Nagaad Times-April 2006.qxd - NEAT

April 15th 2006 Nagaad Times Page 16
Faces of the illegals
At the heart of a debate that has captured the nation’s
attention, an estimated 11 million illegal immigrants span
the economic and social spectrum. Here are the voices of
some former or current illegal immigrants in Minnesota.
Carlos, Margarita and Juan agreed to be interviewed only
if their true names were not disclosed, because of fears
they would be deported if identified.
Jean Hopfensperger, Star TribuneLast update: March 31,
2006 – 8:54 AM
Raul Negrete, with wife, Bridget, and their daughter, Eva:
Once illegal, he became a U.S. resident last year. Even
though there are plenty of jobs and employers willing to
hire, “there is no way to work here legally,” he said.
Juan is fresh from Mexico, still a bit shaken over his runin
with immigration last month. Carlos and Margarita are a
well-educated suburban couple who've been here five
years.Jacobo Montero is the son of a U.S. citizen. Raul
Negrete managed a fast-food restaurant staffed mainly by
illegals like him.
The term "illegal alien" conjures up images of people lurking
on society's edge. But in reality, the situation is far
more complex.
Many illegals are community and business leaders, even
lobbying Congress and serving on government committees.
Others fit the stereotype of the manual laborer. Some
arrived last week, some arrived decades ago. Some fly
here on tourist visas; others sneak across the U.S. frontier.
And if you've ever had your roof repaired, your yard landscaped
or your newspaper delivered, chances are some of
them have worked for you.
An estimated 50,000 to 85,000 strong, they're the people at
the heart of clashes unfolding this week in Congress and
Minnesota's Legislature. The stories of these individuals
reveal the enormous challenges of regulating the nation's
immigration system.
Raul Negrete: Basking in a new respectability
Once illegal, he became a U.S. resident last year. Even
though there are plenty of jobs and employers willing to
hire, “there is no way to work here legally,” he
said.Elizabeth Flores, Star Tribune
Dressed in suit and tie, Raul Negrete arrives home from
work each afternoon to his wife and daughter and counts
his newfound blessings.Last year at this time, Negrete
would walk through the front door after 3 a.m., blearyeyed
and smelling of grease. He worked at a fast-food
restaurant, a place where customers often assumed he was
stupid, he said, and management often treated workers as
dispensable.
Those are the work conditions of many illegal workers,
said Negrete, a 25-year-old from Lauderdale."I was afraid
to speak up, afraid that I might lose my job," he recalled,
sitting at his kitchen table recently with his wife, Bridget,
and their 2-year-old daughter, Eva.
"I was expected to work whenever they needed me. It took
my life." Negrete was 18 and working at his parents' hardware
store in the border town of Nuevo Laredo when he
decided to visit a relative in Minnesota. He flew here with
a tourist visa, returned to Mexico as scheduled, then came
back to the United States on another tourist visa in 2000.
That time, he stayed.Getting a fake Social Security card
was just a matter of talking to friends.
His relative lined up a job at the fast-food restaurant where
she worked. It was there that Negrete learned that employers
sometimes use the illegal status of their workers
against them.For example, Negrete recalled, a co-worker
once slipped inside a walk-in cooler and slowed down her
work pace. She was told she had to leave "because her
papers weren't in order," he said.
Negrete, who taught himself to speak English fluently,
rose to become an assistant manager. His wages climbed
to $10.50 an hour. But he still didn't have health insurance
or money to treat his constant allergies, which left him
with debilitating headaches. The silver lining was that he
met his future wife, Bridget, at the restaurant. After their
marriage, he filed a petition to become a U.S. permanent
resident in January 2005. Negrete got a temporary work
permit last May and became a permanent resident by the
year's end.
It was lightning speed by immigration standards. And
because Negrete had entered the U.S. legally, he did not
have to return to Mexico and wait for his petition to be
approved. Now Negrete can drive. He applied for a new
job -- and got it. He spends nights home with his wife and
daughter. He's not afraid of being carded at a restaurant or
bar."It's amazing what a piece of paper can do," he said.
Juan: Trail from Mexico leads to Minnesota
Last month, Juan boarded a bus in his hometown of
Puebla, Mexico, with his father. The pair stepped off the
bus in Tijuana and set forth -- on foot -- over the dry, hilly
stretch that separates Mexico from California.
They slipped across the border. But immigration agents
nabbed them near Los Angeles. After an anxious 24 hours
in a detention cell, father and son were deported to
Mexico.
Two days later, the nervous travelers snuck into California
again. A Minnesota friend met up with them and drove
them to the Twin Cities, where Juan's uncle and his family
welcomed them.
It's a pattern repeated over and over in Minnesota -- at
least for illegals from Latin America, who account for
nearly 80 percent of illegal immigrants in the United
States, according to the Pew Hispanic Center.
"The first day I got here I slept," Juan said last week,
relaxing in his uncle's small apartment in Richfield. "The
second day, I started work."
Juan had no trouble getting false identification and landing
a job in Minnesota. A relative in California had scored a
fake Social Security card for $50; another relative here
had lined up work.
Today, the former construction worker is preparing meals -
- the likes of which he'd never tasted before last month -for
customers in Edina. Working part time, he earns about
$100 a week. That's twice as much as he earned in a
month swinging hammers and lugging two-by-fours in
Mexico, he said.
"The reason people come here is to earn money, to save
money to buy a little house or start a little business [in
Mexico]," said Juan, wearing jeans and a T-shirt with his
restaurant logo. "Some go back home. Some stay.
"It's practically impossible for nonprofessional workers to
get a work visa. Fewer than 1 percent of employmentbased
visas granted each year go to unskilled workers.
Coming here was not a deliberate act of defiance, Juan
said, but simply what the young and ambitious do in
Puebla -- a major source of illegal immigrants in
Minnesota. Juan said he wasn't particularly nervous, in
part because his father had made the journey before him.
"I kind of knew what to expect," he said.
Today Juan divides his time between work, hanging out at
his uncle's apartment and crashing at night in a suburban
rambler shared by eight other illegal workers. "Next," he
said, "I want to find a second job."
Jacobo Montero: For a U.S. citizen's son, a long wait ends
Jacobo Montero was 24 when he walked into a Los
Angeles immigration office and grabbed an application to
gain permanent residency. His mother is a U.S. citizen, but
he was born in Mexico.
Thirteen years later, the government approved his request.
Montero's situation is not unusual. Adult Mexican children
of U.S. citizens typically wait more than a decade to
become legal. Sisters and brothers of U.S. citizens wait
longer.
"There'd be a lot less problems [with illegal immigration]
if the process was faster," said Montero, who has worked
underground as a chef, landscaper, apartment cleaner and
factory worker over the years.
Montero talked about his immigration journey on a recent
Sunday morning at his mother's house in St. Paul. The
aroma of warm enchiladas hung in the air. Outside the
kitchen stood an altar topped by candles and statues of
saints where Esperanza Montero used to pray she'd be
reunited with her son.
Ironically, Esperanza was deported from Mexico 15
years ago because she was an illegal U.S. immigrant.
Mexican authorities ordered her to leave after she sought
permission to visit Minnesota to see her oldest son, who
held a professional work visa here. She now is able to
visit Mexico regularly.
Montero didn't have a college degree or a company to
sponsor him. He came to the United States in 1992,
sneaking across the border into California to join his
girlfriend. After applying for residency, he was supposed
to return home and wait for its approval. He didn't.
Assuming a false name, Montero lived in California and
then joined his mother in St. Paul. With dark brown hair
and serious eyes, he blended into the large Latino community.
But he took precautions: On the streets, he paid
close attention to traffic signs and the presence of police
cars. On the job, he said, he worked hard and didn't
complain. "Other than that, it was a normal life," he
said. "We went to dances, to the movies."
His routine wasn't much different from what it is today.
He'd be up at 5 a.m., pulling on his white chef's shirt
and clean black slacks. By 7 a.m., he'd be standing in a
kitchen preparing Mexican foods. At midafternoon, he'd
drive to his second job -- this time cooking pasta and
pizza. He'd get home after 11 p.m.
Now that he's legal, Montero hopes his days of being a
chef's assistant are numbered. He wants to attend chef
school. Said Montero: "Now I can move ahead."
Carlos and Margarita: For this couple, success is fragile
Carlos and Margarita are the picture of middle-class living.
They have a comfortable suburban home with a big
back yard, two sweet young children and high hopes for
their kids' future.
Carlos owns a small business. Margarita works as a
receptionist. Both are college graduates. But they carry a
secret that haunts and embarrasses them -- they joined
the ranks of illegal immigrants when their visa expired
in 2000.
"Our biggest fear is of being deported," said Carlos, sitting
in a living room decorated with pink balloons from
his daughter's birthday party.
"Everything we have we could lose in a snap of a finger.
You always have this on your mind.
"The couple flew to Minnesota from South America to
visit family on a six-month tourist visa. They hoped to
earn some money during their stay, and they kept their
options open.
Within days, a friend of a friend handed them the telephone
number of a guy who forged Social Security
cards, as well as the name of a temp agency that would
hire them. "It was so efficient," marveled
Margarita.Carlos, a thoughtful, soft-spoken man, was
working in a warehouse within a week. Margarita later
found a job as a receptionist. A relative helped them buy
a used car.
"Everything was coming like magic," recalled
Margarita, a talkative, outgoing woman. "We thought,
why return home?"
But their road to the American dream has been bumpy.
For starters, the couple always felt nervous applying for
jobs. And they were jolted when their employers, on two
occasions, discovered problems with their Social Security
numbers and asked them to quit.
They still struggle financially. And they cannot visit
home again, even for a parent's death. Because they
overstayed their visas, they would have to wait 10 years
before they could apply for another.
And then there's the social isolation: "Our family was
always close," Margarita said. "Here everyone lives in
their own world." But the couple are reluctant to move
back to their native country. They said they have invested
so much of their lives here, and they want their children
to have opportunities they never had. Said Carlos: "It's
not an easy decision."