In many ways Oscar is a teenage everyman.

The 16-year-old Nashville student is gangly, with long arms and legs in mid-growth spurt. His eyes are aquariumed behind a pair of glasses, and when he speaks, his voice tends to squeak like a leaking gas pipe. But unlike many of his mumbling coevals, the high school junior is articulate and thoughtful about the major issues he faces in his young life.

On the surface, it's the usual cocktail of adolescent angst: spats with friends, feuding cliques, anxieties about fitting in and the occasional argument with parents. But he's got more to contend with than rampant hormones and typical teen problems. Oscar, whose real name the Scene agreed to withhold, along with the names of other students cited in this story, was born in Mexico and came across the border with his parents when he was 3 years old. Today he resides illegally in the U.S.

His immigration status is no secret at school, he says, and every day he's the target of racist gibes from fellow students who see him as an uninvited guest. "I'm not a wetback. When I went over the river, I was on someone's shoulders, so my back never got wet," Oscar jokes, brushing aside a common slur. "You could call me wetfeet, but that's about it."

Immigration status is fodder these days for school-hall taunts, in part because the public education system is facing a growing gulf between undocumented students and those born here.

According to Oscar—who's been a student in the Metro school system since kindergarten—he never really considered himself, or was treated by others, as different. That changed, he says, in high school, when college became a conversation topic. All of a sudden, a Social Security number was the key to higher education—splitting the student body into the haves and have-nots.

"My freshman year, that's when everything just changed," he says. "Everyone started talking about college, the ACT and the SAT. I just felt out of place with everyone."

Thanks to a 1982 Supreme Court decision, all children in the United States can attended public school regardless of their immigration status. Undocumented children can also attend college, but their status does preclude them from most student loans and in-state tuition. With an estimated 40 percent of the 65,000 undocumented kids who graduate annually living under the poverty line, access to financial help is often essential for enrollment.

As a result, there's a growing demographic of young adults in a position similar to Oscar's. Brought to this country before they had a voice in the decision, many undocumented kids here only have a few flashbulb memories of life before the U.S. Rather, they grow up integrated into their adopted culture, living typical teenage lives. And like most kids, they've been spoon-fed the American ideal that education is the key to a better life—a goal often obstructed by their immigration status.

There is a possible legislative answer to this problem, and one local advocacy group is lobbying to make sure Nashville's Democratic Congressman Jim Cooper knows that.

The Development, Relief and Education for Alien Minors (DREAM) Act has been batted around Congress since 2001. The act would give qualified undocumented high school graduates who moved to the U.S. before they were 15 the opportunity to apply for temporary legal status if they go to college or join the military, thus clearing the way for in-state tuition and loans. For proponents, the bill is a common sense measure that would help further the ambitions of the best and brightest undocumented students who've already been educated with U.S. tax dollars.

"These are kids who grew up here their whole lives," says Remziya Suleyma, the policy coordinator with the Tennessee Immigrant and Refugee Rights Coalition (TIRRC). "They've been through our educational system, so we've already invested in them for those 12 years until the end of high school. "And then when they're ready to go and give back, we throw obstacles in their way. [The DREAM Act] would give them a chance."

TIRRC has increased its efforts to raise awareness of the bill since it was reintroduced in Congress last March. The group wants Cooper to co-sponsor the bill and has organized petition campaigns, powwowed with the congressman's staff and has even held rallies outside of Cooper's downtown office.

But Cooper says TIRRC is knocking on the wrong door. He can't do much right now to shepherd the bill, he says, because he doesn't sit on the committee of jurisdiction. Also, the representative feels Congress is too logjammed with pressing issues such as health care and Afghanistan to work on nascent legislation.

"Right now the DREAM Act is a dream," he tells the Scene flatly. "And to turn that into reality is going to take a whole lot more work than anybody has put in so far."

Although a special interest group wooing a politician isn't new, TIRRC's work stands out because it's part of a greater effort to change the perception of immigration reform. The group has targeted the 5th District congressman specifically because of his Capitol Hill cred as a sagacious moderate.

Immigration reform efforts have historically crashed and burned because of polarizing perceptions. TIRRC wants potential supporters to see the DREAM Act not as radical policy reform but as the answer to a real American problem. The congressman's co-sponsorship could leverage support from more conservative corners of both parties.

"We all know Congressman Cooper is a leader with the Tennessee delegation," Suleyma says. "If we can get his support, then it's likely we can get the support of other Blue Dog Democrats that are so vital not only to the DREAM Act, but to comprehensive immigration reform."

Last Thursday, TIRRC staged seasonal political theater outside the congressman's office, an attempt to convince with kindness. As night fell, a group of about 40 demonstrators met in the small park across from his district home base.

Hoisting high a Christmas tree strung with paper decorations, the group marched along the sidewalk and one by one entered the lobby of Cooper's office. Inside, each dropped a petition or note asking for the congressman's support into bags held by a trio of smiling staffers. Then, assembled outside on the sidewalk, the group sang familiar Christmas songs with lyrics tweaked for the DREAM Act.

The demonstrators ranged in age from young children to graying men. But the majority of the assembled were high school students and recent graduates—those affected directly by the legislation, or lack of it. After finishing high school with high marks, many say they were offered needed scholarships and in-state tuition, only to have the funding yanked away once their undocumented status was discovered.

Carlos, for example, graduated from McGavock High School with a 3.7 grade point average. He decided he wanted to go into aviation, eventually finding a school in Florida that would give him a full ride. But when it became apparent he didn't have legal status in the U.S., the school dropped the scholarship offer.

"It's been hard ever since seeing my friends go to college and do things in life, and I'm stuck in the same place not being able to do anything," he says.

One option Carlos does have is to return to his home country, Guatemala, where a college education is not as expensive. He's considering the move, he says, even though he knows he'd be a complete cultural outsider in his homeland. But the tempting offer of a more affordable education may force him to leave the U.S.

Another option for undocumented students is to pay full tuition for college classes. But again, the price tag on higher education can be prohibitive. Veronica, 22, is currently taking community college classes. Once an aspiring artist who had student paintings displayed in the Frist Center and at TPAC, today she's studying business management. Cobbling together what she can from a job waiting tables, Veronica spends what she has left after bills on her degree.

"It takes two paychecks to pay for one class. That's a month worth of money," she says. "I only have seven or eight more classes, but I feel like giving up. It's just so much money that I've invested."

Cooper says he'll keep an open mind if the DREAM Act ever comes up for a vote, but he doesn't think the legislation will have any legs in the current session.

"In a solidly Democratic Congress, why hasn't it even had committee mark up?" Cooper asks.

When the bill was reintroduced earlier in 2009, for the first time the DREAM Act did attract a considerable bipartisan showing, with 105 representatives and 32 senators signing on. But after almost a year's worth of tea parties and health care debates, it's unlikely Congress will be willing to take up another polarizing topic. In fact, D.C. newspaper The Hill reported earlier this month that Speaker of the House Nancy Pelosi has told Democrats point blank she wouldn't bring controversial bills to the floor in 2010 unless they pass through the Senate first—immigration reform included.

Cooper adds that even if the DREAM Act passed in Congress, the Tennessee legislature would have to green-light portions of the legislation, mainly the question of whether to allow in-state tuition to undocumented students. With the legislature shifting to the political right, it's unlikely state lawmakers would be receptive.

But TIRRC is confident moderate and conservative legislators who have shied away from past immigration legislation can get behind the Dream Act. Unlike widespread amnesty, the bill's scope is simple yet has a substantive goal—giving more education and opportunity to kids.

"I think a lot of representatives, even if they don't support comprehensive immigration reform, are going to eventually support the DREAM Act," Suleyma says. " It's a much more safe, neutral issue for congressional leaders to get behind."

Email editor@nashvillescene.com.