Voices: I built my life in Utah. Now the government wants me gone.

Note to readers • The Salt Lake Tribune generally requires authors publish their full names with their op-eds. However, due to concerns for her safety and well-being, we’ve chosen to use only the author’s first name in this case. We have independently verified the author’s identity.

On May 19, the Department of Homeland Security took away my only form of legal status in this country, shattering all my future plans. With the end of Temporary Protected Status, known as TPS, I lost not only my right to stay here legally but also the possibility of having a normal life.

I saw myself working in my current job as a patient relations specialist in the medical field for another year, and then, after earning my bachelor’s degree in communication, transferring to the project management department. But the president of the United States has different plans for me and made a firm decision about those of us who hold TPS. He painted us as criminals who came here to cause harm, saying we deserved deportation at the hands of ICE.

My first reaction was pure rage. How could that man compare my years of work and effort — in school and on the job — with people who murder and assault others? The generalization, the racism in that moment, became my greatest enemy. It pushed me to a place where I even began to resent my roots and my own people.

To understand why this decision shocked so many of us, it helps to know what TPS is. The U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services says “The Secretary of Homeland Security can grant Temporary Protected Status (TPS) to a foreign country when conditions there make it unsafe for its citizens to return, or when the country isn’t able to manage the return of its people properly. Eligible nationals from those designated countries who are already in the U.S. may receive TPS through USCIS.”

Countries such as Nepal and Haiti have been granted TPS since the program was created in 1990. Venezuela, my home country, was one of the most recent additions on March 9, 2021, due to the increase of Venezuelans trying to escape the dictatorship of Nicolás Maduro.

I was born and raised in Caracas; a city where the beautiful El Ávila National Park is located and home to our liberator, Simon Bolivar. I moved to Utah with my mom and my brother in 2017, starting a new life at 16 years old and leaving behind the family I had always been so close to and happy with.

For me and for many others, the TPS was like waking up from a bad dream I had been trapped in for almost four years. It was a breath after nearly drowning in mistreatment and rejection by past employees and coworkers. I got my driver’s license, my Real ID to travel and a job as a front desk associate at a hotel. That job opened my eyes to people and personalities that inspired me, gave me hope. If they could make it, maybe I could, too.

I learned that living and working as an immigrant fundamentally changes you. It gives you perspective while also taking pieces of you away. You learn a new language, change the way you speak because you’re surrounded by people from hundreds of countries, not just your own. Your accent shifts until your old friends barely recognize you. You learn to save money, knowing you’ll never be paid the same as someone born here. You live with the constant weight of not belonging anywhere, making loneliness your closest companion. You lose loved ones every day to distance. The years you should be spending traveling or celebrating with friends turn into extra shifts and holidays spent serving those who can. You become a servant of the system.

I eventually transferred to the University of Utah after graduating with my associate’s degree from Salt Lake Community College to keep working and finish my bachelor’s degree. Everything felt like smooth sailing. I had my next five or six years mapped out.

And then, in May, it all fell apart.

The government now tells us that “self-deportation” is the solution if ICE doesn’t get you first. But deportation is not a solution to the problems this country is facing. Immigrants are not the ones driving mass shootings. We are not the threat to schools, churches or communities. We are the ones who take the jobs most Americans don’t want. Deportation doesn’t solve violence, poverty or division — it only deepens them.

Now, if all the trouble I’m going through to write this article could be solved by just going back to Venezuela, wouldn’t that make everything easier? I know that’s what many people might wonder when reading my story, but let me clear things up:

When I arrived in Utah eight years ago, I was just a child. I had nothing under my name, only my birth certificate and an ID card issued in Venezuela. My adulthood and who I am now exist because I grew up here. Friends, school, a car and a job – all of that has been thanks to this country.

Could I leave? Sure, it’s as easy as buying a one-way ticket, and that’s it. But then, what would I find once I got to Venezuela? My grandmother’s empty house because she passed away in 2020, before I ever got to see her again. My father, with more gray hair and wrinkles. Insecurity and confusion because I wouldn’t be able to express myself in English anymore without being seen as different or attacked. It would be like starting from zero in another country, with the only difference that years ago, I used to call that place home.

More than 200,000 Venezuelans in the United States are affected by this decision and face the same struggle as me, not just in Utah but across the country. My story is just one of them. Utah benefits every day from immigrants like me who work, study and contribute.

Utah’s elected officials and community leaders should take a stand against this federal rollback by defending Venezuelans’ right to stay. And my call to action to you is to keep yourself informed and have empathy for those around you. Get involved in the community and help as much as you can. If you are an immigrant who has been affected by this situation, please keep doing your best, every single day. Be the best at what you do. All those good actions will be compensated, I promise you — we will be okay.

Luisana is originally from Caracas, Venezuela. She wrote this op-ed in collaboration with Amplify Utah.

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