Sunday, June 5, 2011

The Road to the American Dream Runs Both Ways

I met Geovani in Matagalpa, a pulsing Nicaraguan town with streets full of big women frying plantains and cheese on griddles in the street and the back-beat of reggaetón thumping in every corner.  I was looking for a soccer game to jump in on, and was directed to a big roofed basketball court where they play footsal, or indoor soccer.  As I went in, the ref was standing on the line that divides the two halves of the court and blowing his whistle to end the match.  I went over to ask him if I could jump in and since he was between games we got to talking.

He was in his early twenties, with close cropped hair and precise energy coiled behind each of his movements.  His refs uniform was complete and professional.  He spoke slowly and articulately, each word formed with immaculate enunciation, and stood up when he was saying something especially important.  He asked me what part of the States I was from.

Me: Colorado. Have you been to the States then?

G: Yes I have.  I was in North Carolina.  I have a sister and her husband who live there.

Me: And do you have family here?

G: Yes I have a wife and two kids.

Me: So did you to the States to work?

G: Yes.  I worked in a company called Fire Alarm (BIT) that installed systems of security.  Then after two years I was caught by immigration and deported.

Me: And how did you arrive in the U.S. originally?

G:  Well we were wetbacks, we went illegally.  We went by bus to Guatemala and then from there sometimes by train, sometimes by bus, sometimes on foot.

Me: What was the train like?

G: Well, they are cargo trains that go through Mexico, but if you have ever seen them you know they are full of immigrants.  People pile onto the trains, onto flatcars, the roofs of boxcars, clinging from poles... People died while we were on the train.  A father and his child were sitting on the edge of a car when the father began to fall asleep since it had been days since he slept.  He slumped forward which made it so they both started to fall off.  Our guide was able to catch the child before he fell off but did not have time to save the father.  The train ran him over and cut him in half.

Me: And when you got to the frontier, how did you cross?

G: We crossed from Tamulipus into Texas.  There it is not desert but more scrub-land.

Me: And was your guide trustworthy when you got there?

G: Yes, in our case.  We tried to cross once but our coyote realized that there were too many U.S. immigration officer on the other wide.  We went back.  But when we went back, we were caught by Mexican kidnappers.

Me:  Who are these kidnappers?

G:  They belong to the Zetas cartel.  It's like this.  We all come with the phone numbers of our U.S. contacts memorized, not written down on paper.  If the Zetas get you, they torture you until you give them your contact number, and then they call that person and force them to pay around 10,000 dollars to let you go.  If your contact pays the money, then the Zetas deliver you to wherever you want to go in the U.S.  They say that if George Bush himself was kidnapped trying to cross and had his 10,000 paid, they could deliver him right inside the White House.  That's how high up their contacts are.

Me:  And if no one will pay your 10,000?

G: They kill you.  Some arrive adventuring without money, or seeking a better life.  They have no money.  These are killed and remain anonymous.  Sometimes they are put alive into barrels of diesel and burned until there is no evidence of their remains.  These kidnappers are mostly ex- military men.  The ones that caught us traveled in a black, unmarked suburban.  They each carried around 4 weapons– an assault rifle (the kind the U.S. Army uses), an AK 47, and two short arms.  I caught a glimpse of a .357 Mag.  You can do nothing against them, to fight would be illogical.

Me:  So what did you guys do?

G: Well, we were imprisoned for three days while the kidnappers checked to see if our guide was working for them.  Fortunately he belonged to a group of guides who pays the Zetas to have a right to pass through.  So we went on.

Me: And once you are on the U.S. side, what are the dangers?

G: On the U.S. side it's much better.  Then all you have to worry about is immigration patrols.  Well, that's not exactly true.  Some civilians living near the border invest a lot of their own money in reinforcing the border.  They build fences, buy guns, and lay bear traps.  I saw many people mutilated that stepped into traps as they walked during the night. Apart from that the only real danger is that you will work a week or month of hard labor and when payday comes they give you nothing and say, "Get out of here or we will call Immigration and have you deported."  And you can do nothing.

Me: Did that happen to you?

G: Where I work they started out paying me five dollars an hour.  They said, "You are illegal.  This is what we will pay you." I said O.K. because I was happy to be earning money.  After one week they saw that I worked very hard and said, "we can't only pay you 5 an hour" so they gave me a raise to $8.  Later they were paying me $10.

Me: So you won their respect...

G: So much so that they are helping me request citizenship from the Government.  The U.S. makes you wait 5 years of punishment after being deported and then you can request a letter of pardon.  Luckily I paid all my taxes and have proof of it.  I can prove I would be a productive citizen.  Meanwhile the company is sending me to work on projects they are doing outside of the States.  I recently got back from Trindad and Tobegeo for instance, where they were installing systems.  Soon they might have a project for me in Barbados.  I don't have fixed work right now because I have to be ready to go at any moment.

Me: And what was is like when Immigration caught you?  What happened?

G:  Immigration was there in two minutes after we were discovered even though we were far from the border.  For six days they put us in a room where we had to sleep on a bare concrete floor.  We had no blankets nor cushioning.  The air conditioning, as it always is in the U.S., was turned on full blast.  Me and five other Nicaraguans all huddled together for warmth.  The lights were always on so we never knew if it was day or night.

Me:  What were you given to eat?

G:  They gave us water and a cold slice of ham between two pieces of bread.  This was offered six times in 24 hours.  We were told that these six days were punishment for being in the States illegally.

Me: And did the guards ever physically mistreat you?

G: No.  In fact when they arrested me they put on the handcuffs very tight.  I let them know and they took them off and put them on looser.  They kept their distance.  We were told that the only crime we committed was being in the country illegally, and that crime did not merit corporal punishment.  If the guards mistreated us, we had a chance of getting our residency as compensation.  So they kept their distance.


The soccer players had begun to congregate on the court.  "Would there be a chance for me to jump in and play?" I asked.  Well no, all the teams had been organized since a long time ago.  They pay dues to the futball organization of Nicaragua.  Sounded like I'd have to stick around for a while and pay my dues to get in on the game.  But before I left Giovanni to ref, I had one last question for him.

"So what is your opinion about the U.S. border policy?  Should we have an open border?"

"Though it is hard for me to say, I understand why the U.S. must have security on its borders.  One of the things I valued about the States is the security and safety I had there.  I paid my taxes because I wanted to contribute to that security and peace.  If there was an open border the States would be the same chaos that Central America is, where each government has little control over its people.  There are Hispanics that come and cause trouble.  But there are many who come to help.  Many contribute to the productivity of the nation.  I would love it if the border were open, but I understand why it is not.  But there must be a way to let those that come to work through and especially those who come out of the necessity of poverty."

Geovani stepped away from the bleachers to officiate the match.  I thought of the long road through the pines of Chihuahua, the blue agave of Jalisco, the cacti of Oaxaca, the stark highlands of Guatemala, the steaming volcanoes of El Salvador, the dry Nicaragua scrub that separated me from where I started from.  I had passed through gangs of soldiers, jolted in the metal beds of pickups, been taken in and fed by warm hands, worried about where my next meal would come from and had arrived at this point on the dusty concrete that echoed with the sound of shuffling shoes and the referee whistle.  And I thought of Geovani heading the other way with hundreds, thousands, millions of others that had passed me like a hot wind welling from the south, a great multitude with their faces fixed on the Rio Bravo del Norte, heavy with fear and hope.

1 comment:

  1. Really interesting and thought-provoking perspective. Thanks Collin!

    ReplyDelete