By: Ernest Gurulé
Like a letter carrier who delivers mail in rain, sleet or snow, along with every other imaginable weather condition, 29-year-old Marissa Molina is equally as determined. Only instead of mail, what Molina delivers is the latest information on immigration. Not only that, she’s ready to talk about its contours, challenges and roadblocks whenever or wherever she needs to. It is a subject the young but experienced educator and spokesperson knows intimately. She’s lived it.
At age nine, Molina was brought from Mexico to Colorado by her parents and raised in Glenwood Springs. The subsequent twenty years have been a wild, fascinating and amazing ride. After high school, she headed to Durango and Fort Lewis College where she graduated with honors with degrees in political science and economics. She later taught in Denver public schools. In 2019, Colorado Governor Jared Polis selected Molina to serve on the Board of Trustees at Denver’s Metropolitan State University making her the first DACA recipient to serve on a state board.
After years of not knowing what tomorrow would bring—she was, after all, undocumented—Molina now speaks freely about her journey. In high school and without a Social Security number, college, she thought was out of reach. But a high school counsellor helped shepherd her through the process for admission. The same kindness followed her to Fort Lewis where an admissions officer lent a hand. But before all that, Molina knew she could count on the unwavering support and belief her parents, Carlos and Marisela, had in her.
Today, Molina is the Colorado state director for FWD.us, a bipartisan political organization that works for families and communities trying to navigate a sometimes confusing and complicated U.S. immigration system. She works to alleviate some of the fear of deportation that thousands of young immigrants live with on a daily basis. It is territory she knows well.
“In my role,” said Molina, “I work on policies at the state level to create opportunities in our community, to partner with the undocumented and work on immigration reform.” It can sometimes feel like navigating a minefield where the next step may well include an immigration official nearby and a walk toward a bus whose destination is the southern border.
“For me, it’s really important that we talk about DACA (Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals) from the perspective of people going to school, but most importantly, it’s talking about freedom and having protection and work authorization.”
Speaking candidly and opening about immigration and immigration rights to those who need to know and understand the landscape is not only the sharing of information but also sharing her own story, said Molina. “For the majority of my life I was told not to talk about my status… it could pose a danger to my family,” said the determined social activist. “I had to overcome the shame that I learned about my own identity.” She first had to learn that there was no shame in being an immigrant.
Molina was lucky. She never had an encounter with immigration or immigration officials. Not everyone like her could say the same. But DACA, President Obama’s 2012 executive order designed to protect undocumented immigrants who came here as minors from deportation, eased Molina’s anxiety as well as the anxiety of several hundred thousands of others just like her. But that comfort level was temporary once ex-President Trump took office. Trump, whose campaign rhetoric clearly explained his position on immigrants and immigration, had designs on rescinding it.
In 2017, then Attorney General Jeff Session ruled DACA illegal and unconstitutional, saying it should be rescinded since it was unlawful from its inception. The Supreme Court ruled against Sessions and the Administration saying Session’s offered no detailed justifications for canceling DACA.
Today, as Molina travels the land and speaks about how DACA “truly changed my life,” also feels great empathy for so many others just like her. “There are a lot of young people who are capable and promising, but they don’t qualify for DACA because of the date” that they arrived in the country.
Molina is hopeful that President Biden and the Democrats can save that part of his $1.85 trillion domestic policy bill that includes protection for millions of immigrant families and somehow, some day, create a permanent path toward citizenship. “We believe this is the year,” she said. “Congress should move.” Not doing so would be “a moral failure.” But Democrats are dealing with stiff headwinds, not only in their own party, but also with Republicans, many of whom have no intention of helping Democrats on this hugely partisan legislation.
While Molina waits on Congress, her parents no longer have to deal with immigration officials. “My mother became a citizen when I was 28…my father when I was 27,” she said. “The last election was their first (voting) election…for them it was really important to honor their own journey.” Because the day was so special, “I came back from the western slope and drove them down to the place where they dropped off their ballot.” They also took a picture. “We documented it.”
