He was an undocumented immigrant. Now he runs LA's community colleges

When Alberto Román was a boy growing up in the Mexican state of Durango, his father was often far from home. Most times, he’d be gone for months.

Román’s father, Javier, had a third-grade education. And when work was scarce in Mexico, he’d venture north to the United Sates and take whatever job he could find.

Javier washed cars. He worked in factories. He picked crops. He built houses.

“He was a guy you would find at Home Depot,” Román told LAist. “He did whatever it took to put food on the table and provide [his family] with shelter.”

Román missed his father terribly, and he relished the time alone with him. When his father would return to Mexico, they'd hike to a majestic statue of the revolutionary Pancho Villa, where Román and his father could also look out at their city.

Román did not know it then but, soon, that view would become a memory. When he was eight, his father returned; but, this time, Javier took his son, his daughter, and his wife with him back to the U.S. The family settled in Rialto, in California's Inland Empire. Suddenly, Román had a new home and new challenges to contend with.

A young Alberto Román (right) with his sister, mother and father in Durango, Mexico.

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Courtesy Alberto Román

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The move to Rialto unfurled a series of labels and experiences. Román became undocumented; an “English language learner”; a teenage father; a parenting student. With time, he became a naturalized U.S. citizen and, then, a first-generation college graduate who would one day earn a doctorate.

Today, Román serves as chancellor of the Los Angeles Community College District, which includes nine campuses and more than 200,000 students.

A lot of these students are parents like he was, Román said, and the vast majority of them have to work to help put themselves through school.

And many of them are also immigrants.

Leading LACCD's response to immigration policy

Román was appointed chancellor last May. Soon after, the Trump administration unleashed its militarized mass deportation effort, which included raids and a show of force throughout L.A. County.

One of the chancellor’s responsibilities is managing LACCD’s response to the Trump administration.

Undocumented college students in the U.S. are racially and ethnically diverse. California has an estimated 100,000 undocumented students, who make up a small percentage of the overall higher ed population. The majority of those undocumented students are enrolled in community colleges.

In conversation with LAist, Román referred to the ongoing raids and immigration detentions as “inhumane.” He also described the experience of a student whose father didn’t come home one night. After being detained by immigration agents, Román said, the student’s family “didn't know where he was for two months.”

The student was 20 years old when her father was taken. Overnight, she became the head of her household. Now, on top of fulfilling her responsibilities at school, she has to figure out how to keep herself and her younger siblings housed and fed.

To support students in mixed-status families, the district’s Dream Resource Centers provide them with legal support, temporary housing options, additional mental health services and food vouchers.

Alouette Cervantes-Salazar coordinates East Los Angeles College’s Dream Resource Center, which provides support and services for undocumented students; DACA and TPS recipients; and students in mixed-status families.

According to Cervantes-Salazar, the Trump administration’s deportation effort has transformed campus life. When the raids began last summer, she said, “quite a bit” of students who used to take classes in person moved to complete the semester online.

For some, Cervantes-Salazar added, online coursework has become preferable because it enables students to better juggle school and work. For others, the fear of getting to and from campus amid roving immigration patrols has become a decisive factor.

Whether the Dream Resource Centers' support will be enough to meet student needs remains to be seen, but Román takes their stories to heart.

“These are the stories of our community,” he said. “These are the stories of our students. These are the stories of their parents. And they are our stories, because they come to us for an education.”

From 'English language learner' to college graduate  

Román’s story in the U.S. began in the 1980s. After moving to California, it took Román about two years to learn enough English to communicate with his classmates. Until then, his time in school was lonely.

Back then, dual language immersion programs — an educational model that teaches students in English and another language (such as Spanish or Mandarin) to achieve biliteracy — were rare in the U.S. At Román’s elementary school, he said, they were nonexistent.

To help him learn English, Román’s educators placed him in a separate room for about three hours a day. He was given a stack of books. His job was to put on headphones, listen to audio recordings of the texts and do his best to follow along.

When Román tried speaking English, some students made fun of his accent. A bilingual child who struggled with Spanish was tasked with serving as his interpreter.

Román said he cried to his parents. “I'm not happy here,” he told them. "Let's go back.”

His parents made it clear that returning to Mexico was not an option. They’d been poor and had limited schooling, and they wanted something different for their children. Though neither of Román’s parents got to finish high school, he said, they were determined to send their children to college.

Román’s older sister graduated at the top of her class and went on to UCLA. Román aimed to follow in her footsteps.

But, when he was a high school senior, Román learned his girlfriend was pregnant. He was 17, and he wasn’t sure how fatherhood would square with pursuing higher education.

When Román told his parents there was a baby on the way, they remained steadfast. "Now you have all the more reason to go to college," his father told him. That fall, Román enrolled at UC Riverside.

To help provide for his son, Román got a job at Payless ShoeSource, where he worked up to 40 hours a week. When possible, Román stacked his classes on Tuesdays and Thursdays, to keep the rest of the week open for work.

“It was tough,” Román said. “I was getting home at 10, 10:30 at night, trying to read, trying to do essays, trying to be a father.”

“In moments of weakness,” he added, he contemplated quitting school. But, like his parents, Román wanted a better life for his son.

Román and his son in the 1990s, when the now-LACCD chancellor was an undergrad at UC Riverside.

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Courtesy Alberto Román

)

Román graduated with a bachelor’s degree in political science in 1999. When he crossed the stage at his commencement ceremony, his child, his parents and his sister beamed from the audience.

Today, Román connects his lived experience to that of students at the district, 70% of whom study part-time. “That’s because they're working, because they have families,” he said.

Last spring, Román watched thousands of new graduates embrace their loved ones after receiving their diplomas at a commencement ceremony at the Greek Theatre.

“When I see my students on stage waving their degrees — despite all the challenges they face — that award is so much more meaningful,” he said. “I know what they went through.”