families. America’s immigration laws are at the root of all the financial, physical, and mental struggles my family faces today, but it doesn’t have to be that way. 

Whether we are undocumented or not, it can be insidious to let laws created by the privileged elite characterize others and us. When we view the word “illegal” as offensive, we assume that those who come here illegally are morally corrupt for their actions. Instead, it is the system that falls short of ethical standards.

We, the illegal immigrants, should be proud of our experiences and let every label we are assigned remind us of that experience. Such labels should never cause guilt, shame, or remorse.

So everyone: Say illegal, say it offhandedly.

Enrique Ramirez ’16, a Crimson editorial writer, is a philosophy concentrator in Quincy House.