“I remember it was on September 16, which is Mexican Independence Day. So it’s very vivid for me every year. There’s a picture of my grandpa and my grandma at the doorsteps at their house…it reminds me of that day, all the time. Because they thought that we were just going for the weekend. And we never came back.
My name is Luis Vasquez. I was born in Piedras Negras, Mexico.
I was born to very young parents, my mom was 16 and when she had me. When I think about growing up in Mexico, it’s just like– the joy that family brings. Being able to grow around your cousins and you know, your tios and tias. And more than anything, my grandparents. My parents were focused on, you know, surviving– at some point my mom had two jobs, and went back to school. And so, my grandparents were there. My maternal grandfather and grandmother, because my parents were so young, they really took on the role of raising me until the age of 14, when my parents decided to migrate to the US.
We moved to the northeast part of Dallas– a very small suburb of Dallas, Farmersville, Texas. My graduating class was 100. I think I was like, one of 11 hispanics that graduated in that class– less than 10%.
My dad had a lot of different experiences. His mom passed away in his arms going to the hospital. So he had problems with alcohol and drug addiction. Every time that he was drunk, every weekend, he used to tell us, ‘I want a better life for you all.’
And so I didn’t really understand like why, you know, my parents had decided to move here.
As an adult, when I look back into it, I realize that it was my dad’s way of really trying to better his life, move away from his addiction problems. And that only lasted unfortunately for like two years, then later on he went back into, you know, consuming alcohol and drugs. The domestic violence came back. I actually had to call the police on my dad three or four times because he had gotten really bad. Right, and we didn’t really have family there. It was only us. My dad was still here in the US for like three months after they got separated. And then he was deported to Mexico. He spent about 10 years there. He died by suicide in 2020, during the pandemic.
I was speaking at a youth conference one day, and after the conference, I asked my dad ‘so how do you think I did?’ So he said ‘good, you were a little feminine, but it was good.’ It threw me off right, because I didn’t come out until I was 22… 21/22.
That day, I remember my dad telling me that and then he pats me on my back and he said, he said ‘as parents, we will always love our children, just as they are.’ And that to me, I did not understand it at that time because I wasn’t out. I didn’t really understand it. But years later when I have come into-um- situations where I feel that people do not accept me, and I need a place to run to. Because I never I never got to come out to him. But that was, that was a safe space.
DACA has provided opportunities for me to be in places where I never thought about, you know. I was invited to be at the White House last October for Hispanic Heritage Month and LGBT history month. I had my Mexican and US flag pin with my grandpa’s picture inside. So um– to honor my parents’ sacrifices, right, to be in this country. And I’m thankful for that, but then also there’s a lot of – that we have lost. And the living, day to day with the fear– always striving to be the best version of ourselves, right? Not only authentically, but in every role that we play in society.
This is an election year. DACA’s going to be another of the, you know, politicized topics candidates are gonna be talking about, you know, and immigration– and I realized how much stress that puts on my day-to-day life.
We see it everywhere– we see people leaving to other, you know, places because of other opportunities, and so on. They also share the struggles, right, and the work that there is to be done. Last year we saw a huge number of anti-LGBT laws from the legislation. And that’s very hurtful. Like, you know it impacts our community, our young LGBT & transgender individuals.
But I– I choose to focus on the hope that the people of Texas gather to fight against this.
I was able to go back home in 2021, after 20 years, because my grandpa passed away. And you know for me, he was like the dad figure, you know, someone like my hero in life. And as a DACA recipient you are able to ask for advance parole. You know, you can ask for humanitarian reasons: for someone that is sick or you know, visiting for a funeral in this case. I remember like, waking up the next day because he passed away, you know in the evening the night before. The next day I was like I can’t– I would not forgive myself if I’m not there. And so, I decided to apply. I went to the immigration office. I consulted with an attorney and they wanted to charge me like $3,000, and then a $600 application for immigration– that you have to submit. Just to be able to leave. And then, when you leave, when they give you the permit the little letters on the bottom says that you know, it’s up to the immigration officer if they’ll let you in or not. They were able to grant me the advanced parole, and I went back home after 21 years for my grandfather’s funeral.
Luis’s grandma’s house in Piedras Negras is only about three miles from Texas, a short drive south from the border town of Eagle Pass. And Luis can go to Eagle Pass— look across the Rio Grande, and see the grassy hills where kids play on the other side of the river, in Mexico. But in between Luis and his grandparents’ house is a long, tall fence, lined with razor wire wire, as well as military drones, armed guards, and HUM Vs. The scene in Eagle Pass is a picture out of the Texas legislation’s playbook, namely, it’s a product of Governor Greg Abbott’s Operation Lone Star. OLS was launched in 2021 and has cost Texas taxpayers more than eleven billion dollars in the last three years. Thousands of national guard and DPS officers have been sent to the Texas Mexico border in attempts to solve what they and many others have deemed the border crisis. So, Luis can complete the lengthy and pricey advanced parole process, and drive across the Rio Grande. But the road in between Eagle Pass and Piedras Negras is not a peaceful one.
I think based on that experience. I said, you know, is it really worth it, being here? Is it really worth it to be able to, you know, to be here and like missing those experiences? My grandma is still alive thankfully but, you know, am I just gonna go back to another funeral? And I don’t want that. You know?
We wake up every day with fear and with this imposter syndrome that you know, I’m in this position and I need to speak eloquently, you know, perfect English. I need to surpass, you know, expectations. And it is true, you know, it is true in every position that we hold.
With the joys of growing up also comes all the memories that I have of my grandpa, you know, all the lessons. I learned that sometimes you don’t have to speak to say something. He was an honorable man of strong character, but you know, sometimes he didn’t have to say anything to say what he wanted to say, you know, for you to know what he wanted to say.
This is what I learned. The people that are against equity and inclusion and all that. They’re just loud voices, you know, they are trying to shut people, silence the movement. But there’s a lot more good in the world– there’s a lot more of us doing work silently because sometimes that’s how work happens. It happens in the back, behind the scenes. And the other people are just loud.”