Navigating higher education as a first-generation student is a journey marked by resilience and extraordinary determination. These stories honor the experiences of students who are often the first in their families to pursue a college degree, creating a legacy of perseverance and hope. We spotlight Luz Velazquz before her and driven by her passion to give back. Her path reminds us that being a first-generation is not just about being the first, but about opening doors for others and shaping a future rooted in purpose and compassion.
Can you share a bit about your background and what it was like growing up as a first-generation individual?
I was born in New York City to two resilient Paraguayan immigrants whose sacrifices laid the foundation for everything I’ve become and everything I fight for. As a first-generation, low-income Latina in a mixed-status household, I was thrust into the harsh realities of inequity that define the immigrant experience in the U.S. My parents, who left everything behind to build a better future, taught me the power of education and the importance of community. At home, I spoke Spanish and Guaraní – Paraguay’s Indigenous language – and became the bridge between my family and the world beyond our door. From translating complex documents to advocating in healthcare settings, that responsibility early on shaped my sense of purpose and fueled my commitment to amplify the voices that are often kept silent.
Were there any specific moments during your upbringing or undergraduate experiences that shaped your outlook on education, career, or ambition, and what inspired you to pursue diplomacy?
The moment that changed everything came during my freshman year at Binghamton. I was walking back from a final exam when I got a call that stopped me in my tracks – my brothers had been detained by ICE and was being held in custody. I had always known immigration advocacy was my fight. As the only U.S. citizen in my family, I had only long carried the weight of that privilege, fully aware of what it meant to move through the world with protections my loved ones didn’t have.
But this moment was different. It was the moment I realized I could no longer keep immigration advocacy at the margins of my life – it had to be at the center. My brother’s deportation shattered me, but it also brought my purpose into sharp focus. I wasn’t just passionate about this work – I was called to it. I knew then that I was meant to be in the policy space, using my voice to fight for those who are too often silenced or made invisible.
So I changed course. I left behind the path I thought I was supposed to follow and dove headfirst into immigration advocacy. I began researching the trauma of deportation and family separation, centering on the emotional and psychological toll these policies have on real people – people like my own family. I pursued everyone opportunity I could to understand the systems that perpetuate injustice and find ways to challenge them.
Along the way, I was fortunate to have professors and mentors who believed in me and helped me see that diplomacy was not just a space I could enter – it was a space where I could lead with purpose. The moment of heartbreak became the foundation for my commitment to use the voice and access to advocate for those who are often silenced, marginalized, or excluded.
Could you share a memorable experience from your diplomatic work that deeply resonated with your identity as a first-generation student?
In the summer of 2024, I found myself in Vienna, Austria, serving as a Political Fellow at the U.S Mission to the OSCE as part of the Thomas R. Pickering Foreign Affairs Fellowship. it was my first major diplomatic posting – and I was both excited and overwhelmed. I was attending high-level multilateral meetings, sitting in rooms where real global decisions were being made. Yet, despite all I had accomplished to get there, imposter syndrome crept in.
One of the most memorable moments came during a diplomatic reception at the U.S Ambassador’s residence. I remember standing alone, unsure of how to navigate the space or where I belonged in it. I questioned whether I was polished enough, experienced enough, or event meant to be there. That’s when a colleague – also a first-gen professional walked up to me and said, “I remember how I felt at my first ambassador event.”
That one sentence shifted everything. For the rest of the evening, he staying by my side, introducing me to others, sharing my story, and reminding that I had every right to take up space. He didn’t just offer support – he modeled what ally ship and representation look like in action.
That moment taught me something I now carry with me in every room I enter; that we don’t succeed alone. As first-generation professionals, it’s not just about breaking barriers – it’s about holding the door open from others and helping them feel seen. We may be new to the space, but we are not out of place.
Did you ever feel the pressure of breaking barriers on setting an example as the first in your family to pursue certain goals?
Absolutely! I constantly feel the pressure to set an example as the first in my family to pursue higher education, from my bachelor’s degree to my master’s and now in my role as a diplomat. It’s hard to find community in these spaces, especially as a Paraguayan-American. I have yet to find another Paraguayan-American in the Foreign Service who shares my story or experiences. All my life, I have witnessed my parents struggle, and to have the privilege to achieve tremendous social mobility and access from one generation to the next brings many feelings. My parents work in the service and construction industry and were undocumented for the majority of my childhood. To be able to go from that to now me becoming a US diplomat brings immense pressure but also a beautiful responsibility. I aim to use my story to show the world that Americans come in all forms and that my story is not unique. America is a melting pot of all races, nationalities, religions, and many other identities.
How do you navigate the complexities of identity in international spaces or research
settings where diverse backgrounds and perspectives are important?
By staying rooted in who I am and surrounding myself with people who remind me why I
started. The higher I go, the more I feel the tension of navigating systems that weren’t built for people like me. But I’ve learned that visibility is a form of resistance.
In every space I enter—whether it’s a diplomatic mission or a research setting—I bring my full self: the daughter of immigrants, the sister of someone deported, the young girl who translated bills and doctor visits. I’ve learned that our lived experiences are not just valid—they’re vital. They bring nuance, empathy, and urgency to the work.
My community grounds me. My story guides me. And my purpose fuels me.
You’ve mentioned multitasking and navigating the government sector. What advice would you give to other first-generation students looking to build successful careers in demanding government roles?
My biggest advice to other first-gen students is this: never underestimate the strengths of your lived experience. The very things that may have once made you feel “behind” or “different” – translating for your family, navigating systems on your own, balancing school with jobs – are the same skills that make you resilient, adaptable, and incredibly capable in high-stakes roles.
In government, you’ll often being rooms where you’re one of the few – if not only – the person with your background. That can feel isolating, but it’s also powerful. You bring perspective that are urgently needed. You know how policies impact people on the ground because you’ve lived it. Don’t let imposter syndrome make you shrink. Own your story.
Also, ask for help. Seek mentors who see your potential and aren’t afraid to guide you. No makes it alone – and you don’t have to prove yourself by doing everything on your own.
Finally, give yourself grace. Government roles can be intense, and we tend to carry the pressure of “being the first” like it’s a badge we have to constantly defend. But you are allowed to learn, grow, and ask questions. You belong in these spaces just as much as anyone else.
Your background is not a limitation – it’s your greatest strength. Use it.
