After reading Ana Milena Ribero's work, I was struck by the parallels between the experiences of the DREAMers and a similar historical event in southern China during the mid to late 19th and early 20th centuries. During this period, many Chinese individuals were referred to as "piggy," a derogatory term used to describe those who were sold or forced into labor overseas. Much like the DREAMers described by Ribero, these individuals faced immense challenges and displayed remarkable courage in adapting to new environments and overcoming significant obstacles.
The concept of DREAMers, as Ribero discusses, typically refers to undocumented immigrants who were brought to the United States as minors. These individuals were granted temporary protection under the Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals (DACA) program, which allowed them to obtain work permits and avoid deportation. However, Ribero's discussion extends beyond the conventional understanding of DREAMers, exploring the neoliberal framework that has shaped the narrative around these individuals. Ribero critiques the notion that DREAMers must embody certain characteristics—such as being high-achieving students or military personnel—to be deemed "worthy" of inclusion in American society. This narrow definition of acceptability excludes those who do not fit this mold, thereby reinforcing exclusionary systems rather than challenging them.
In reflecting on this, I realize how Ribero's analysis broadens the conversation around immigration and identity. The DREAMers, as portrayed in mainstream discourse, are often sanitized to fit a narrative that aligns with neoliberal values—hard work, meritocracy, and assimilation. This portrayal, while effective in garnering sympathy and support, fails to address the deeper issues of inequality and exclusion that persist within the U.S. immigration system. It perpetuates a binary of "good" versus "bad" immigrants, which ultimately upholds the very structures of power that marginalize these communities.
Ribero's discussion of the Dream 9 action is particularly illuminating. The Dream 9 were a group of undocumented Latinx youth who, after being deported or "self-deporting" to Mexico, attempted to re-enter the United States to claim asylum. Their actions were not only a personal plea for legal status but also a broader critique of U.S. immigration policies. By framing their actions as a "drift," Ribero draws on the Situationist International's concept of dérive, or drifting, to explore how these activists challenged the fixed nature of national borders and the rigid categorizations of identity imposed by the state.
The idea of drifting as a border hermeneutic is a powerful metaphor. It suggests that borders are not merely physical barriers but also psychological and ideological constructs that can be disrupted and redefined by those who cross them. The Dream 9, through their deliberate and defiant crossing of the U.S.-Mexico border, challenged the legitimacy of these boundaries and asserted their right to belong in the nation. This act of drifting, as Ribero describes, transforms the border from a place of exclusion to one of radical possibility.
What resonates with me most is Ribero's critique of the limits of drifting as a strategy for marginalized communities. While the Situationists' concept of drifting was rooted in a critique of urban capitalism, it did not account for the specific challenges faced by racialized and colonized populations. Ribero acknowledges this by incorporating indigenous ontologies of walking, which emphasize the importance of movement in world-making and resistance. For indigenous peoples, walking is both a metaphor and a practice of creating meaning and challenging colonial structures. This perspective adds a crucial layer to the analysis of the Dream 9's actions, recognizing that their drift was not just a physical journey but also an act of decolonization.
However, Ribero also points out the limitations of applying the concept of drifting to the experiences of undocumented immigrants. Unlike the privileged drifters of the Situationist International, who could move freely through urban spaces, the Dream 9 faced significant risks and restrictions. Their drift was not a carefree exploration but a dangerous and precarious act of resistance. This distinction is important because it highlights the uneven distribution of mobility and freedom in the modern world. For many people of color, particularly undocumented immigrants, drifting is not an option; their movement is heavily policed and constrained by the state.
The Dream 9's journey ultimately challenges the very notion of borders and citizenship. By drifting across the border, they not only questioned the legitimacy of the U.S. immigration system but also redefined what it means to belong. Their actions underscore the need for a more inclusive and equitable approach to immigration that goes beyond neoliberal criteria of acceptability. They remind us that true justice requires recognizing the humanity and dignity of all individuals, regardless of their legal status or societal contributions.
In conclusion, Ribero's piece offers a nuanced and critical perspective on the DREAMer narrative. It challenges us to rethink our understanding of borders, citizenship, and activism in the context of immigration. By drawing on concepts like drifting and indigenous ontologies of walking, Ribero opens up new possibilities for imagining a world where borders are not sites of exclusion but spaces of radical transformation. This resonates deeply with me, as it reflects my own belief in the power of resistance and the importance of advocating for a more just and equitable societ.
Work citied:
Drifting across the Border, on the radical potential of undocumented im/migrant activism in the US.
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