Eliminating the Department of Education and NAEP nonsense
The Lyndon Baines Johnson Department of Education Building pictured on Nov. 25, 2024. (Shauneen Miranda/States Newsroom)
Political and media blather about the potential demise of the Department of Education (DE) is continuous. Lacking empathy and understanding of the positive role of public education, the president is calling for the department's termination. Not surprising, as he has stated his love for 'the poorly educated.'
The lead mission statement on the DE website is 'Fostering educational excellence and ensuring equal access.' Federal policies and funding have helped create better opportunities for students with disabilities and others that require more resources for their education. Along with anti-DEI initiatives, many students of poverty and color will be denied equal access.
One of the self-created functions of the Department of Education has been the delivery of the National Assessment of Educational Progress (NAEP). A standardized test titled as 'The Nation's Report Card', that assesses reading and mathematics nationwide at the 4th and 8th grade levels.
The NAEP claims to offer 'a common measure of student achievement' and 'offers a window into the state of our K-12 education system and what our children are learning.'
The NAEP's stated purpose of 'is to measure the educational achievement and progress of the nation's students …' NAEP results have been stagnant for decades. In 1992, 29% of students were considered proficient (or above) readers in both 4th and 8th grades. In 2024, proficiency levels were 31% for 4th grade and 30% for 8th grade.
'NAEP results also enable comparisons …, among various demographic groups, and over time.' NAEP test scores have accurately reflected demographic differences of school populations for decades. Schools, districts and states with lower family income levels, lower parent education levels, higher numbers of English language learners and special education students have lower test score averages. Year, after year, after year.
The Nation's Report Card is a political hoax; not an accurate measure of learning. Presumed to be a reliable measure of school quality; it is not. Differences in test score averages always reflect student demographics.
Educators (especially educational leaders) need to stop pretending that they have considerable influence over test scores. Standardized tests are designed to allow predetermined percentages of rank. If proficiency is set at the 60th percentile (a common standard), only 40% of students can attain proficiency. NAEP reading proficiency levels nationwide have never reached 40%.
Profound improvements in test score averages come about by changing the demographics of the student population tested or by 'cheating.' Retaining low level readers in 3rd grade changes the tested population in 4th grade. Removing failing students improves test score averages; regardless of curriculum or instructional method.
In Mississippi, NAEP 4th grade reading scores have increased from 21% proficient in 2013 to 32% in 2024. They attribute this 'Mississippi miracle' to 3rd grade reading instruction with increased emphasis on phonics and seem overly proud that still less than one third of their students are considered literate by this measure.
Mississippi began a retention policy during the 2014-15 for 3rd graders with low-level reading levels. Thus, removing 7 to 9% (2019-23) of failing students from the tested population of 4th graders.
It seems reading deficiencies are not the only academic shortcomings in Mississippi. Basic math skills seem to have eluded state policymakers. Simple statistical comparisons should embarrass politicians and educators in Mississippi.
They pretend to have nailed the 'science of reading' while lacking evidence linking phonics to improved 4th grade reading scores. There is a clear connection between the percentages of retained 3rd grade students and 4th grade proficiency levels.
There is no evidence that retention improves academic achievement in later grades or that retained students ever catch-up. There have been no sustainable gains in the reading ability of Mississippi students. 8th grade NAEP reading scores have declined, as have ACT scores, since the 3rd grade retention policy was adopted.
However, there is evidence that retention contributes to higher dropout and lower graduation rates. The threat of retention does not raise test scores.
It should be called the 'Mississippi mirage.' This false claim of success is just a matter of fudging statistics. An illusion that would not play well on the Strip. Nevada is on tap to follow the same failed 3rd grade retention policy (as Mississippi) in 2029.
Low-level readers are not lazy. They didn't choose to be in the bottom reading groups in first and second grades. If terminated, the NAEP would be missed only by politicians and media pundits that use test scores to unfairly denigrate public education and at-risk students.
Across the country, including Nevada, there is an obsession with the ill effects of the pandemic on academic achievement. There were no permanent effects on long-term academic outcomes and lives were saved by shutting down in-person classroom instruction. Test scores have mostly rebounded to previous levels with the same demographic gaps.
Spoiler alert for CCSD: Extended school days and longer academic years have never provided an effective solution to closing standardized test score gaps. There is a saturation point for learning. More of the same will not change outcomes.
Test scores have become the accepted measure for school success; despite a lack of evidence that differences in school settings and educational practices appreciably affect individual test scores. There is a continued fascination with comparisons of standardized test scores using the same tired statistical data when annual results are released. It is nonsense.
Hashtags
Try Our AI Features
Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:
Comments
No comments yet...
Related Articles
Yahoo
43 minutes ago
- Yahoo
Wondering where to start with Dostoevsky? Try his Ukrainian contemporaries instead
Since the start of Russia's full-scale invasion of Ukraine in 2022, a growing debate has emerged over the cultural and political legacy of Russian literature — particularly the global reverence for classic Russian authors, which critics argue has long served to promote the imperial narratives embedded in their work. As Ukrainian author Oksana Zabuzhko wrote in the Times Literary Supplement in 2022, their works of literature are 'the camouflage net' for Russian tanks in Ukraine. Among the most famous classic Russian authors is 19th-century Russian author Fyodor Dostoevsky (1821–1881). More than a century after his death, Dostoevsky remains a dominant figure in the world literary canon, his name recognized even by those who have never read his work. This April, Penguin Books reissued an English-language edition of his short story 'The Dream of a Ridiculous Man,' while his novella 'White Nights' continues to enjoy popularity among online literary communities. Defenders of Dostoevsky maintain that his writing transcends politics, focusing on existential and psychological themes. They argue that interpreting his work through a nationalist or imperialist lens oversimplifies the complexity of his ideas. But many scholars and commentators point to Dostoevsky's spiritual vision of Russia's destiny — a vision that portrays the country as a moral, unifying force against a 'decaying' West that was, at the time, heading toward the Gilded Age. They draw parallels between this worldview and that of contemporary Russian ideologues like Alexander Dugin, who frame Russian aggression in near-religious terms. As the war continues, it remains to be seen whether Russia's literary past can be disentangled from its politics. Rather than calling for a boycott of Russian authors, the Kyiv Independent wants to raise a more illuminating question: Why do so few English-language readers know the Ukrainian authors who were the contemporaries of Dostoevsky? The lack of global recognition for Ukraine's classic writers is not coincidental. It reflects a legacy of imperial domination, during which the Russian Empire frequently suppressed the Ukrainian language and culture, the same empire that Dostoevsky often praised in his writings. Some of the most influential voices in the history of Ukrainian literature were active during the same period as Dostoevsky. Others who came just before him, like Mykola Gogol, are known worldwide but have long been misclassified as 'Russian.' Literary figures such as Lesia Ukrainka and Ivan Franko, who came to the literary scene just after Dostoevsky's time, are now reemerging in English translation — their essential works poised to resonate with a global audience, just as they once did across the European intellectual landscape. Although there is no evidence that Dostoevsky knew his Ukrainian contemporaries, they did interact with some other famous Russian authors. Below is a brief overview of three Ukrainian authors of the 19th century and the themes that shaped their work. The purpose of this list is not to outright dismiss Russian literature, but rather to remind people of the selective nature of the global literary canon, and to draw attention to the Ukrainian voices that have long been overlooked or marginalized. Born a serf, Ukrainian national icon Taras Shevchenko gained his freedom thanks to his artistic talent. But liberation did not end his struggle — instead, it sharpened his focus on the plight of his people under Russian imperial rule. A pioneer of ethnographic art and literature, Shevchenko used both pen and brush to document the everyday lives of Ukrainians, casting a critical eye on their subjugation and the erasure of their culture. Published in 1840, 'Kobzar' is widely regarded as Taras Shevchenko's defining work. The collection takes its name from traditional Ukrainian musicians who sang of Cossack heroism while playing the kobza, a stringed instrument. The poems reflect on the cultural and political struggles of Ukraine under Russian rule. In 'To Kvitka-Osnovianenko,' Shevchenko pays tribute to the writer Hryhorii Kvitka-Osnovianenko, an early advocate of Ukrainian as a literary language, and mourns the destruction of the Zaporizhzhian Sich, the Cossacks' last stronghold, in the 18th century. Another poem, 'Kateryna,' tells the story of a young Ukrainian woman seduced and abandoned by a Russian imperial soldier, highlighting the personal toll of imperial domination. Shevchenko was deeply influenced by ideas of national identity, language, and self-determination — views that drew the ire of the tsarist authorities. He was arrested in 1847 and exiled to military service in a remote part of Kazakhstan. According to historical accounts, Tsar Nicholas I reportedly ordered that Shevchenko be restricted from writing or painting. However, Shevchenko still managed to create art and later returned briefly to Ukraine before his death. Read also: Looking to read Ukraine-related books? We picked the best of 2024 Kulish's politics were somewhat complex, perhaps even contradictory to some. In his early years, he was affiliated with the Brotherhood of Saints Cyril and Methodius, a short-lived secret political society that existed between 1845 and 1847. The group championed the federalization of the Russian Empire, a Ukrainian language and culture revival, and the abolition of serfdom, among other initiatives. Over time, however, Kulish's stance diverged from mainstream Ukrainian thought, particularly as he advocated for the preservation of a distinct Ukrainian culture while simultaneously supporting a political union with Russia. This position ultimately led to his marginalization in many Ukrainian intellectual circles, both in Russian-controlled Ukraine and the parts of Ukraine under the rule of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. Despite this, Kulish continues to be respected and read by many Ukrainians today for his literary achievements. His novel 'The Black Council' (1857) is considered the first historical novel in Ukrainian literature. Set against the backdrop of the Ruin — the tumultuous period following the death of Cossack Hetman Bohdan Khmelnytskyi in 1657 — it delves into the power struggles that ensued. The novel draws inspiration from the Black Council of 1663, a pivotal gathering in Nizhyn in modern-day Chernihiv Oblast, where nobles and commoners alike converged to elect a new hetman for left-bank Ukraine. The novel not only captures the fierce internal conflicts among Cossack leaders but also explores the deep social rifts that defined one of Ukraine's most fractured and tragic eras. Excerpts of the novel have been translated online. However, a full publication of the book in English translation has yet to materialize. Among Ukraine's most talented female writers was Marko Vovchok, whose 'Folk Stories' was published in 1857, shortly after the ascension of Tsar Alexander II, initially seen as a reform-minded ruler compared to his father, Nicholas I. However, while the serfs were liberated under his rule in 1861, it could be argued that the liberal period of his rule, at least for Ukrainians, was short-lived: a decree in 1863 banned Ukrainian-language publications, followed by the stricter Ems Ukaz of 1876. Vovchok's collection gained even greater significance in this repressive climate. Focused on the suffering of Ukrainian peasants — especially women — under serfdom, the stories were informed by her early work assisting her husband's ethnographic research. She gathered material directly from villagers, preserving oral traditions. Russian writer Ivan Turgenev translated the stories into Russian, sparking additional debate in literary circles over the realities of serfdom. Shevchenko is said to have recommended her work to Turgenev, declaring her 'the most powerful in our language.' In the short story 'The Cossack Girl' from the collection, Olesia, a free woman, falls in love with a serf and chooses to marry him, ultimately sacrificing her freedom. Her family warns her that marrying a serf will disgrace their village and its Cossack heritage, even suggesting that she might as well 'drown herself.' Olesia insists that love is more important than social status. The marriage, however, proves disastrous, with Olesia, her husband, and their children enduring significant hardship. Under empire, happy endings are a rarity — if they exist at all. Hi, this is Kate Tsurkan, thank you for reading this article. Here at the Kyiv Independent, we don't put stories behind a paywall, because we believe the world needs to know the truth of Russia's war. To fund our reporting, we rely on our community of over 18,000 members from around the world, most of whom give just $5 a month. We're aiming to reach 20,000 soon — join our community and help us reach this goal. Read also: 10 authors shaping contemporary Ukrainian literature We've been working hard to bring you independent, locally-sourced news from Ukraine. Consider supporting the Kyiv Independent.
San Francisco Chronicle
5 hours ago
- San Francisco Chronicle
Now that Musk has turned his chainsaw on Trump, what happens to all the government data he accessed?
For anyone who's seen the quintessential slasher classic 'The Texas Chainsaw Massacre,' the destructive power of a man wielding a chainsaw is the indisputable stuff of nightmares. But the same could easily be said about this year's remake featuring Elon Musk, where the dancing chainsaw slasher reenacted, for Conservative Political Action Conference theatergoers, a scene eerily reminiscent of the original. I'm thinking, specifically, of that unforgettable final scene, where Leatherface fades to black swinging his gas-powered murder weapon wildly through the air as he helplessly watches his last potential victim make her last-minute daring escape, dangling from the back of a stranger's pickup truck. Social Security? Gutted. Veterans programs? Gutted. Alzheimer's, cancer and climate research? Gutted. School lunches, Head Start, the entire Department of Education? All gutted. Air safety, food safety, consumer protections? Gutted. Gutted. Gutted. Museums, libraries, hospitals, childcare? You get the drift. And what about all those thousands of federal workers whose jobs were cut? It'll take us years to recover from these self-inflicted wounds. Not to mention the generational damage wrought to our standing in the global community by what is possibly Musk's proudest personal achievement: the decimation of America's foreign assistance programs feeding starving children, combating human trafficking, fighting malaria and reducing the transmission of HIV. All summarized, of course, by the heartless tweet: 'We spent the weekend feeding USAID into the wood chipper.' While the long-term consequences of these actions may be difficult to gauge, conservative estimates are measured in the tens of thousands. But now, apparently, our modern-day Leatherface has turned his power tool on the guy who gave him the chainsaw in the first place. Even implying that his former boss was involved in the Jeffrey Epstein sex trafficking conspiracy, and has since conspired to bury the evidence that would expose Trump's connections to Epstein's decades-long criminal activities — sort of hard to put that toothpaste back into the tube, wouldn't you say? At first glance, this appears to have all the makings of an Ultimate Fighting Championship bout, fought in the middle of a monster truck rally. This calls to mind the 1990s Claymation TV show 'Celebrity Deathmatch,' where preposterously paired big-name personalities (Hillary vs. Monica? Prince Charles vs. Prince?) fought to the death. Promises to be one hell of a show! What America may be in danger of losing sight of in the ensuing spectacle is the real threat to our national security posed by the world's richest man, who, until quite recently, enjoyed unfettered access to everything the government knows about you. Never before has the data your federal government collects about every American been consolidated into a single database. It has always, religiously, been 'siloed' into disconnected data systems — some at the Treasury Department, some at the Education Department, some at the Veterans Affairs and the Social Security Administration, among other agencies — but always carefully stored and guarded by the separate entities collecting the data. The New York Times, for example, recently published a comprehensive story detailing 314 specific personal details your government potentially knows about you. I suggest giving that a read. A week ago, this casual observer would have assumed these two men, Trump and Musk, were acting with a single motive. Assembling the master data that could make possible Trump's ambitions for sweeping dictatorial powers, and for Musk's ambitions. The sheer volume of data, of course, far outstrips anything that social media titans like Mark Zuckerberg or Musk could legally monetize. And, in any event, certainly not the quid pro quo one might expect for a $288 million campaign contribution. Musk seemed, instead, to be carving himself a unique role in a near-future authoritarian oligarchy, as the undisputed Richelieu to Trump's Louis XIII. But, alas, that was not to be. What is to be, is the shocking revelation that a man who just days ago was given the ceremonial key to the White House — and in the weeks prior, the key to just about every federal government data base — has now cut all ties, and who we know talks regularly with Vladimir Putin, with whom he enjoys a reportedly friendly relationship, is now a free agent. Did Musk take the data with him? To me, the answer seems obvious. The way his pot-smoking 'college dropouts' sauntered into agency after rarified government agency, enjoying open access to virtually anything they wanted — and then they were called out by a whistleblower for uploading huge troves of data to an unsecured server. Within minutes, after Russian hackers had apparently been tipped off, they tried to download it using the correct passwords. We are told that in the end, the Russians were unable to access the data. Whether or not that denial is accurate and truthful, however, again, what should be obvious is that Musk's team successfully spirited your personal information from secure government databases to god knows where. That is the reality to which we wake today, and now every day. Let's hope that after those two Claymation figures have beaten the clay out of each other, someone comes up with a plan to clean up the mess they made. Before it's too late. Brett Wagner, now retired, served as professor of national security decision making for the U.S. Naval War College and adjunct fellow at the Center for Strategic and International Studies.
Miami Herald
8 hours ago
- Miami Herald
A daughter with DACA, a mother without papers, and a goodbye they can't bear
Michelle Valdes' mom thinks she sees immigration agents everywhere: in the lobby of the building where she cares for elderly clients, at the local outlet mall, on downtown corners. The fear is constant. Driving to work, going to the store —just leaving the house feels too risky for her. At work, while she cooks and cleans in her clients' homes, she listens as stories of immigration detentions, deportations and constantly changing laws and policies play loudly in English from the TV. The 67-year-old undocumented Colombian national who has lived in the United States for more than a third of her life has stopped driving completely, opting for Uber, and ducking down in the backseat when she sees police officers. As a Jehovah's Witness, she has chosen not to do her door-to-door ministry and only attends church on Zoom. But what keeps her up at night these days is that she will soon go without seeing her daughter, likely for close to a decade. She is preparing to leave the United States after 23 years, leaving behind her 31-year-old daughter, a DACA recipient or 'Dreamer' who came to the United States when she was 8 and is still in the process of gaining her green card. Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals, or DACA, is a federal program that protects undocumented people who came to the U.S. as children from deportation. 'I don't want to feel like I'm going to be spending two months in some detention center in the middle of God knows where, where none of my family members see me,' she said in Spanish during an interview with the Herald. She asked not to use her name for this story because she fears she could be targeted. 'I'm done,' she said. Her daughter's immigration situation is also precarious, even though she is married to a U.S. citizen. His family, from Cuba, got lucky when they won the visa lottery. But her family did not have such luck. Valdes' family did what immigrants often do: They fled danger, asked for political asylum, hired lawyers and filed paperwork. And they lost. Last year, only 19.3% of Colombian asylum cases were approved, according to researchers at Syracuse University. Even in 2006, when violence was at a very high point in Colombia, only 32% of asylum cases were approved. Their family's story reveals the toll a constantly changing and exceedingly complicated immigration system has on families who tried to 'do the right thing' and legalize their status. Now, under President Trump's administration, which has ramped up enforcement and the optics around it, being undocumented has become even more hazardous. People who have been living and working in the shadows in the United States are now being forced to decide if the reward of seeking a better life is still worth the risk. And those who are following the rules are afraid the rules will keep changing. The mother has already started packing boxes. Denied asylum Valdes' mom had never heard of the American Dream. She said she had never even heard the phrase 'el sueño americano' before coming to the United States. The family fled Colombia in 2002, leaving behind comfort and status. Valdes' mother had been an architect in Cartagena, a city on the South American nation's Caribbean coast. The family had a driver, a cook and a nanny. But violence by the Fuerzas Armadas Revolucionarias de Colombia, the rebel group known as FARC, was encroaching on their lives: armed robbery at their home, threatening calls and the kidnapping of her cousin, a wealthy businessperson. The family was forced to pay a ransom for his release. The early 2000s in Colombia, under President Andrés Pastrana, were years of intense violence by guerrilla gangs such as the FARC, who targeted wealthier Colombians. 'They would just pick up anybody who they believed they could get money from,' said Valdes. Her aunt would often call Valdes' mom from Florida, telling her their family would be safer here. The family arrived on a tourist visa in 2002, found a lawyer and applied for asylum. It was denied in 2004. Under U.S. immigration policy, people who have suffered persecution due to factors such as race, religion, nationality, membership to a social group, or political opinion can apply for asylum. It must be filed within a year of arrival in the United States. Valdes' family's interview did not go well and they were placed in removal proceedings. They appealed and in 2006 took the case to the U.S. Board of Immigration Appeals. The family's asylum application claimed that Valdes' mom would be killed by the FARC guerilla gang if she returned to Colombia, in connection with her cousin's kidnapping. But the court ultimately found holes in her case, and said her fear is not well founded and that she failed to prove that she would be in danger if she returned to Colombia. Their final motion was denied in part because it was filed 45 days late, according to the court filing. Valdes was just 11 years old when the courts denied her family's final plea to stay in the United States. The family was issued removal orders. 'I feel like I made a mistake asking for asylum,' said Valdes' mother. 'I wasn't guided well because I was scared and didn't know what to do.' She says predatory lawyers charged her close to $40,000 but never told her the truth about her odds of winning the case. 'It's pure show,' she said in Spanish. 'I believed they would help, but they did nothing.' By then, Valdes and her brothers were attending public schools in West Palm Beach, a right undocumented children have because of a supreme court ruling which passed narrowly in the early '80s. 'I just kind of poured my whole life into school, just to kind of distract myself from other things going on in life, specifically with immigration,' she said. In fifth grade, she won the science fair. At Roosevelt Middle School she was in the pre-med program and the national junior honor society. She always had A's and B's in school. But when her middle school national honor society was invited to Australia, she had to stay behind, unable to travel because she was undocumented. At Suncoast Community High School, she was invited to sing in a choir concert in Europe, but again, she could not go. In 2007, ICE detained Valdes' parents and her eldest brother. Her other brother and Valdes were picked up from school and reunited with their parents at the ICE office. Valdes' mom said the officer told her that since the family had a removal order, they needed to deport at least one person to prove they completed their quota for the day. But to this day, Valdes and her mother can't fully explain why the father was deported but they were released. Was it luck? Did the ICE officers sympathize with their family? Then 13, Valdes remembers standing in the Miami immigration office as agents took her father away. 'He was wearing jeans, a tan coat and a gray-blue fisherman's hat,' she said. 'What I remember the most is that there was, like, some sort of feeling that I got, that I knew that I was never gonna see him again.' He was deported in January of 2007, when Valdes was in seventh grade. It was the only semester she ever failed in school, she said. Her father died at 69 in Colombia in 2022. A petition for him to get legal status and return to the U.S., filed on his behalf of his son from a previous marriage, was approved a year after his death, said Valdes. '17 years too late,' she said, in tears. DACA as a lifeline In 2012, Valdes and her mother were preparing to leave the United States for good. Flights were booked. Boxes mailed. Then, just 14 days before departure, President Obama announced the Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals program. The program was meant to protect children like Valdes, who came to the U.S. at a young age. Valdes was 18. Her phone lit up with messages from people in her community who knew she was undocumented. She applied that October. As a 'Dreamer,' or DACA recipient, she's protected from deportation and able to work legally — but can't travel outside the country. Her two older brothers, Ricardo and Jean Paul, had already left the country by then. After attending public schools and graduating from high school, the brothers could not attend college or find work. So in 2011, they returned to Colombia, and their mother sent them money to attend university. They both still live there and haven't seen their mom in 14 years. Valdes' situation was slightly better, but without legal permanent residency, she didn't qualify for most scholarships. The one scholarship she did get was a $4,000 scholarship from the Global Education Center at Palm Beach State, but $1,500 was deducted in taxes because she was considered a foreign student. Starting in 2014, Florida universities provided in-state tuition waivers for undocumented students under certain conditions. But because Valdes didn't enroll in college within a year of graduating from high school, she lost access to the waiver. That waiver was recently canceled in Florida for undocumented students, and starting July 1, at least 6,500 DACA recipients in Florida enrolled in public universities will have to pay the out-of-state tuition rate. 'When people asked me what I wanted for my birthday, I would ask for money to pay my tuition,' she said. Throughout those years, people would come to Valdes asking for help filling out their work permit applications, DACA applications and other legal forms, and they would say, 'Wow, you are so good at it.' Although she never wanted to do anything law or immigration related, she kept getting pulled in that direction, and decided to get her paralegal certificate, Valdes said. She now works at an immigration law office. Her plan is to go to law school after getting hands on training. 'I always thought: When I turn 18, I'm an adult — 'why am I still tied to my mom's case?' ' she said. 'But nobody explained it.' At her job in the law office, she finally learned the full truth of her case. Her name is still listed on her mother's asylum application — the case that was denied in 2006. So she still had a final removal order connected to her name. That case, and its order of removal, still haunts her. Although she's married to a U.S. citizen, it will take her years to adjust her status to get a green card and permanent residency status. The process will involve her husband filing petitions and waivers explaining that it would be an extreme hardship for him if she were deported. Valdes will have to leave the country and re-enter. In all, the process could take around eight years. Former president Joe Biden had a program to help people like Valdes, whose family is of 'mixed-status' but the program was shut down by Republicans. Immigration attorneys say there are fewer and fewer pathways for people married to U.S. citizens to legalize their status. The roadblocks and complications frustrate Valdes to tears. Valdes said that it is not fair that 'under our immigration system, a child, at such a young age, has to suffer the consequences of the parents' mistakes.' 'No es justo, no es justo,' she said, crying. It's not fair. But immigration laws, enforcement and policies are changing every day. 'People say 'get in line, get in line, get in line,' and then you get in line, and it's like, 'Oh, too bad, you don't apply with that anymore, or we're just going to change the laws. Or, you know, you aged out, or you didn't submit by this day,' said Valdes. In the past weeks, ICE agents across the nation have even begun detaining people as they exit immigration courthouses. Some are individuals with final orders of deportation like Valdes and her mom. Just this week, the Supreme Court ruled that President Trump can revoke humanitarian parole for over 500,000 migrants from Cuba, Haiti, Nicaragua and Venezuela. President Trump has spoken favorably of DACA recipients, but nonetheless, 'Dreamers' still have to reapply every two years, and there is no guarantee their right to legally be in the U.S. will not be revoked. Immigration attorneys say DACA could be the next program to be shut down by the Supreme Court. 'How shaky is DACA? How solid is it?' Valdes asked. Same fear, different country Valdes' mom says she now feels the same fear in the United States as she did in Colombia — maybe worse. 'I'm scared. Terrified,' she said. 'I'm constantly looking over my shoulder, always on alert.' For years, she tried to hold on. But after 23 years, she's tired of living in limbo. Valdes and her mom try not to think much about the fact that they are leaving each other, focusing more on the present and getting through each day. Valdes' mom says her ultimate goal was always for her daughter to get an education in the United States, and now that her daughter has a job, a husband, and is planting roots, she feels like she can go and let her daughter live her life. She left Colombia because she was 'tired of being followed. I was tired of being paranoid. I was tired of never being able to have my freedom, to just live, because I was always so scared. And fast forward, 23 years later, I'm just in the same boat in a different country,' she said. The hardest part for Valdes is imagining being pregnant and then giving birth without her mom by her side. But, she says, 'Now I tell her, I totally understand. It's your turn to finish living your life, Mom. I want her to be at peace, and I want her to rest.' As her mother prepares to leave, Michelle is left with the frustration of knowing that there's nothing she can do. 'I am still helpless. I still can't help her. I still can't help myself. It's a looming darkness you carry every day,' said Valdes.
