Text of Remarks: Sr. Seton Cunneen Fellow Leticia Maya-Callen '07

September 10, 2004

It was a Tuesday afternoon when the three Latinas came through the front door of the office -- slowly, apprehensively. Each had studied at a local high school in the Langley Park area. The day they walked into our office was the day after graduation. The sentiment or acknowledgement of celebration, however, was hard to recognize in these three young women. They each had something burdening, preoccupying, troubling them. As I greeted them, I could sense it. They fidgeted with their hands for a moment, obviously looking for the words or toying with the question on their mind. Finally, one clasped her hands tightly and looked straight at me, "We want to go to college." The woman that works with me in the office, looked at them and smiled, "That's wonderful! I am proud of you to make that decision. Where do you want to go?" The girls glanced at each other and shifted uncomfortably in their seats. "I don't think you understand," the young woman said, her hushed voice without a trace of an accent, "We are undocumented." The smile, the congratulatory feeling, the celebration - all at once seemed to disappear. The girls pleaded, transcripts in hand, "Please, is there any way you can help us?" We looked at the sheet with the grades neatly printed one below the other. All three had a long list of "A's." "You could always go to a community college." That was not what these three hopeful teenagers wanted to hear. They had worked hard for each one of those "A's." Each had struggled in hopes of going to college, of getting the perfect job, and fulfilling their dreams. That title, however, that label that society had given them - "undocumented" - stripped them of that hope. Without that sheet of paper -- that green card, that visa, that residence -- they were invisible, just another number or statistic in a census or immigration document. It was at that moment, looking at those girls in our office, seeing the very moment that their hope left their eyes -- did I recognize the extent of the problem and feel moved to change it.

I, however, would have never come face to face with those three young women, I would have never seen them sit in the office and see the very hope leave them if it weren't for the Sister Cunneen Fellowship. I remember the first day I saw the flier. It was printed on screaming bright orange paper and placed outside of Mrs. McCrabb's office. You must understand -- I have always been in love, been active, been passionate about service and social justice. So when I saw that flier, that title -- Sister Cunneen Service Fellowship -- I was ecstatic. Here I was my very passion neatly packaged and displayed on this orange sheet of paper. What an opportunity! So I applied, I got the letters of recommendation and I wrote the essay -- and I submitted it. Heard nothing for a couple weeks. Then I got a call from Mrs. McCrabb -- I got in. Excitement was an understatement. I kept thinking -- what a great opportunity to be part of such a great program. But upon starting the program and finishing it, I realized it was more than a program. It was an experience that served as a catalyst of my own personal growth. Through the fellowship I was challenged and I was changed. I developed a relationship with the immigrant community. I learned from the people I served. I handed out bags of food. I helped with employment. I came face to face with real people and real problems. But the fellowship pushed me to go further - to go beyond the mere problem into true understanding of the cause. And from not only understanding the cause, but finding ways to solve it and not just finding ways to the solution, but fighting for it. I went from handing out food at the Spanish Catholic Center, to the offices of the legislators on Capital Hill - lobbying for the rights of this population whom had been rendered voiceless. I was their voice. I was their advocate.

On the behalf of immigrant students -- I lobbied and educated the community on the DREAM ACT. It is an educational campaign that is aimed toward immigrants whom have resided in the U.S. for more than five years and whom have graduated from a U.S. high school. The DREAM ACT would not only allow immigrants thee opportunity to go to college, but also serve as a pathway to U.S. citizenship. If the DREAM ACT was signed into law those three girls would have their chance, would have the right to go to college. I made the DREAM ACT my top priority. I formulated a presentation and went to the Maryland legislators to lobby the bill. We created a petition that towered over us at more than 6 feet tall, signed by hundreds of names. I held informative workshops that allowed the community a glimpse into the struggles or plight of the immigrant. The entire experience was a learning process.

Reflecting theologically on my experience lead me to an even more clear conviction on the issue. The denial of education to these students is a blatant refusal to give them their basic rights as individuals. They have the right to dream, to make goals, to succeed -- that is a basic human right. Sisters of Notre Dame, President Mcguire, people gathered here today - why are we here? We are here in the recognition that education changes lives. That is what those three young girls that came to our office that Tuesday afternoon wanted: a chance. A chance to be more than a high school drop out, a chance at something more than a minimum wage job, a chance to succeed. We cannot allow the immigrant population to suffer, to be forgotten, to be excluded or to be degraded. We are a nation of immigrants - defined by the very diversity of our roots and cultures. For as it says in the Book of Leviticus, "You shall treat the stranger that resides with you no differently than the natives born among you; have the same love for him as you have for yourself; for you too were once strangers in the land of Egypt." We must always remember that within the eyes of the immigrant -- no matter the color of her skin, the language he speaks, or the accent she has - they possess an undeniable dignity that we a society, we as morally guided human beings cannot strip them of.

So what's next? Does the journey end here? Yes, The fellowship was an amazing experience -- but like I said it was more than that. It will not simply be a wonderful service experience, rather it served as my catalyst to action. I am in the beginning stages of a creating and establishing an organization that will raise awareness and campaign for the rights of immigrants, women and children. Through political advocacy, education to the public and media awareness, the organization -- Dignificado -- which means dignified will work under the notion or mission statement: there are people in our world that have been stripped of their dignity, but we have not only the responsibility but the ability to restore that dignity. So no… the journey does not end here. This was only part of my journey, this was my growth… and in part it all started with an orange sheet of paper.

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