As I am beginning writing this, I have 445 days left until my DACA expires. 445 days left to be able to work in the United States. 445 days left of protection from deportation—although that is not guaranteed either.

The thing that bothers me about this number is that it doesn’t seem that bad at first. I have over a year left. A lot can happen in that time. But that’s exactly it: A lot can change. Each day that passes, 122 DACA recipients lose their status. My deadline is just a bit farther away. Right now, my DACA is set to expire as I take my finals next year. It will last me through my first three years at Harvard. But it is set to expire before I graduate. A lot can happen in that time. Graduation is not guaranteed. Permission to work after college is not guaranteed.

***

440 days are left as I start writing this again. I’ve been kept busy planning for the Collegiate Alliance for Immigration Reform Conference that we hosted at Harvard this weekend. I sit in the middle of this conference trying to get my words out in time for this to be published. Thoughts have been floating through my head and I’ve been surrounded by people who are part of my community. I feel guilty. My entire community is not here. This is only a small fraction of it. Most of the people here are the “Dreamers” that are often highlighted on the media.

I am one of them. And I feel guilty. I feel ashamed when people tokenize me only to throw the rest of my community under the bus. I feel ashamed when I take part in an interview to talk about my parents in order to shift this narrative, and they cut out everything I say about them. I am definitely at a disadvantage compared to documented students here at Harvard, but compared to my community, I have more than people could ever ask for. I have protection through the Harvard name. I have a place to sleep, access to unlimited food in the dining halls, health insurance, and an education. I have access to a work permit and a job in the admissions office where I receive a higher hourly wage than my parents.

This status has been separating me from the rest of my community. I straddle the line between documented and not because of DACA. I am close to being pushed off of it, but I know that I am a minority in the undocumented community. The majority of my community doesn’t have access to this line—the same way we don’t have access to the line in which people urge us to wait.

***

438. The number of days left for my DACA when this is published. This title was used to draw you in because I know DACA gets the most attention in this community. It is not the people risking their lives on the border, day in and day out. It is not the people risking deportation by working to feed their families. It is not the people stuck in detention. It is not the people seeking asylum in a country they wrongfully thought would grant them freedom.

DACA gave me the comfort to get involved in activism. I had the courage to get involved and be public with my story because I was immune to deportation. I was able to find enough comfort in this temporary status. This temporary relief from deportation. This temporary peace of mind. Just enough to hold us over. Keep the “Dreamers” safe and they’ll back down. Because all our parents wanted was for us to have a better future. DACA was good enough for them—but not for us. Not for me.

Everyone in the community knows that DACA is a privilege, because in the country we live in, it is a privilege to be able to work to feed your family. It is a privilege to not fear that our families will be separated. It is a privilege to not fear deportation, day in and day out. It is a privilege to exist in peace. Yet, DACA should not be seen as a privilege. Every single one of us deserves these rights and we should not have to sell out the rest of our community in order to try to get these rights for ourselves.

Politicians have used us as pawns to keep us quiet—to keep us from fighting back by giving us crumbs. We should not be grateful for a program that only divides our community. Now that they’ve taken DACA from us, we must recognize that this country was never going to fight for us. We have lost everything at this point. It’s time to fight for our entire community again knowing we have nothing left to lose. We must make this loss worth it. It’s all or nothing.

Laura S. Veira-Ramirez ’20, a Crimson editorial editor, is a History and Literature concentrator in Leverett House. Her column appears on alternate Mondays.