Undocumeted, unafraid

Dream Action Oklahoma celebrates ‘10 years of resilience’

Being undocumented comes with a lot of baggage—fear, anxiety, chronic stress, trauma—but one of the biggest burdens is shame.

After spending most of his life hiding his immigration status from the world, Ivan Godinez Reyes found a place where he felt safe talking openly about his status. Safe enough that he eventually became one of the first Oklahomans to come out publicly as undocumented.

Just two years after Oklahoma passed what was at the time the harshest anti-immigrant law in the nation, HB 1804, he met the students who would establish DREAM Act Oklahoma (DAOK), an organization that is now an unapologetic voice for undocumented immigrants in the state.

“It was not very organized, but it was a lot of people who just wanted to do something,” Godinez Reyes said of those early years. “The fact that we’re still around is a huge accomplishment, especially in a state that does not welcome the kind of activism we bring and the kind of people we are.”

DAOK was born out of the Hispanic Student Association (HSA) at Tulsa Community College at a time when states were racing to see who could pass the most aggressive immigration law. This year, the organization is celebrating their 10-year anniversary in Oklahoma City with a gala themed “10 Years of Resilience.”

“What’s happening now, we would have never thought that it could happen back then. Talk about a rally at Fort Sill—I would have never expected that,” Godinez Reyes said, referring to DAOK OKC’s recent action against the detention of migrant children, which brought together more than 400 people. “I would have expected 50 people max back in the day.”

Before DAOK, even some of Godinez Reyes’s closest friends didn’t know he was undocumented. Once at an HSA meeting, he listened carefully as his friends presented information on scholarships and financial assistance, excited to share valuable resources with their peers. When they offered sign-up forms and flyers, Godinez Reyes politely declined and left empty-handed. And he wasn’t the only one.

Kasey Hughart and Tracey Medina, the HSA executive officers at the time, took notice. They didn’t understand why students were turning down needed resources, but they soon learned some of their classmates did not have social security numbers, which meant they were undocumented. The absence of a nine-digit number locked their friends out of countless opportunities, inside and outside the classroom.

That was one barrier. Another: They didn’t know which of their friends were undocumented. In the early 2000s, before the youth-led immigrant rights movement arrived to Oklahoma, there was a strong culture of secrecy and shame. Raised in fear, many undocumented students at the time did not share their immigration status with friends or teachers. Some actively tried to hide it.

“Just the thought of talking about my status felt taboo,” Godinez Reyes said. “I tried to avoid it as much as possible.” 

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After they formed DAOK, Medina learned for the first time that some of her friends—several of whom she had known for years—were also undocumented. This included her best friend from Pre-K who, like many others, didn’t feel safe coming out until DAOK gave them a space of support.

In its early years, DAOK’s main focus was advocating for the DREAM Act and providing resources for undocumented college students. The group made multiple trips to DC to lobby for the bill, packed like sardines in vans with strangers from Texas who would become family before they even made it to their destination. For many of the students who made these 24+ hour drives to the nation’s Capital, the trips were transformative.

“It changed my life because that was the first time that I met so many people from different places going through the same thing that I was going through,” Godinez Reyes said about his first trip to DC in 2010.

It was during this first trip that Godinez Reyes found what he calls his “unapologetic and unafraid” voice. Surrounded by other youth who shared his struggle, he was in awe of their courage and boldness. They were not just lobbying for a bill. They were sharing their stories and demanding dignity and respect as human beings. Godinez Reyes remembers how, on his first day lobbying at Capitol Hill, a 17-year-old high school student from Kansas showed them the ropes.

“She was probably the youngest of all of us and she was at the front, leading, demanding meetings—being assertive but not rude. I was amazed that she had the confidence and passion to do that, and I’m here in my early 20s being afraid,” Godinez Reyes said.

“It was one of the first times I realized: ‘You have to do more. You can do more. You no longer have to wait for things to happen and watch the news and see if the Dream Act passed.’”

Just weeks after Godinez Reyes returned home, the DREAM Act was brought to the Senate floor and failed by five votes. Several DAOK members, including Medina, were inside the Senate chambers when the bill died.

“It was the most terrible feeling ever. It was heartbreaking. I remember calling some of our Oklahoma people who were gathered to watch the vote on TV,” Medina said. “I remember calling them because I was in DC and just apologizing … It was a tough feeling to fail after trying so hard.”

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Nonetheless, the fire inside Godinez Reyes was already lit and he threw himself fully at DAOK. They continued to hold small protests and banner drops to energize their volunteers and attract media attention, but as they worked to raise awareness around immigration issues, he and other members realized something was missing from the narrative: their stories. 

“At the time, our advisers and those around us would advise against it. Obviously, they were afraid that something would happen to us,” Godinez Reyes said about his decision to share his immigration status in the media. “But after coming back from that trip, it was kind of like, ‘It’s okay to be afraid, but you also have to come out. People have to know who you really are.’”

Although sharing his undocumented story publicly did not change any laws, it did make big waves within the immigrant community in Oklahoma. Soon after, other activists in Tulsa and Oklahoma City began speaking openly about being undocumented and calling for change. As this happened, more and more students became interested in the organization and gravitated towards the safe spaces they created.

In addition to lobbying for national legislation in its early years, the organization was also active at the state legislature where anti-immigrant bills were still being introduced regularly. Most notably, when state Democrats in 2013 proposed a bill to limit in-state tuition to U.S. Citizens, the organization mobilized at the state Capitol and engaged students in Oklahoma City to defeat the bill. The organization regularly held community forums to discuss immigration bills and alleviate the community’s fear over potentially dangerous legislation. 

In 2011, the organization established a chapter in Oklahoma City and Norman. Although the Norman chapter was only active for a couple of years, DAOK still has a strong presence in OKC. Today, the organizations in Tulsa and OKC collaborate on projects but operate as separate organizations. 

Since 2009, the organizations have expanded their focus from helping undocumented college students to advocating for all immigrants and speaking out against Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE). As the needs of their local communities evolved, so too have their work and mission. In Tulsa, DAOK has been working to end Tulsa County’s 287(g) contract with ICE. In Oklahoma City, the organization has been bringing to light how the Oklahoma City Police Department collaborates with ICE even without a 287(g) contract.

In recent years, the organizations replaced the term “DREAM Act” in their name to reflect their expanded mission. Currently, the organizations exist with different names: Dream Alliance Oklahoma in Tulsa and Dream Action Oklahoma in Oklahoma City. Nevertheless, they remain united in their mission to be an outspoken, unapologetic voice for a long-silenced population.