Last week, Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) began patrolling neighborhoods like mine, on the West and South sides of Chicago. The air feels heavier as families live in constant terror of being torn apart. Amidst the fearmongering, misinformation and “know your rights” posts, undocumented voices are forgotten. We become generalized stories—spoken about, but not to. At Macalester, some of us do not feel valued or supported by our peers, professors, staff or administration.
The issue of immigration is often pushed aside, and it is assumed that the federal government is solely to blame. This dismissal of the realities we face only deepens our sense of invisibility.
At Macalester, there is a growing divide between the rhetoric of inclusivity and the lived experience of undocumented students. The college touts itself as a sanctuary, yet many students do not feel that protection in the day-to-day. Conversations about immigration are infrequent, even as anxiety on the subject persists. Many students, especially those from red states or with families in areas with stricter immigration policies, continue to carry that fear with them to school.
For this piece, I spoke with two undocumented, first-generation students at Macalester College (who will be referred to as student A and student B). Both have faced unique challenges navigating their academic and personal lives while carrying the weight of their immigration status. Their experiences also reflect the disconnect between Macalester’s rhetoric of inclusivity and the harsh realities that many undocumented students face.
Student A shared how their status directly affects their ability to fully engage with the Macalester community.
“It’s very difficult to be open about my status because it’s such a sensitive topic,” student A said. “I’ve found people I trust here, but with everything going on politically, it’s hard not to worry about my academics and personal life.”
This is a common struggle for undocumented students at Macalester, where the sense of safety fostered by the institution often feels more theoretical than real.
Despite Minnesota being a blue state and the Twin Cities being considered sanctuary cities, we cannot ignore the lived realities of students who come here from places where immigration laws are harsher. The fear of ICE targeting them, their families or their communities back home follows them to campus every day.
Student B reflected on the constant stress of navigating these challenges: “I’m just trying to get through my senior year, finish college, but every day I’m reminded that my immigration status could stop everything in its tracks. The politics, the ICE raids—they’re always looming.”
These students live under the threat of deportation every day, a constant reminder that their futures can be disrupted at any moment.
Even within the confines of the Macalester campus, there is fear for one’s safety. Student B described their daily routine of hiding their immigration status: “I just go with the flow, introduce myself, and do what everyone else does. I don’t mention my status. I just say I’m from my hometown in the U.S. and leave it at that.”
This silence becomes a defense mechanism, a way to blend in and avoid drawing attention to the vulnerability that their immigration status creates. The need to conceal one’s identity is not just a coping mechanism — it’s often essential for survival in an environment that fails to fully recognize the complexities of their experience.
Additionally, the few mentions of support I’ve heard from professors focus on election fatigue or abstract solidarity, but rarely do they acknowledge the specific needs of undocumented students or those with mixed-status families.
There has been little to no direct communication from the administration regarding specific resources for undocumented students, especially in light of the ongoing threat of mass deportations.
Student A spoke candidly about the college’s support: “Financial aid is helpful, but it doesn’t address the deeper issues we face—like what happens after graduation, or how to navigate life during college when you’re constantly wondering if you’ll be able to stay in this country.” This speaks to the lack of comprehensive support for undocumented students at Macalester. Without clear guidance on how to manage both their academic and immigration challenges, students are left to fend for themselves.
What Macalester needs now is a clear, tangible commitment to its undocumented students. The administration should release a public statement affirming its support, not just in theory, but in practice. Restating the college policy of Family Educational Rights and Privacy Act (FERPA) on the Mac Daily is not enough — we need awareness of protocols if ICE were to come onto campus or if students were to be detained. We need a plan to keep undocumented students safe and provide comprehensive support.
This should include a commitment not to share student information with federal agencies, especially during ICE operations, and to provide legal and financial resources for students navigating the complex and often dangerous immigration system.
Student A summed up the need for such support: “I would like to see more individualized support for undocumented students. There are fewer resources available here, especially when it comes to post-graduation life. Having a clearer path forward would be so helpful.”
Undocumented students did not choose this path by accident. Many of us came to Macalester not because we had other options, but because this was the only school that would accept us, the only place where we could find financial support. We didn’t come here to be invisible — we came here because we saw it as a stepping stone toward something better. However, the promise of a better future is hard to grasp when we live in constant uncertainty about whether we’ll be able to stay in this country, in this community, from one day to the next.
Even in the face of fear, we continue to create, innovate, and push forward. We find joy in our communities, in our art, in our resilience.
Student B shared, “It’s difficult, but we make the best of it. We turn lemon seeds into lemon pie.”
This resilience is what keeps us going despite the constant anxiety. But we cannot keep carrying the weight of invisibility and fear without support. Macalester must do more than pay lip service to inclusivity — it must take actionable steps to ensure that undocumented students are not only seen but supported. Until then, our futures remain uncertain, and our dreams — no matter how hard we work — will remain just out of reach.
