Both economically and politically, illegal immigration is a thorny issue. On the one hand, immigrant labor provides the backbone for border state economies like Arizona, California, and Texas, boosting GDP and overall quality of life. On the other hand, illegal immigrants don’t pay taxes other than excise taxes, yet utilize all of the same infrastructure, schools, and hospitals as the rest of us. Their presence ultimately takes away resources from impoverished citizens of our nation. The cause of the crisis—and yes, the situation is clearly a crisis—is twofold. Flaws in the current process of naturalization, such as automatic citizenship for people born on U.S. soil, prove problematic in dealing with families in which the children are legal citizens but their parents are not. Other flaws are economic. The free market drives immigration in response largely to institutions contrary to free market principles such as the minimum wage and the black market for illicit drugs. Everyone needs to take a stance on these issues and fight for a balance between benefitting the U.S. and benefitting humanity.
In a speech to his constituents in Las Vegas this past weekend Senator Harry Reid (D-Nev) promised that “we’re going to come back, we’re going to have immigration reform now.” This proposition was most likely politically motivated—as the 2010 census will confirm, over a fifth of the Nevada electorate is Hispanic. In San Diego, my hometown, nearly a third of the population is Hispanic. Needless to say, their vote and their issues are too great for any successful politician to ignore. While it can be easy to think about immigration as a purely political issue, the personal impact of immigration policy deserves attention, too.
When Alejandra Cruz lost her husband in a fatal car accident in Oaxaca, Mexico, she thought her life was over. With five beautiful children, the youngest less than a year old, and no means to provide for their needs, Alejandra did the only thing she could—she left her family behind and immigrated, illegally, into the United States. She worked as a nanny, devoting her new life in the states to caring for others, all the while sending remittances back home to buy food, clothes, and school supplies for her family. She lived in the United States for over a decade, during which time she missed her youngest son’s first day of school, her daughter’s quinseañera, and the birth of her first grandchild. She’s a prime example of the American dream, and I was blessed to have her in my life.
With both parents working full time, we were in desperate need of a nanny. Alejandra filled that role, raising me from ages 5 to 15. She didn’t simply watch me and my sister while my parents were away, she lived with us, ate with us, and became part of our family. From an early age she was my greatest teacher. Through her I learned the words to “De Colores,” how to make mole tamales, and how to catch flies with my bare hands (this skill is still pretty useful). She also taught me intangible things, like how to be a responsible son, how to respect another culture and language, and how to look past nationality and race to see the beauty of every human being.
Was Alejandra a citizen? No. But was her presence in the United States equally as legitimate and important as mine? Absolutely. I could hear her some nights, after she read me a story and helped me get ready for bed, weeping for her children and the life she had left behind. She was not here to reap the rewards of a tax-free education system or to benefit from improved access to healthcare. She was here to work, to contribute, and to fulfill her role as a mother to her children, in the exact same way that my parents do those things for me. So when local politicians call for a stronger boundaries, I call for more open lines of communication. When sociologists beckon us to gaze at impersonal statistics, I beckon you to look at the humble individual. And when the federal government proposes immigration reform, I propose that Americans reform their skewed and incomplete views of immigration. Alejandra may not be the norm, but her story is important for both policymakers and citizens to consider, especially those who prescribe mass deportations and care little for the real impact that such policies would have on all of us.
