Elham Taheri has been passionate about photography since she took her first class in Iran at age 7. / Photo by Kay Kemmet

By Amanda Mobley Guenther

Elham Taheri, one of the photographers exhibiting at the current Nebraska Mosaic’s New American Art Showcase, journeyed from her home country of Iran to start a new life with her parents in Lincoln.

When family members received word that they had approval to come to the United States, they were told that they didn’t need to pack any winter clothing because they were going to the warm state of Arizona.  However, much to their surprise, the family arrived in January 2004 to a very cold winter in Lincoln.  With laughter in her voice, Taheri said she remembers asking her mom if these people really thought this weather was warm.

Since then, Taheri, a petite 21-year-old, has learned to dress properly for Nebraska’s ever-changing weather.

The weather was only a fleeting struggle compared to the other challenges that Taheri and her family—like many immigrants—faced while striving to get to the U.S.

At age 9, Elham and her mother, Maryam Saraeihajiagha, left Iran to join her father in Turkey. Elham’s father, Hussein Taheri had fled the country because of religious persecution the year earlier, in 2000.  Since the late 1990s, Turkey has become a major hub for irregular migrants transiting to other countries in Europe and North America, according to the Migration Policy Institute.

For the next two and a half years the family navigated the migration process that many refugees face. The family did not receive official refugee status. However, with the help of a lawyer, a friend of the family, Elham’s father presented his family’s case to the International Catholic Migration Commission review board. Elham Taheri said that the lawyer’s help and influence was indispensible to getting the family to the U.S. faster.

Elham Taheri returned to Iran for four months in 2011. This photograph and the others she is exhibiting in the show were made during that trip.

“There are people that I met in Turkey who just got here two weeks ago,” she said.

She said the wait time between the two required interviews with migration services can be anywhere from six months to four years.

While they were waiting, they all found work. Saraeihajiagha worked in a factory, and Elham had to go with her to work because there was no one to watch her. She said her mom’s boss expected the same level of work from Elham as he did her mom.

“I know the difference between a genuine Gucci and a fake,” she said, because she stamped the bags as a child, working alongside her mom.

The other workers treated her with special care, she said. One man taught her to paint.

She had taken her first photography class in Iran at age 7. She said she has been passionate about photography ever since.

“I remember the first project we had to do was to take a picture of a bird, perched,” she said, “which is very difficult to do.”

She experienced the excitement of photography from going on shooting assignments with her uncle, who ran a studio, photographing weddings and celebrations.

She said with enthusiasm that she would collect powerful images torn from magazines, papers and calendars, until she was able to make her own images that were like those of her inspiration. With her own photographs meant to replicate those from the magazines, she has put together a portfolio—ready for any opportunity to show them off and tell their stories.

In Turkey, she met photographers, photojournalists, human rights activists. They were also missionaries, she said, taking pictures of the living situations of the refugee communities. They helped make the connection for Elham between the art of photography and its power to call to action.

Someday, she hopes to do both: Make a difference in the lives of those looking to escape political oppression and run a photography studio.

In 2011, Elham Taheri returned to Iran for four months to participate in an internship at a university in Tehran. It was during that trip that she took the photographs that are on display in the art exhibition at the Lux Center for the Arts. Seven images were selected for display: one portrait, one interior view, and several outdoor scenes of people relaxing on the beach.

Iran has changed a lot in the years since her family has been gone, she said. There is still a lot of control by the government, but she said she witnessed a greater degree of recreation, which is good for the people.

East Ridge Presbyterian Church in Lincoln sponsored her family. Individual church sponsorship is another way for people to come into the United States. The much more common route for those with refugee status is the come through Catholic Social Services or Lutheran Refugee Services.

Now as Taheri looks back on the experience almost 10 years later, she said she can see how much people who were willing to help her family has impacted her. She said it is by these actions that you can see the “root to someone’s goodness.”

She said the lawyer was so passionate about helping them that he inspired her to pursue a similar course in her career.  Since graduating from Lincoln East High School, she has been studying international development, foreign policy and digital and commercial marketing at Bellevue University. She still not sure where all of this will lead her.

“My classes keep leading me toward law,” she said.

She is also considering going into the Peace Corps. Even though you cannot go into the Peace Corps until after you graduate from college, she is already signed up. She said her recruiter has told her about the severe depression the workers often go through. She is concerned about that. But the desire to “help out of her heart,” may outweigh her fears, she said.

“I want to help, and what better experience could there be?” she said.

Jianbin Dong, 40, has been a co-owner of Imperial Palace for the past eight years. The restaurant offers an authentic Chinese menu and an American Chinese menu that is less spicy. / Photo by Emily Walkenhorst

By Emily Walkenhorst

Imperial Palace isn’t just another Chinese restaurant.

Past the wooden doors and decorative archway of 701 N. 27th St., diners peruse the restaurant’s traditional American Chinese food menu. But if they ask, they receive a white menu, complete with the spicy Chinese dishes co-owner Jianbin Dong, 40, said are the more authentically Chinese food for the city’s international students.

“The white menu is more like China,” Dong said. “The food is spicier than here.”

Ethnic restaurants across Lincoln and the United States often adapt their cooking or menu offerings for the American audience. Research suggests that ethnic restaurants are becoming more common and more desired nationwide, but the food doesn’t always taste the same as it does in the country of origin. Often, spices and other flavors are subdued to suit a more sensitive American palate.

At African Restaurant, located at 313 N. 27th St., owner “Roy” Mulugeta Ruei, 27, said the food he serves is the same as what people might find in his native Ethiopia, among other African nations, but that the flour he uses to make Africa’s version of the tortilla is different.

“The flour we have back home is very sour,” he said.

Ruei mixes flour imported from Africa with flour from the United States so that the sourness is not too much for diners.

For other restaurants in Lincoln, the difference is in the level of spiciness the restaurant is willing to offer on its menu.

Like Imperial Palace, Sher-E-Punjab, located at 1601 Q St., doesn’t serve the heat and flavor of authentic Indian food unless the customer asks for it.

The restaurant’s menu lists dishes separately by level of spiciness – “vindaloo” being the spiciest label, followed by “curry” and then “korma,” according to owner Bhudinder Singh, 55.

“Roy”€ Mulugeta Ruei, 27, opened African Restaurant three years ago, and the restaurant stands as the only one in Lincoln serving African food. Ruei said he named it African Restaurant€ because he thought that would be how it would end up being known around town. / Photo by Aaron James

Even if the customer asks for the extra-spicy dish, Singh said it still won’t taste the same as in India.

“It’s a lot different,” Signh said. “I cannot make the same taste even though … I grew up in India.”

The freshness of the vegetables and treatment of the animals from which the restaurant gets its meat could all be factors in the flavor difference.

Even so, Singh said his restaurant is still popular, with customers’ most popular items including chicken korma and lamb punjab.

Many customers at Imperial Palace also request the spicier dishes, frequently opting for beef in red hot oil, authentic kungpao chicken and salted red pepper shrimp.

The regular menu is American Chinese, Dong said, and is meant to taste the most American. Diners’ favorite options include Mongolian beef, sesame chicken and sweet and sour pork.

Sam Tetherow, 45, has been dining at Imperial Palace at least once a month for the past 40 years. Nearly every time, he said, he orders the princess beef, which is from the American menu.

“It’s not really that spicy, but it does have a little kick to it,” Tetherow said.

That kick is enough for Tetherow to keep ordering princess beef, which comes drenched in vegetables and sauce. On the American menu, the item has a symbol next to it marking that it is one of the spicier items on the menu.

Tetherow said Imperial Palace is one of the only places in Lincoln that serves princess beef and it makes the best version, making his lunchtime trek from south Lincoln worthwhile.

Deb Vocasek and Deb Graessar grab lunch at Imperial Palace a few times each year and almost always order lemon chicken. Vocasek, 53, and Graessar, 59, started coming to Imperial Palace about 20 years ago when they were both nurses at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln’s University Health Center.

Vocasek said she loved the lemon chicken and that she wouldn’t change it. She’s happy with her usual menu choice.

As for the spicier white menu, Vocasek said was open to sampling it.

“I’d be game to try other (foods),” she said.

The difference between items on each of the menus isn’t much – the difference is in the level of spiciness.

“In China,” Dong said, “the food is different compared to here.”

Teresa Ostiguin, 28, tries to send about $300 back home to her relatives in Mexico, each month. Ostiguin’s mother has cancer, and much of the money goes toward her chemotherapy treatments. / Photo by Emily Walkenhorst

By Emily Walkenhorst

Leticia Avalos and her husband, Oscar, have four children, and they support themselves on his salary as a contractor.

Yet each month, the Avaloses send $400 back to their families in San Luis Potosí, a state in central Mexico of more than 2.5 million people. Each family receives about $200 for medical expenses, groceries and other necessities.

“It’s a lot, but we have to send it,” Leticia Avalos, 28, said.

Avalos’ father suffers from diabetes and recently had to have two toes removed because of complications. The money the Avaloses send also goes toward helping her father pay someone else to farm their land, which supplies the family’s food.

The Avaloses are like many immigrants and refugees in Lincoln who make what are called remittance payments – money sent from the United States back to family and friends in the person’s home country. Olga Miranda, client services specialist at El Centro de Las Americas, estimated that of the 11,000 people who come to El Centro each year, 40 percent send some money back home.

In extreme cases, Miranda said, people share homes and have only a bedroom to their name in the United States in order to save money.

“Sometimes they send the whole paycheck, and they have to survive with barely anything,” Miranda said.

Many of the people who send remittance payments take on two jobs, such as a full-time labor job and a part-time restaurant job, and send the bulk of their earnings back home.

Mexican migrants in the U.S. sent $23.6 billion back to friends and relatives in Mexico in 2011, comprising 10.7 percent of the country’s entire gross domestic product, according to World Bank statistics.

Mexico is the third largest recipient of these remittance payments. The first is India, followed by China, but remittance payments to those countries account for only 3 and 0.8 percent, respectively, of their GDP.

Whether to send the money or keep it is hardly a choice for many immigrants and refugees, said Vanja Pejanovic, site office coordinator for Lutheran Family Services’ refugee services.

Pejanovic said many refugees, in addition to immigrants, need to send money back home.

“If they got a job, why wouldn’t they send it?” Pejanovic said.

Many of Lincoln’s refugees have come from Burma and Sudan, both of which benefit from remittance payments. Refugees from Burma sent $119 million in 2011, contributing to 0.1 percent of the country’s GDP, and refugees from Sudan sent $1.5 billion in 2011, contributing to 3.1 percent of the country’s GDP.

Remittance payments are typically a developing country’s second-largest source of foreign money after foreign direct investment, according to the World Bank.

Scraping by after sending the money can be a strain on some families, Pejanovic said.

In the United States, refugees are eligible for food stamps, Medicaid and other government programs for their first five years in the United States. Those benefits disappear, however, once a refugee gets a job.

Leticia Avalos, 28, and her husband send about $400 back to their families in Mexico each month. / Photo by Emily Walkenhorst

And then many refugees and immigrants send much of their paychecks back home.

For the Avaloses, an immigrant family, the payments are a financial strain, but they adjust the amounts around maintaining a comfortable life in Lincoln.

Teresa Ostiguin, a 28-year-old immigrant from San Luis Potosí, does the same. Ostiguin works at the Farmland factory in Lincoln and supports her 3-year-old son, Anthony, on her income.

She tries to send $300 each month, which she said amounts to about 16 percent of her income but still leaves her enough to live on.

Ostiguin has three brothers in the United States, but most of her family still lives in San Luis Potosí. Her mother has cancer, and part of the money she sends home goes toward helping her mother pay for chemotherapy.

“It’s difficult,” Ostiguin said in Spanish.

For Araceli Rodriguez, who sends somewhere between half and all of her paycheck back home to San Luis Potosí several months out of the year, the financial strain isn’t much.

Rodriguez has six children with her husband, a local electrician, and works part-time as a server at Taqueria el Rey.

She said $100 to $200 each month, most months in a year, is not a big deal for her family.

Rodriguez and her husband moved to the United States several years ago so that their children could have a better life, but they left behind her mother, grandfather and two sisters in San Luis Potosí.

“It’s terrible, because we’re not together,” Rodriguez said in Spanish.

Vung Lun is now 21, meaning she will age out of Lincoln Public Schools before she can finish her graduation requirements. / Photo by Lee Kreimer

By Lee Kreimer

For Vung Lun, education equals opportunity.

Lun arrived in Lincoln in April 2011 with her parents, three brothers and a sister as refugees from Burma. Starting that summer, she enrolled in Level 1 English Language Learner classes. Lun has worked very hard and, this spring, she’s a Level 3 student at Lincoln High School.

“Education is important for me,” Lun said. “Here [at school] we always speak English. I have to learn more English.”

Lun is enthusiastic about learning, but she won’t be able to complete high school.

She is now 21, meaning she will age out of Lincoln Public Schools before she can finish her graduation requirements. When graduating high school seniors walk across the stage this spring, Lun and other ELL students destined to age out will be able only to dream of a high school diploma.

In Nebraska, when a student is 20 years old on the first day of the school year, that marks the beginning of the last year that student can be enrolled in a public high school. This process, sometimes known as “aging out,” will affect nearly 25 percent of all ELL high school students currently enrolled in LPS. ELL students who face this dilemma—like Lun—lose the support and affordability of public high school. These students are left to navigate a network of community services and classes that don’t offer the same direct route to a high school diploma.

“This semester, I am taking geometry, health, reading, geoscience, English II, and two ELL classes,” Lun said. “My favorite classes are math and ELL.”

For most students at Lincoln High School, a normal course load is seven courses each semester. This allows a student to graduate in four years and continue on track for additional education or vocational training. For the class of 2015, students are expected to complete 245 credits before graduation. In order to earn a diploma, ELL students who begin high school—regardless of their age—are required to complete ELL coursework and meet the same graduation requirements as all students. Most ELL courses count only as electives.

ELL students take four classes for Level 1, three classes for Level 2, two classes for Level 3 and one class for Level 4, said Lisa Tolliver, ELL Advocate at Lincoln High School.

“Depending on their progression, we push them faster when they’re older,” she said.

New ELL students arrive with diverse educational backgrounds. Some students, like Lun, received education only to an eighth-grade level before resettling in Lincoln. Other ELL students never attended school before arriving in America. For those students who have received prior education, the resources available to students at LPS, including technology and school staff, are a significant improvement over what they are accustomed to.

“In Thailand, we had no pencils, no computers, and no books,” said Dar Blae, a 21-year-old Karen student. “I like that we have these things here.”

Dar Blae came to the United States in December 2012. His parents, brother and two sisters followed shortly after his arrival.

For students that register for high school at an older age like Lun and Dar Blae, aging out of school is a likelihood from the day they arrive. Translators inform the incoming students of the age restrictions in place.

Dar Blae, who will age out this spring, has developed a greater appreciation for school since his enrollment at Lincoln High School.

“I feel sad now, [but] not when they first told me,” Dar Blae said. “Here [at school] is a lot better. I understand now.”

As ELL students approach their final semesters in high school, many meet with their guidance counselors to discuss their post-high school options. When public education is no longer an option, students generally have two choices: work or school. If work is the best option, many seek employment at meat packing plants, stores or restaurant kitchens. Lack of qualifications prevent many of these students from gaining other employment.

“Sometimes I’ll talk to students, and I’ll say, ‘What are you going to do after graduation?’” Tolliver said. “‘Oh, I’ll go work at Farmland.’ They’re kind of joking, kind of not. Or, they’ll say, ‘I can always go work at Farmland.’ It’s just the saying around here.”

If students choose to continue their education, they have several options. Community centers including El Centro de las Américas, the Asian Center and Southeast Community College’s English as a Second Language program offer free or reduced tuition English language classes to members of the community. Some of these centers, along with The Hub, also offer GED programs.

The Hub offers assistance to young people between ages 16 and 24 for services ranging from housing assistance to employment advice. Students interested in furthering their education can take weekly GED classes in English with a certified preparatory instructor from Southeast Community College. Services are offered at little or no cost to participants.

For students who desire more English classes, Southeast Community College offers a series of courses across a wide spectrum of English language ability.

Dar Blae, a 21-year-old Karen student compares conditions here to what he had before. “In Thailand, we had no pencils, no computers, and no books. I like that we have these things here.” / Photo by Lee Kreimer

“We offer six free basic level courses for the new beginner,” said Susan Kash-Brown, assistant director of ESL at SCC. “These courses are paid for by adult education grant funds.”

After the six free courses, SCC also offers seven tuition-based courses that are needed before students can take the GED. These courses cost $155 each. For students interested in college preparatory courses, SCC also offers three ELL courses for college level academic success. These courses cost $210 each. Financial aid and scholarships aren’t available for students who wish to take these courses. However, this doesn’t pose problems for most students.

“A lot of people have agencies to provide tuition assistance,” Kash-Brown said. “Over the years, only a few people have found that they absolutely could not pay.”

She said that Health and Human Services, the Lincoln Housing Authority, Self Sufficiency Programs, anonymous donors, and other organizations help provide funding.

Although accessing further education after high school isn’t impossible, many ELL students who are no longer eligible for public education, Lun and Dar Blae included, worry about the transition.

The challenge facing students who become too old for public education isn’t new. This year, however, staff members of LPS have made a greater effort to help connect students with services in the community. In addition to more meetings with guidance counselors, students also learn about services offered by The Hub and SCC.

“All aging out students [at Lincoln High School] are going on a field trip to SCC,” Tolliver said. “They will take the ELL Compass Test to see which level they’re at.”

Tolliver is also planning for the students to receive information about GED classes and other degree programs offered by the college.

Lincoln High School also recently hosted a family and parent engagement meeting for all ELL families in the LPS district with high school students. At the meeting, parents learned about graduation requirements, college, financial aid, and options for students aging out.

Efforts made by staff members at LPS help ease this transition from high school to other resources available in the community. But after aging out of high school, students no longer have access to the types of resources provided by teachers and other LPS staff members.

With many efforts being made on a local level in Lincoln to aid students facing this dilemma, there is surprisingly little data and information collected by local and national education departments. Neither the Nebraska Department of Education nor the U.S. Department of Education collect information or statistics regarding the number of ELL students who become too old for public education at age 21. These students seem to slip through the cracks.

For Lun, who will have to leave the support and opportunities of Lincoln High this May, the challenge of making the next step after high school looms ahead.

“I can go to my counselor, and then I can go to my ELL teachers and the Family Resource Center,” Lun said. “I feel sad because here is better than the outside. I wonder about when I need help, what will I do? Here, every teacher is my helper.”

Lisa and Jeremy with Odetha and Jackie. Jackie, left, and Odetha come over nightly to get help with homework from Lisa and Jeremy Hiatt. / Photo by Laura Smith

By Laura Smith

Poison ivy rarely leads to anything good.

Your skin turns to a red, patchy rash and you have so many itches you don’t know where to begin scratching.

Lisa Hiatt is severely allergic to poison ivy. She hates poison ivy, actually.

But if it hadn’t thrived in her backyard, she would have never taken refuge in her driveway that summer. She would never have met the children who now are a huge part of her life.

“Two years ago, Jeremy—my husband—and I were sitting on our driveway and these kids kept walking by,” Lisa said. “We waved hello, and eventually they started coming over more regularly.

“We heard their story, and the rest is history.”

The children Lisa and Jeremy met are refugees from Tanzania. Their parents, Esta and Edward, came to Lincoln to give their children a better life, and more specifically, a better education.

“We were sent to Lincoln through refugee services,” Edward said. “The adjustment has been difficult but good. Mostly, our kids are getting good education and staying safe.”

The parents did not receive any formal education back home, and they wanted their children to have better experiences and chances at success.

Lisa and Jeremy have helped make their wishes come true.

“Most of the paperwork that comes home from their schools is in English, which the parents can’t read,” Lisa said. “Jeremy and I stepped in to help the transition to American schools easier.”

Lisa is the statewide program and outreach director of the Girl Scouts, and Jeremy is a home mortgage consultant at Wells Fargo. Between the two of them, they attend parent-teacher conferences at the children’s schools, help with school work and aid in their adjustment to life in America by throwing birthday parties and celebrating holidays.

“This year, we threw a birthday party for the two youngest kids at Champions. It was their first party, and their faces lit up,” Lisa said. “Four of the kids have a Jan. 1 birthday, so we had to do something special.”

The family had 14 children, but six of them died while living in Tanzania of starvation and violence. The eight children who made it to Lincoln safely are Nema, Cheza, James, Avangelia, Jacquelile, Christina, Eric and Odetha.

With eight kids to feed, money has been tight. When they first arrived in Lincoln, the parents went to the Center for People in Need for assistance, but they have had to work hard to keep food on the table.

“The family receives $710 dollars a month for all expenses, not including their house payment, which is paid for with disability money from Cheza, who is 21 years old,” Lisa said.

To help the family out, Lisa and Jeremy keep a grocery list at their house and help buy school supplies.

“Jeremy and I don’t plan on having kids,” Lisa said. “We love that we can help out in anyway they can.”

And help they do.

“It is good for our kids, having Jeremy and Lisa,” Edward said.

•

It was a normal Wednesday night, time for Lisa and Jeremy’s 6 p.m. homework get-together.

American Idol was playing on the TV while Odetha and Jaquelile—Jackie for short—were getting their homework faces on.

“Sunny Delight please!” Odetha asks Lisa, a smile beaming on her face.

Odetha is 8 years old and in the third grade at Eastridge Elementary. She already knows three languages. Jeremy hopes to make that four pretty soon.

“I’m slowly warming her up to the idea of learning Spanish,” Jeremy said.

Jackie, left, shown here with her little sister Odetha, is a senior at Lincoln High School and currently getting help from Jeremy to apply for scholarships. / Photo by Laura Smith

Odetha was little when she arrived in Lincoln, and she already loves American culture.

“I am always craving a Big Mac,” Odetha said.

Jackie, a senior at Lincoln High School, still remembers the days before Big Mac was in the vocabulary.

“I went to school back home until fifth grade,” Jackie said. “School was hard back in Africa, like really, really hard. I didn’t want to learn English back in school, but I am glad I did.”

Now, speaking English is second nature. Jackie also speaks Kirundi, Swahili and French fluently.

Even though she has mastered English, she will not be able to take the ACT this year.

“Reading and writing is hard for the kids, even when they understand the language,” Lisa said. “We are helping Jackie study for the COMPASS in order to go to Southeast Community College in the fall.”

“I am hoping to major in nursing, specializing in physical therapy,” Jackie said, “and then I would like to return to Tanzania.”

Most of their relatives still live back home, and they occasionally get to speak with them over the phone. The kids have two phones between the five of them. Sharing with five is a little easier than sharing with eight.

The three oldest kids, Nema, James and Avangelia do not live at home anymore.

“Nema got married right away when we moved to Lincoln,” Jackie said. “She met her husband on the plane ride over. He is from the Congo.”

James works at Farmland in Lincoln, and Avangelia is currently living in South Dakota while attending college.

“Avangelia’s story is interesting because she worked as nurse for the Red Cross back in Tanzania dealing with HIV patients,” Lisa said. “When she got to Lincoln, she did not have any of her paperwork and basically had to start all the way over.”

Two of the kids, Christina and Eric, were not at the nightly homework event, but instead having fun at The Lighthouse in Lincoln. Going to The Lighthouse has helped them adjust to school in Lincoln.

“The kids worry about the cultural differences, like the way their clothes smell and the way they look,” Lisa said. “No one knows their story, but going to The Lighthouse and meeting other refugees helps them feel comfortable.”

Christina is in eighth grade and Eric is in sixth grade. Eric takes on the traditional male role in the house.

“The parents think that the male in the house should take on the leader position,” Jeremy said. “Which is why they usually talk to me about everything. They think I know more.”

“Even though I usually do,” Lisa says with a smile.

As the children’s homework pile diminishes and American Idol comes to a close, it’s time to head home for the night.

Lisa drives down the road to safely drop off Odetha and Jackie. She usually takes this time to update the parents on anything going on at school.

“Some people have made remarks to Jeremy and I that these aren’t our kids, so why are we acting like they are,” Lisa said. “But we aren’t trying to take on the parent role. Their parents accomplished so much in their life by getting their kids here, the least we can do is help push these kids to hope for even more in life.”

By Tiago Zenero de Souza

When people suffer persecution because of their race, religion, nationality or political opinion—and they need to flee their countries to be resettled somewhere else—they are considered refugees.

Fifteen countries around the world resettle refugees.

Brazil, which has been committed to the protection of refugees since the late 1940s, is one of them.

It was at the beginning of the Cold War that Brazil underwent a major political change about accepting foreigners, according to Leonardo Schiocchet, a research associate at Universidade Federal Fluminense who has written about the lives of refugees.

“The country finally contemplated the importance of receiving refugees,” Schiocchet said, “after a change in policies aimed at rebuilding their position in the international political arena.”

In 1947, Brazil resettled about 19,000 refugees coming from World War II. In the 1950s, the number of refugees that fled to Brazil was about 25,000.

“Brazil signed a treaty with geographical and temporal reserves,” said Luiz Sales do Nascimento, professor at Universidade Católica de Santos and author of “A Cidadania dos Refugiados no Brasil,” or “Citizenship of Refugees in Brazil,”—meaning the country accepted only refugees of the World War II period and only from Europe.

In the late 1970s UNHCR—the UN Refugee Agency—originally established a presence in Brazil. The country went through a dictatorial system from 1964 to 1985, which kept it from having an effective policy, but in 1974, when Ernesto Geisel assumed the presidency, an open policy period began.

Re-democratization, however, only started during the early 1980s. In 1997, Brazil passed the Refugee Act and, more recently, became a country of resettlement and allowed the re-opening of an office of the UNHCR.

•

Charly Kongo arrived as a refugee in Brazil five years ago after suffering political persecution in Congo. He was helped by Cáritas Arquidiocesana, the major agency that helps most refugees trying to resettle in Brazil.

Brazil wasn’t Kongo’s first choice.

“When I decided to flee my country, I tried to go somewhere they speak French,” Kongo said.

None of those countries accepted him, and, thinking Portuguese might be similar, Kongo tried Brazil. He was accepted, but after he arrived, he realized Portuguese and French are really different, and language became one of his biggest barriers.

Brazilians generally learn English or Spanish as their second language, but rarely French. “No one could understand me when I tried to speak French here,” he said.

Language was also an obstacle in his search for a job.

“In Congo, I was a nurse, but in Brazil my degree isn’t valid. Moreover, I didn’t speak Portuguese when I got here, so it was harder for me to find a job,” Kongo said.

Kongo realized that a Portuguese course would be essential for him in Brazil, so he spent much of his money paying for those classes. It was money well spent.

“I learned how to communicate in Portuguese,” he said, “and was also able to find a job when my Portuguese got better.”

•

Brazil’s new opportunities for refugees have made the country a model for the protection of refugees in South America. That’s the finding of a study done by Liliana Lyra Jubilut, a professor at Faculdade de Direito do Sul de Minas in Brazil, “Refugee Law and Protection in Brazil: a Model in South America.”

Brazil plays an important role in refugee resettlement in South America, Jubilut said, and its leadership is based on two things: The Brazilian Refugee Act was the first national law on refugees in the region, and Brazil remains powerful politically and economically in South America.

The number of refugees in Brazil, however, is still low: By December 2012, only 4,689 refugees had been resettled in the country, according to CONARE, the National Committee for Refugees.

Ivanilson Paulo Corrêa Raiol, law professor at Universidade da Amazonia and state prosecutor in Brazil, said that’s a small number compared with countries like Pakistan, with 1.7 million refugees, or Iran, with about 886,000, or Kenya, with come 566,000.

Still, Brazil is encountering many new Brazilians. “The welcoming center for refugees of Cáritas Arquidiocesana de Sao Paulo has hosted people from over 81 nationalities,” said Vivian Holzhacker, the lawyer responsible for refugees at Cáritas Arquidiocesana de Sao Paulo. “Unfortunately we do not have data on total people served.”

Brazilian law differentiates between refugees and “economic refugees,” which results in the government denying many refugee requests. Between 1998 and 2005, 1,040 requests were denied, about half of them from refugees from Africa. Only 10 were successfully appealed by the Ministry of Justice.

The process by which refugees can obtain Brazilian citizenship follows a vague criteria established by CONARE, Schiocchet said.  He explained that the criteria changes according to the situation. Each decision is made individually, and often decisions are based on personal issues—meaning the government agent can offer an evaluation of the “character” of the refugee.

Like the United States, Brazil faces the prospect of undocumented residents—people who are already in Brazil but who can’t become citizens because they are not considered refugees by the Ministry of Justice. Once in Brazil, they rarely return to their home countries.

“Without prospects of obtaining refugee status elsewhere, these people remain [undocumented] in Brazil,” said Alex André Vargem, a sociologist and independent researcher.

In mid-2009, the Brazilian government gave undocumented foreigners who had migrated before February of that year 180 days to seek amnesty. The price—64 Brazilian reals, or about 32 U.S. dollars—proved to be a barrier, however, for people unlikely to have job.

That is not the case for Charly Kongo.

In 2008, he was hired as a maid in a hotel in Copacabana, a posh neighborhood in Rio de Janeiro. His wages weren’t enough to pay all his bills and he constantly had to work extra hours to earn the equivalent of about 350 U.S. dollars each month.

In 2011, he was promoted to bellhop.

“That was one of the best things that have ever happened to me here,” he said. “I am proud to say I work as a bellhop. I got that promotion because of my own hard work.”

Although he earns more money now, he would still like to earn even more. The minimum wage in Rio de Janeiro for a bellhop is a little more than 800 reals, or about 400 U.S. dollars a month.

For Kongo, the difficulties come down to one thing. “My current difficulties are basically the language, that I am not fluent yet.” That and the same battle fought by all Brazilians: “a fight for better wages.”

Professor Raiol, of the Universidade da Amazonia, lists the main difficulties faced by refugees arriving in Brazil:

• Adapting to the Brazilian reality, including the customs, the language and what he terms the xenophobia.

• Meeting the challenge of keeping their beliefs and maintain their cultural heritage.

• Learning the language.

• Gaining access to educational progress.

• Gaining financial independence.

Such a list can mean life is not easy for refugees in Brazil. Although that’s been true for Kongo—and he has had to work a lot—he likes living in Brazil.

“I love Brazil. I love Brazilians. I love Rio,” Kongo said. “I have a girlfriend here, and we will get married soon.”

He is grateful that he works in Copacapana and that he can admire one of the most beautiful views of Brazil. Yet neither of these is his greatest joy.

“I love so much this country because, although I am poor, I am free. I will never leave Brazil.”

Clare Nelson, family care coordinator at Clinton Elementary School, illustrates how to hold an unruly child. / Photo by Lee Kreimer

By Lee Kreimer

On a sunny Wednesday morning, 17 parents gather in a classroom at Clinton Elementary School.

“We talk to children about this every day,” Clare Nelson, family care coordinator at Clinton tells them. “I say, ‘Muhammad, who’s in charge? At home, who’s in charge?’”

Then Nelson answers her own question: “Mom and Dad are in charge.”

A flurry of discussion and translation in Spanish and Arabic erupts around the room.

Today, Nelson is addressing domestic violence and child abuse prevention with parents. But her underlying message is one of the balance of power.

After many new families arrive in the United States, the children often acquire English faster than their parents. This can create a difficult situation where children are more capable of navigating local services and culture than their parents. Before they know it, their children are in charge.

The parents haven’t come to the class this day because their children are in trouble. Instead, these parents are a part of the Clinton Family Literacy Program, a comprehensive program designed for immigrant and refugee families that are a part of the Clinton community.

The Clinton Family Literacy Program provides immigrant and refugee families with the tools to help them succeed in their new home. By providing parents with English classes, parenting classes, and an opportunity to spend time with their children in the classroom each week, participants in Clinton’s Family Literacy Program are able to develop their skills as parents so that they can help their children succeed in school.

“Many times when families move to the United States, power shifts to the kids because the kids know the language and parents can’t navigate society and services,” says Peggy Newquist, Family Literacy specialist for Lincoln Public Schools. / Photo by Lee Kreimer

“For many places in the world, there is a definite boundary between home and school,” said Peggy Newquist, Family Literacy specialist for Lincoln Public Schools. “Here, we want parents to be involved.”

Initially, one of the most compelling aspects for parents in the Family Literacy Program at Clinton is adult education. For six hours each week, the participants in the program attend morning English classes and set educational goals for themselves.

“The Family Literacy Program targets people with lower levels of language,” says Matt Kohrell, the adult education instructor for the program. “They learn things that apply to everyday life and things that are connected with their children.”

Gabriela Perez, the mother of three daughters, believes learning English has helped her maintain her role as a parent.

“Now, I can understand what my children are saying between themselves,” Perez said. “I would like to learn even more English!”

An immigrant from Mexico, Perez, 44, moved to Lincoln 11 years ago with her family. Her youngest daughter is now in first grade at Clinton.

Hawarr Muhammad, also the mother of three children, agrees with Perez.

“At least now I can hear what they’re saying,” Muhammad said. “I’m not losing control [with my kids] because of English.”

Muhammad, 27, came to Lincoln in 2011 from Iraq with her husband and children.

Both Perez and Muhammad have experienced the benefits of learning the same language that their children speak outside the home.

“Many times when families move to the United States, power shifts to the kids because the kids know the language and parents can’t navigate society and services,” Newquist said. “Parents involved in Family Literacy flip back the balance of power so that parents are in control, and kids are being kids again.”

Mother Gabriela Perez sees the benefits of her increased involvement for the past year with her daughter’s education through the Family Literacy Program. “I think the grades of my daughter have improved a lot.” / Photo by Lee Kreimer

For parents in the Family Literacy Program, adult English education classes are only one part of the program’s benefits. Each week, parents go into their children’s classrooms for two hours and work with them on assignments and homework. This Parent and Child Together Time, or PACT Time, is another of the three key elements of the program because it encourages parents to help their children succeed in the classroom.

Muhammad has experienced the benefits of working with her children in the classroom.

“It’s interesting spending time with my child in class,” Muhammad said. “I think my child benefits from that. I help them with their homework now, so that has a big influence.”

Perez’ increased involvement for the past year with her daughter’s education through the Family Literacy Program has helped her daughter.

“I think the grades of my daughter have improved a lot,” Perez said.

In addition to the other program elements, Parent Time is an important part of the Clinton Family Literacy Program. Each Wednesday, Nelson instructs a parenting class for two hours where she teaches parents skills that address the health, success and care of children.

“[Parent time] isn’t just about how to use the timeout process,” Nelson said. “We give them a lot of information about what goes on in the community that will help their whole process of being a family. This includes gardening, nutrition, exercise, discussing sexual decision-making with adolescents, dentists, weather, preparing for school testing and even getting ready for breaks.”

LPS has seven Family Literacy sites across the district, all of them—Clinton, West Lincoln, Everett, Elliott, Prescott, Arnold and Campbell—at elementary schools.

In many ways, the family literacy programs available to Lincoln families correspond with programs available nationally. All elements of the Clinton Family Literacy Program are based on a national model, Newquist said, but one additional element sets LPS apart: childcare.

Matt Kohrell, the Family Literacy Program’s adult education instructor, says parents in the program learn things “that apply to everyday life and things that are connected with their children.” / Photo by Lee Kreimer

“Lincoln has a special added bonus for their Family Literacy Program,” Newquist said. “We provide literacy and childcare to all preschoolers. We know that childcare is often a barrier to families participating in family literacy programs.”

Childcare provided to the children of families in the literacy program at Clinton provides extra support for preschoolers. Children learn literacy, a routine, shapes, colors and sizes.

“They’re being exposed to English that they probably wouldn’t normally be if they were still at home with a parent that doesn’t speak English,” Newquist said.

Family literacy programs sound good on paper and, according to Newquist, the impact of the program is evident in numerous ways.

“The data and the anecdotal stories are there,” Newquist said. “We’ve seen results within weeks. Within three weeks after the program was started, we saw parents come to family events at school because the parents were involved in Family Literacy.”

Parents who are learning English in the program also frequently begin reading to their child and speaking to their child in both English and their native language.

Newquist and Nelson are both quick to point out the strong teamwork between staff and parents at Clinton. The success of Family Literacy is dependent upon all elements of the program.

“As they say, it takes a village to raise a child,” Newquist said. “It truly does.”

Photographs and text by Emily Walkenhorst

Juwa Balla, 29, arrived in the United States from the south of Sudan in 2000. “I’m looking for a better life,” she said. “I’m a single mother.” Balla considers herself both American and Sudanese. “I have a better life here,” she said. Balla has lived in states outside of Nebraska, but she said Nebraska has more support for refugees. “Nebraska is nice,” she said.

• • •

Somia Najim, 36, from left, Hana Mustafa, 50, and Zinah Alzuhairi, 31, came to the United States from Iraq. They met six months ago through volunteering at the Center for People in Need and insisted that they be together in their portrait. The women speak varying levels of English, but they all said they like living in Nebraska now. “Nebraska is special,” Najim said. “It’s a beautiful, quiet place,” Mustafa said in Kurdish, translated to English by Najim. The women consider their lives safer now, although Alzuhairi still has safety on her mind — her sister lives in Jaramana, Syria.

• • •

Farid Dorajirahimi, 42, lived in Los Angeles when he first arrived in the United States more than four years ago. He’s lived the past five months in Lincoln, and he said he likes it here. For fun, he goes with his family to the park. In California, he went to the zoo and the beach. “The beach is good,” Dorajirahimi said, but Los Angeles was too expensive. Dorajirahimi is originally from Iran, where he still has some family members.

• • •

Maung Aya Thoung, 31, has lived in the United States for four months. He does not know English well but is learning and would like to get a job someday. In Burma, where he originally lived, he did not go to school. He’s learning a little English now, and he knows the alphabet and how to write his name for the first time.

• • •

Poo Kay, 57, has lived in the United States for a little more than a year and was assigned to Lincoln, he said. The winter weather has been a big adjustment from Burma, and he said he has a difficult time communicating with people in Nebraska because he doesn’t know English. “The people are nice, but the main problem is not having the language,” Kay said through a translator, Peh Wah of the Center for People in Need. His goals include learning English, getting a job and then learning to communicate with people. Like Thoung, Kay did not go to school in Burma and has learned to write his name for the first time.

Leo Sierra, who arrived in the U.S. from Mexico when he was 12, eventually performed well enough in biology that his teacher transferred him to a regular biology class. / Photo by Tiago Zenero de Souza

By Tiago Zenero de Souza

It was the first day of class.

“I was in my homeroom, which is a class of 15 to 20 minutes right before school,” said Leo Sierra, who arrived in the United States from Mexico with his family when he was 12.

He remembers sitting in the front row, waiting. “I was the first one,” he said. “I arrived early.”

While he was waiting and looking at the clock, another student his age came into the room, sat down right next to him, and said: “¡Hola! ¿Cómo estás?”

“I got super excited because somebody spoke my language,” he said.

A few seconds later, when Sierra started asking him questions in Spanish, the American boy just said: “No, no, no, I don’t speak Spanish.”

“We became pretty good friends, and I guess that kind of friendly approach motivated me for not giving up to school,” Sierra said.

That all happened in 2003, but it remains fresh in Sierra’s memory.

Students born in the U.S. face the challenge of getting to and then succeeding in college. Those who started their education in a foreign country and then arrived later in the U.S. have an additional hurdle: language.

Although educational success for immigrant and refugee students is not impossible, it requires a lot of dedication and motivation.

•

Ten years ago, Leo Sierra knew only how to say “hello” and how to count to seven in English. But he was dedicated and motivated to learn from his relatives and teachers. They helped him overcome the challenges and led him to succeed in his studies.

“It was hard [at the beginning] because even though there were some Hispanics who spoke Spanish in my school, all my classes were in English,” he said.

Sierra started school in the U.S. in the seventh grade. In his classes, he had the assistance of a para-educator, a bilingual teacher who helped him translate important topics of the class.

“It was an important resource for me to have because otherwise I don’t think I would have been able to perform well in classes,” Sierra said.

Sierra’s para-educator was not able to go to all of his classes, though, because she had to help other Hispanic children, too. It was really hard for Sierra to follow classes without her, but he could count on his friends who knew some Spanish.

It was frustrating for him, but he had reasons not to give up.

“I didn’t give up because I like to learn,” he said. “I love learning, and I am a very sociable person. I wanted to learn the language, to be able to communicate [in English].”

When he started high school, he had to take beginner classes—not regular—because of his language struggle.

He performed well enough in biology, however, that his teacher transferred him to regular biology class.

“Even though I got a B in biology class, I was still pretty confident that I could do very well in regular classes. That motivated me to keep going and I tried as much as I could,” Sierra said.

He graduated in the top 25 percent of his high school class, with a very good GPA. Still, going to college was not going to be easy.

“My parents didn’t have the opportunity to go to college,” he said. “They didn’t even finish elementary school in Mexico, which is untilsixth grade. My brothers either dropped out of high school or they finished high school and they didn’t continue.”

Sierra decided he would be the first in his family to get a university degree.

“I didn’t want to be the fifth child to follow the steps of my father, even though I appreciate my father. I think I can do better and will be able to help them in my future and I want my parents to be proud of me.”

•

Dedication and motivation helped Kim Le to be the first in her family to earn a college degree. / Photo by Tiago Zenero de Souza

Dedication and motivation also helped another student, Kim Le, to be the first in her family to earn a college degree.

Le moved from Vietnam to the U.S. in 2007 when she was 16.

Her grandmother had come to the U.S. in 1991, and she submitted a form called Petition for Alien Relative to the U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services to ask permission to bring her daughter’s family to the U.S.

“My grandma recognized a better economic opportunity for my family here in the U.S. She also would like to unite the family,” Le said. “I simply followed my parents.”

During high school, Le had a hard time learning what she had missed—such as language and social style. “However, with the help of many people and my motivation to succeed, I made my college dream a reality,” she said.

At the same time, opportunities were opening for Sierra.

He got accepted into Western Nebraska Community College in Scottsbluff, the city where he grew up, in fall 2009. “I went to college, and I did very well in my first year,” he said.

After two years, he transferred, because he wanted to study psychology, and the Community College only offers two-year courses.

“Since I was in eighth grade people brought me to Lincoln and [my parents and teachers] used to see me as being capable of doing something with my life, so I applied to UNL,” Sierra said.

Both Sierra and Le are now U.S. citizens. Sierra was never undocumented, and Le passed the citizenship exam after five years of residency.

“Many things have changed after that,” she said. “I am no longer under green card status. I can vote in a federal election, which I did once, and I own a U.S. passport now, which allows me to easily travel abroad.”

But even as citizens, the challenges of going to a university are big.

“It is hard when you don’t have a lot of resources to go to college,” Sierra said. “I got motivated, I got a lot of support from friends and teachers.”

Nowadays Sierra is a double major in psychology and Spanish, one year away from graduation. Le is pursuing a bachelor’s degree in finance with minors in economics and math at UNL. She expects to graduate in May 2015.

Le still looks for opportunities that let her expand her social and academic skills. And Sierra thinks about offering aid to people like them, students who come from outside the United States.

“I want to be able to help people who need help,” he said, “like I needed once.”

Six-year-old Christopher Flores looks up to his new father, Fernando Ortiz Carreras, and runs to him the minute they see each other.

They are always together, writing, coloring or playing soccer.

“They are very, very close,” said Monica Carreras, Christopher’s mother.

But Fernando Ortiz Carreras can’t adopt Christopher. He can’t hold a regular job or drive a car. He’s still an undocumented immigrant, four years after marrying Monica Carreras and becoming Christopher’s “daddy.”

“His self-esteem is low, because he feels like he doesn’t deserve us,” said Monica Carreras, a Mexican-American and Native American born in the United States. The family lives in Grand Island.

Fernando Carreras can’t support his family because of his immigration status, and even though he’s married to a U.S. citizen, the process to change his status is long and expensive.

For immigrants with green cards or legal permanent residence, the naturalization process is fairly simple. Documented immigrants must show they have lived in the United States for at least five years, been physically present for three and a half years and lived in the same state for three months. They also must meet requirements such as filing taxes, passing a background check, passing a naturalization test and paying all necessary fees.

But for undocumented immigrants — who live and work in the United States — legal status is difficult to obtain. For families like the Carreras, a process exists but it’s slow, complicated and costly. For others, their only option is to wait until the immigration laws change.

“I feel that they should not be treated as criminals,” Monica Carreras said.  “They should be treated as people who are trying to support their families.”

The Carreras, Fernando and Monica, petitioned for a permanent legal residence last July. They waited to apply because of the cost. Their legal fees and application fees total about $4,000 so far, and they’re not done yet.

Because Fernando can’t work, Monica shoulders most living costs and the immigration fees.

“He could only do odd jobs here and there for cash flow, but he can’t have a steady job,” Monica said. “There is just no way.”

While the hard part’s completed, Monica said, they still must travel to Juarez, Mexico, for Fernando Carreras’s interview, which could cost about $2,500 for a health physical, court fees and travel and lodging costs.

These costly fees inspired Max Graves to start Lincoln’s Center for Legal Immigration Assistance in 2001. He helps immigrants who can’t afford $200 to $300 an hour for a certified immigration lawyer and charges 10 percent of the going rate in Nebraska for an immigration lawyer.

“Many immigrants find the process quite daunting,” Graves said. The average person he sees has about a sixth-grade education and may not be literate in their native language much less in English.

Graves is certified by the Board of Immigration Appeals to legally represent clients before the Immigration Service, Immigration Courts and Board of Immigration Appeals but is not a certified immigration lawyer. As executive director, he’s one of two full-time employees at the Center for Legal Immigration Assistance. Their waiting list is about five months long even though they meet with about 15 immigrants each business day.

He suggests immigrants use a legal adviser because of the stringent immigration laws. In some cases, Graves said, if immigrants miss their deadlines to file the proper waivers, they can be deported.

Half of the clients Graves sees have documents. But the other half work without documents. Of those immigrants, 60 percent have a proper avenue to citizenship through marriage, like Fernando Carreras, or other waivers. But the rest are stuck, and Graves must send them away until a change is made in federal immigration law.

“The majority of cases are when you just have some sort of unconnected person without documents, without specialized degrees, without family members,” said Kevin Ruser, a law professor at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln and consultant for Graves’ organization.

For those immigrants, a pathway to legal permanent resident and, eventually, citizenship is essentially nonexistent.

“People think, ‘Why don’t they just go down to the post office and sign up?’ said Darcy Tromanhauser, director of the immigrants and communities program at Nebraska Appleseed. “The biggest point is that for the vast majority who do not have immigration papers, there is no line to get into until we get that fixed at a national level.”

For immigrants like Fernando Carreras, the process isn’t hopeless. As the spouse of an American citizen, he can apply for legal permanent residence. Because of a policy change that went into effect this March, Fernando Carreras doesn’t have to return to his home country, Mexico, for the typical two to 12 months. Without a criminal record, he met the requirements for the pardon and will only have to return to Mexico for his interview.

Lincolnite Herbierto Villicaña has firsthand knowledge of the immigration procedures. Villicaña’s brother also hopes to fix his immigration status. He started the process to become a legal resident of the United States seven years ago. With the support of his current boss and the help of an immigration lawyer, his brother should receive his documents in about a year. He pays taxes and hasn’t violated any laws other than being in the United States without a green card.

“The processes are long right now,” Villicaña said in Spanish.

Villicaña’s brother is a skilled worker with several family members legally living in the United States. The people Graves can’t help are immigrants who not only entered the country illegally and don’t have legal documents but don’t have relatives legally living in the United States.

Villicaña, an immigrant from Mexico, wasn’t an undocumented worker and had no problems with documents. He became a naturalized U.S. citizen five years and a month after immigrating to the United States. His brother wasn’t so lucky. Twelve years after immigrating to the United States, he still works as an undocumented immigrant.

The difference between Villicaña’s situation and that of his older brother is timing.

Villicaña’s father, a U.S. migrant worker, applied for Villicaña and his older brother to come to the United States as residents. By the time the process was completed, his brother was too old to be sponsored by their father. Villicaña made the deadline by a month.

He’s now married to an Iowa native. Villicaña, a retired jockey, is temporarily unemployed because of an accident during a race. Instead, he studies for his GED certificate and takes English classes at Southeast Community College. He hopes to continue his education and become either an architect or an interpreter.

He dreams of equality for immigrants: documented and undocumented.

“It isn’t fair,” Villicaña said in Spanish. “There are many people who can and want to work but can’t because they don’t have papers.”

Graves also helps undocumented workers who qualify to apply for waivers like the Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals Act for undocumented students who plan to go to college. While the act provides undocumented immigrants with a two-year work permit, it doesn’t create a pathway to citizenship. Graves also works with victims of various crimes who have been helpful to the police apply for U-visas, and files petitions for victims of domestic violence under the Violence Against Women Act.

“I want to see a major reform,” Graves said.

Graves said he is especially concerned for the future of children who immigrated illegally with their parents. He also opposes families being separated by deportation. Before applying for legal permanent residence, Fernando Carreras could have deported and separated from his wife and child if he was found working as an undocumented immigrant.

Graves’ beliefs on immigration reform line up with proposals made by President Barack Obama. In his State of the Union address, President Obama suggested that immigration policy should be reformed to include a clear pathway to citizenship for the 11 million undocumented workers living in the U.S. This pathway would mandate that applicants submit to a background check, pay back-taxes and a penalty for illegally immigrating and learn English.

Graves agrees with this idea of a pathway and said there should be a penalty.

Federal immigration laws haven’t been reformed in 11 years, Graves said, which makes the process difficult for immigrants who entered the United States illegally. One stipulation in the current immigration law says a spouse can file for an undocumented immigrant to receive a green card, but only if the undocumented worker entered the country before April 2001. Graves would like to see that date moved up to 2013.

“I would like to see people who have waited and filed documents go to the front of the line,” Graves said.

Not everyone agrees with a pathway to citizenship for undocumented workers. The Center for Immigration Studies, a national research organization based out of Washington, D.C., opposes the pathway to citizenship for several reasons.

“It is going to advocate more illegal immigration,” said Bryan Griffith, a spokesperson for the Center for Immigration Studies who has worked for the organization for seven years.

While Griffith agrees immigration laws need to be streamlined, he said a pathway to citizenship for undocumented workers would encourage illegal immigration. Increased illegal immigration would take away more low-income, skilled labor jobs from American citizens, Griffith said.

“If we tell a group of people that they are going to be able to receive citizenship not through the proper channels, it’s just going to encourage that type of behavior. There is going to be very little reason for people to take the legal path.”

While President’s Obama’s plan would penalize undocumented immigrants via back-taxes and penalties, Griffith said waivers for low-income immigrants would lower the penalty and many immigrants would receive tax-refunds.

“The penalties become non-punitive,” Griffith said. “You can frame the arguments however you wish. Essentially, you are not enforcing the law and allowing them to come in with little penalties.”

Griffith also opposes the pathway because of the lengths others take to immigrate legally.

“These folks (undocumented workers) will be in our country with a Social Security number, with permission to work, while others apply to become legal permanent residences and wait 10 to 15 years before entering the country,” Griffith said.

“It sounds an awful lot like they cut in line before everyone else.”

For immigrants like Villicaña who have seen the effect immigration laws create for his family, it doesn’t feel like cutting in line. Since he was 5 or 6 years old, he’s dreamed of coming to the United States and seeing the land he’d only seen on TV.

“Since I was a boy, my dream was to travel and have opportunities. I wanted to learn English. I wanted to see large cities,” Villicaña said in Spanish.

“Thanks to God, I had the opportunity.”

He waited to immigrate legally, but now he wants his brothers and fellow immigrants who entered the United States without documents to have the same opportunity to become American citizens.

“Many people can’t reach their goals because they don’t have documents.”

Tromanhauser works directly with immigrants at Nebraska Appleseed. She sees people who are contributing members of their communities, families like the Carreras.

“It’s in everyone’s best interest to have good strong families in our communities,” Tromanhauser said.

She said the fault shouldn’t fall on the immigrants but on the broken system.

“We have this ridiculous system where good-hearted Nebraskans are at risk,” Tromanhauser said.

Monica Carreras works full-time at Goodwill Industries providing emergency community support, and Fernando Carreras is a stay-at-home-dad. He immigrated to the United States when he was a 15-year-old by himself. It was difficult and scary, Monica said, but the couple doesn’t discuss his immigration story much.

“It’s one thing we don’t really talk in detail about.”

The Carreras plan to finish the immigration process early this summer. After Fernando receives his permanent legal residence or green card, he will be able to adopt Christopher, get a driver’s license and find a job.

“I would know for the first time in my life what it is like to have the financial support that I don’t have now,” Monica Carreras said.