(MintPress) — Carlos Diaz entered the U.S. through the Arizona border 10 years ago as an 18-year-old — a man by legal definition, but a boy in all other respects.
His journey was not unlike many of the 6 million of illegal Mexican immigrants living in the U.S. Searching for a life outside of a country known for drug violence and instability, Carlos traveled to the U.S. in hopes of getting a piece of the American pie.
The land of opportunity
Carlos landed in Austin, Minn. in 2002 after sneaking into the U.S. through the Arizona border. Having made connections in the small, southeastern Minnesota town that houses Hormel’s world headquarters, Carlos was confident it was a comfortable place to begin his new American life.
He started out working with friends at a local Mexican restaurant. After one year in the area, he landed a job at Quality Pork Processors (QPP), a slaughterhouse that works in conjunction with Hormel.
All of the work Carlos aput in, up until 2009, was done so illegally, with the use of a Social Security number he had purchased on the black market. The number was his ticket in, allowing him to clear government-regulated verification systems that required such information.
In many respects, Carlos was content. He was making more money than he could have in Mexico, and he was able to send a portion of the profits to his elderly parents in Mexico City. Yet there was one thing that kept Carlos on edge — an understanding that a minor slip up could result in his arrest and deportation.
The climate in Austin, Minn. was changing, too. Immigrants were growing more aware that not everyone within the community were pleased with their presence. The town became a hotbed of cultural and racial unrest, attracting protests by neo-Nazi activists and others who looked at Hispanics as “job stealers.”
In time, the turmoil reached a boiling point. Law enforcement began to crack down on those living and working in the community illegally. Feeling vulnerable, Mexican families began to pick up their lives, in search of a U.S. community where they would be welcomed. The fear within those attached to the community through work and family only intensified.
It was that fear that forced Carlos to quit his job in 2009, following his marriage to Katie Diaz, a native of Austin, Minn. Aside from a new life together, the couple was also raising their young daughter, Mariana, now 3 years old.
“The dynamics in the town were getting worse, and you kept hearing more situations of people getting arrested for working with other names or being stopped because they had pay stubs in their cars with another name on it,” Katie said.
With paperwork for residency in the works, the couple did not want to risk arrest, which would inevitably have given Carlos a one-way ticket to Mexico, with no hope of legal return. An arrest would completely alter the fate of their family.
“We didn’t want to risk ruining the process,” Katie said. “If he would have gotten caught before, he could have gotten deported back to Mexico.”
And so Carlos quit a job he had grown to love, waiting for the wheel of bureaucracy to stop on his name. It was one year and one month before he received an appointment with the U.S. immigration officials in Mexico. After receiving a scheduled date in October 2011, Carlos bid farewell to his family and headed South — for the first time in 10 years.
“After he was gone, I felt relieved because everyday you worry that you’re going to get a phone call from your husband who is in jail, and it’s like, you have your family here … ,“ Katie said.
Katie had hope at the beginning that things would run smoothly. She had heard encouraging stories, and was convinced she and her daughter would see Carlos within a few months. But the process didn’t run as smoothly as anticipated.
‘The most dangerous city in the world’
In a twist of irony, those seeking American freedom through residency are required to visit the U.S. Consulate in Ciudad Juarez, a city dubbed the “Murder Capital of the World,” due to drug-related violence inflicted by Cartels fueling Americans’ demand.
Located south of El Paso, Texas, the city that experiences an upward of 11 murders per day is the destination for those seeking a way out.
Carlos knows this from firsthand experiences. Upon filing for a marriage visa, he was required to return to Mexico and meet with immigration officials at the Juarez consulate office.
“They sent him to the most deadly city in Mexico, of all places,” Katie said. “I think that deters a lot of people who are scared to go through there.”
Carlos was subject to a series of questions during his first meeting with immigration officials. They questioned how many times he entered the U.S., and where he did so. They questioned his tattoos and possible gang affiliations. They also questioned whether he was involved with drugs. After answering the series of questions, Carlos was handed a sheet of paper — a 10-year ban from the U.S.
That’s not uncommon. When Mexicans who had previously lived in the U.S. illegally apply for residency through a marriage visa, they’re automatically denied. Their only recourse is to petition to overturn the ban through a hardship waiver.
Carlos filed for that waiver in March 2010. Carlos was fortunate to be separated from his daughter; he was fortunate in the sense that being separated from children is often looked at through the eyes of immigration officials as a hardship. Without her, it would have been more difficult to obtain the waiver.
Despite what Katie and Carlos saw as a clear cut case, he was not immediately granted the waiver. Instead, the couple received notice that the Consulate needed more time to process the request. An exact timeline was not provided.
Katie talked with her lawyer, Daniel Donnelly, who specializes in immigration and family law. She also wrote Congressmen, all of whom told her there were no further legal avenues to pursue. Waiting it out was the only option.
While the waiver was in limbo, Carlos flew from Mexico City to Juarez three times. The cost of such travels was mounting. The price was only exacerbated when a mandatory medical examination by U.S. Consulate doctors showed a spot on Carlos’ lungs — a tuberculosis warning sign. His questionable condition required he stay near the Consulate office for five days. During that time, he incurred costs for hotel stays and feared for his life, hearing gunshots firing outside his window. At one point, he said he witnessed a car fall victim to a bomb — a common sight in Juarez.
The nightmare seemed to end 15 months after the hardship waiver filing date, when the Diaz family learned Carlos had been approved. He returned to Austin, Minn. in January 2012, with the assumption that life as a legal immigrant would now be easy.
But it hasn’t been the ‘American Dream’ he anticipated. Living in a community where businesses now fear hiring illegal immigrants, applying with his Hispanic name scares employers away. While he is now presenting a social security number that is his own, there’s no way for a company to verify that it is in fact his. Legal or illegal, he is Mexican, and that’s enough for an employer to question.
Finding a job has been difficult, as work experience as an illegal immigrant doesn’t carry over when one is given residency. In a sense, he’s starting over again.
The reunion with his family was hard on Carlos, too.
“It’s a very difficult process, because it makes you separate yourself from your family,” he said. “When I saw my daughter, she didn’t even recognize me. … That’s the hardest part.”
A Mexican refugee status?
Mexicans are not the sole minority in the Austin, Minn. community. Refugees from Somalia and Sudan also make up a growing population. They, too, have come to America for a better life. And while Carlos and Katie do not blame them, they question why those living in Mexico are not given an opportunity to be seen as a refugee or asylum seeker.
The U.S. government defines refugees as those who can demonstrate they “were persecuted or fear persecution due to race, religion, nationality, political opinion or member in a particular social group.” The government defines an asylum seeker with the same set of litmus tests. Those traveling from Mexico to escape severe violence or economic insecurity do not apply to that definition.
That’s frustrating for many illegal Mexican immigrants. Carlos, like thousands of other Mexicans, knows there is no path to obtain a Visa to work in America. Without family in the States, the option of filing for residency isn’t realistic. Many do not have advanced degrees, and therefore would not qualify for a skilled workers’ visa.
Living in the U.S. illegally, there is no way to obtain legal residency — unless a person is married. Even then, as the Diaz family can attest, it’s difficult. Without money or proof that a hardship exists, many marriages are separated.
“We need to make a path to help them to be able to become legal,” Katie said.
A recent executive order by President Barack Obama gave a form of relief to some young illegal Mexican immigrants, qualifying those under 30, who entered the country before they were 16 years old, to apply for a two-year work permit. Those eligible also have to prove they have a clean criminal record and have or plan to attend school or enter the military.
While Carlos is in the clear now, he would not have qualified under the new Obama policy, as he entered when he was 18.
Katie and Carlos both know there’s a stigma that goes along with illegal immigrants. They’ve both encountered those who say, “I don’t mind if Mexicans are here, as long as they’re legal.” But from Katie’s point of view, that’s near impossible.
“They keep making it harder and harder for them,” she said.
A persisting problem
While American politicians debate how to handle illegal immigration through policies that crack down on illegal immigration through law enforcement profiling tactics and strict business measures, immigrants continue to make their way north.
Communities that don’t welcome undocumented Mexican workers are sometimes successful in driving them out — but they often relocate to another location.
While living the life of an illegal immigrant is dangerous — one which risks a life of separation from those they love the most, they favor such existence over any they would experience in their home country. They do it for the American Dream — and like Carlos, they rarely regret it.
The question now is how Americans — government and general population — will deal with it.