Meet the teens raising money to help classmates with parents in immigration detention

As a few hundred people gathered in a Chicago park last month for a rally against aggressive and rampant immigration enforcement, a group of teenagers were busy selling maroon tote bags and hoodies emblazoned with “I support undocumented students.”

The teens attend Solorio High School and are a part of a club called the DREAM Team, which has sold the hoodie for almost a decade. Typically, the proceeds go toward college scholarships for classmates who are shut out of federal financial aid because they lack legal status in the U.S.

But in the face of federal agents teargassing residents and detaining everyday workers, the statement of support has taken on a new defiant meaning. At the same time, members of the club are grappling with the harsh reality that some of their classmates' families have been torn apart.

Now the club is using their funds to help Solorio students with parents who’ve been detained or deported pay rent and other expenses. So far, they've raised more than $6,000. Eight students are in that situation, though not all of them need financial help, and some money is being saved in case more families need it as the school year goes on.

Solorio is in a Southwest Side neighborhood of bungalows not far from Midway Airport. Virtually all the students in the school are Latino, and more than a third are English language learners.

“When Trump got elected, our priority shifted to actually helping our community and protecting our community,” said Richard, a senior at Solorio who’s a co-president of the club.

WBEZ is not using the last names of the students who participate in the DREAM Team because some don’t have legal status and fear deportation, while others want to protect the identities of family members who lack legal status.

Richard said the threats on his community have meant “all hands on deck.”

The need is not just outside the group, it is within it. At the recent rally, DREAM Team member Lesli Valladares climbed on a makeshift stage. At an organizer’s direction, she held the portable mic close to her mouth so her thin voice would be heard above the crowd.

The slight 17-year-old pulled at the sleeve of her oversized baby blue sweatshirt as she explained that her dad was selling his tamales, like he did every day, when he was taken into custody by federal immigration agents.

Soon after, videos surfaced on social media showing him handcuffed and hunched over as he was put into the back seat of a white SUV.

“When we saw him get treated so bad, we basically started crying,” she told the crowd, overwhelmed with tears. “We broke down, not knowing what to do.”

Lesli, the second-oldest of five children, said her siblings often ask her where their dad is and if he’s coming back.

“I don't know what to tell them,” she said, “but to tell them that he will come back one day, and he will return to give us all hugs.”

Lesli, whose family has spoken publicly about the situation, said she’s grateful her classmates and many others have stepped up to help her family.

DREAM Teams have focused on college access, until now

High schools and colleges across the country have had clubs or programs that specifically support immigrant students without legal status for more than a decade.

They take their name from the DREAM Act, which would have given temporary protection from deportation to young adults who came to the U.S. as children. Congress never approved the DREAM Act, but President Barack Obama signed an executive order that offered similar protections.

These clubs have been instrumental for students who might feel embarrassed or scared because of their immigration status. They send the message they are not alone.

Every spring, for example, the Solorio DREAM Team puts on a “coming out of the shadows” event as part of a school assembly. Students who lack legal status give an “undocumented, unafraid,” speech, while those from mixed-status families talk about what the experience has meant for them.

It’s often a pivotal moment for the students that divides their lives into before and after they named and claimed their status.

“They will say, ‘I feel like I removed a huge burden off my shoulders, and now I feel different,’” said Laura Dignani, a Spanish teacher and an adviser for the DREAM Team. “Once they do it, the reaction and the love that they get from the community is beautiful to see.”

There’s another place where these clubs come in: DREAM Teams have traditionally focused on supporting students as they navigate getting into and paying for college. Solorio’s DREAM Team has for years put money into the Rigo Padilla Pérez Undocumented Student Scholarship, which is named after a beloved teacher who died.

While donations will still support some scholarships, recent federal activity is making it harder for students to plan for college.

Solorio post-secondary coach Xavier Diaz says this year, more families tell him they are worried about filling out federal financial aid forms, which students still need to complete to get state and institutional aid and some private scholarships.

On those forms, students without legal status need to check a box that says, “neither U.S. citizen nor eligible noncitizen” — information they fear could be shared with immigration officials. While the document doesn’t ask whether parents are citizens, some fear if they don’t enter a Social Security number it could indicate their status.

Diaz says this year school staff are being extra sensitive, having one-on-one conversations with families to assure them the school will do everything it can to keep their immigration status confidential.

Most families are filling it out because they want their children to have a chance to go to college. They tell him, “that's something we're willing to risk,” he says.

There’s been a slight decrease in the number of Chicago Public Schools students enrolling in college since last year, a trend district officials blamed on federal policies, including increased immigration enforcement and the Trump administration’s attempt to ban scholarships that specifically target Black and Latino students.

DREAM Team shifts to help families amid deportation campaign

College was not top of mind for students who signed up to be part of the DREAM Team this year.

Solorio sophomore Angeluis says last year he saw on social media the DREAM Team was selling popcorn and asking for donations for scholarships. At the time, college seemed far off, and he wasn’t terribly motivated to get involved.

Then, immigration enforcement ramped up, and he realized his community was in danger.

“I felt like I had a calling or a duty to do something,” said Angeluis, a 15-year-old with spiky hair.

When he showed up at one of the first DREAM Team meetings this fall at 7 a.m. on a Friday, the room was packed with students who wanted to be a part of something that supported the immigrant community.

Early on, Joseph Graciosa, a computer science teacher who serves as an adviser to the DREAM Team, knew this year would be different. School staff have been in “crisis mode” since President Donald Trump took office.

Graciosa and Dignani said they and their colleagues are doing everything they can to protect and support their students.

Graciosa says he wanted students to “have some sense of agency and to know that they have a role to play … that they're not just victims of the world that we're living in.”

So this year, the students have done everything from knocking on doors, to handing out “know your rights” fliers, to passing out whistles to warn of immigration agents, to attending rallies and marches. They went to the massive No Kings march in October as a group.

For junior Alex, going to the protest was “nerve-racking” but a “huge deal.” He and his family worried he could be putting himself in harm’s way. Yet he wanted to go. He says many of his friends and close family members could be impacted by federal immigration enforcement and “don’t have the power to speak up.”

“This was my chance,” he said.

For Jazmin, a Solorio junior, seeing so many people standing up for immigrants revived her hope and faith, which had diminished after Trump took office.

She joined the DREAM Team two years ago because she thought raising money so immigrants could get an education was the right thing to do.

But after Trump's election, she said she understood just how “serious it was to help out.”

The experience has also been empowering.

“It's a happy community,” she said. “We enjoy what we do because we see that we make a difference. We know our community is behind us, the people are behind us.”

Their message is resonating. This fall, they sold out of sweatshirts. Now they’re trying to figure out how to keep up with demand.