A Dreamer, Deferred

A deportee adjusts to life in Mexico.

By Ruth Samuelson
June 21, 2012
In These Times
http://inthesetimes.com/article/13420/a_dreamer_deferred/

Two years after his arrival, Contreras still feels like
a "guest" in Mexico. There are myriad cultural gaps left
to fill.

Most mornings, Oscar Contreras Carrillo takes two trains
and a rickety bus, called a pesero, across Mexico City
to manage a food truck. He gets one day off each week.
Otherwise, he's working 11- and 13-hour shifts, serving
sandwiches, tacos and glasses of horchata, a sweet rice
drink. His monthly income hovers at $430.

Nothing about this situation resembles his life three
years ago.

Contreras, now 30, was living in Southern California in
2009, making between $30,000 and $40,000 a year as a
construction safety director. He paid for his sister's
college classes and rent for the apartment they shared
with their mother, he says.

Then he was arrested on charges of driving with a
suspended license and possession of marijuana (the
latter charge was dropped, according to Contreras), and
authorities discovered he was an undocumented immigrant
from Mexico. Contreras-who had lived in the U.S. since
he was about 7, had been educated in American schools,
and had long since forgotten his native Spanish-was
deported roughly a week later. He says he agreed to
leave voluntarily rather than fight his case because ICE
officers told him it would be a "waste of time."

Contreras isn't alone. Deportations have skyrocketed
under the Obama administration, rising from roughly
190,000 annually a decade ago to 400,000 today. Between
2005 and 2010, 1.4 million people left the U.S. for
Mexico; many departed voluntarily, but "a significant
minority were deported," according to the Pew Hispanic
Center.

Although state immigration laws like those in Arizona
and Alabama have grabbed headlines, the federal Secure
Communities program has also been incredibly powerful,
according to Sean Riordan, an attorney at the San Diego
ACLU. The program requires the fingerprints of every
person booked by police be reviewed for immigration
violations against a Department of Homeland Security
database.

That obligation can be abused, says Riordan. "If you
have an officer that, for personal reasons, believes
that undocumented immigrants are a problem in the
community," he says, then the immigration check is an
extra "inducement" to arrest someone suspected of being
undocumented.

As for Contreras, he wasn't quite ready to abandon the
life he had built in California. Authorities caught him
trying to cross the border with a real U.S. passport he
bought in Tijuana, according to the complaint filed
against him. He pled guilty to false statements to a
federal officer and served roughly 13 months in prison.
Once freed, a bus dropped Contreras off in Coahuila, a
Mexican state that borders Texas. In 10 years, he
thought, he could apply for a visa to return-even if
just as a tourist.

For the time being, he needed to establish a life for
himself in Mexico.

                        ******

It's hard to know how many people are like Contreras,
culturally American and rejected from the only country
they've ever known. In Mexico, I've met several people
who fit this profile who now can't return to the United
States. One, a waiter working near Puerto Vallarta, had
tattooed his former Dallas area code on his chest.

On June 15, President Obama announced new rules to allow
young, undocumented immigrants to avoid deportation and
obtain two-year work permits. The new policy will apply
to individuals age 30 and younger who came to the U.S.
before turning 16, have lived here for at least five
years and have clean criminal records. They must also
meet certain education requirements or be honorably
discharged veterans.

Obama's action echoes the Dream Act, national
legislation that provides a path to citizenship for
young, undocumented immigrants meeting similar
prerequisites, which was blocked by Republicans in the
Senate in 2010.

The measure is meant to be a "temporary stopgap" with no
opportunity for citizenship, Obama said. But its
beneficiaries will be able to launch their careers and
live without fear of deportation. "They are Americans in
their heart, in their minds, in every single way but
one: On paper," the president said.

                        ******

Contreras' experience shows what happens when these
stateless people are forced to return to a strange
country. Adapting is a daunting and treacherous process.

When Contreras was dropped off near the border after his
release from prison, he was afraid. "I was hearing the
cartels were recruiting people like me," he says, "and
because nobody else was going to give me job, I [thought
that I] had no other choice but to work for a cartel."

Instead, his struggles were more mundane. He immediately
moved to Irapuato, Guanajuato, where his father lived,
and began looking for a job. Back in the United States,
he had worked his way up the ladder at his construction
gig. He didn't want to accept just any bottom-tier
position, but he had no proof of his education.

At one point he inquired about a front desk position at
a Holiday Inn, figuring that he'd shine working with
foreign tourists. The hiring manager said his Spanish
wasn't strong enough and offered him a server job
instead. Insulted, Contreras declined. "I probably could
have stayed and proven to them that I could do it, that
I could do something, but I was upset," he says.

In late 2010, Contreras decided to move to Mexico City,
thinking he could earn a better salary there. He moved
in with a relative who had also lived in the United
States, but who had returned to Mexico as a teenager.

When Contreras arrived in Mexico City, he yearned to
establish a business-maybe a batting cage or a
restaurant with activities, like Shakey's Pizza Parlor
or Chuck E. Cheese's.

"You're so desperate to achieve that you don't even know
where to start," his relative told him. She advised him
to pick a goal and stick to it. He wasn't going to get a
million opportunities, like back in California. "Stop
living in Disneyland because we're not in the United
States," she said.

He needed to save money. At first, he worked at a
restaurant and event hall that paid minimum wage, less
than $5 a day. Then he loaded corn at the Central de
Abasto, Mexico City's colossal wholesale market. The
money was better, but there was no upward mobility, no
room for ambition. He moved on.

                        ******

Two years after his arrival, Contreras says he still
feels like a "guest" in Mexico. There are myriad
cultural gaps left to fill. People see his tattoos as
potential gang symbols. He doesn't know the national
anthem. Crime is a daily fact of life. His Spanish has
improved considerably, but he still confuses words, like
simio (ape) and sismo (earthquake), which a co-worker
recently chuckled over.

Despite his deportation, Contreras discusses the United
States longingly, not bitterly. He misses his family and
his old way of life-"everything," he says.

Ironically, Contreras even pines for U.S. law
enforcement. In Mexico, "you can drive drunk and you can
just give a cop, you know, 50 pesos and he'll leave you
alone," he says. U.S. police are "respectable," he adds.
"I mean . for the most part, they do their job."

Eventually, Contreras found his current position,
managing a food truck. It's a popular spot, selling
cochinita pibil, a slow-roasted pork dish from the
Yucatan Peninsula. Contreras has pushed the owner to
innovate. For example, he convinced her to print a
special notebook for waiters, so the orders are taken
uniformly. He also encouraged her to think about
franchises, and they're currently working on installing
a stand at the Central de Abasto. Contreras hopes the
expansion can continue. "It's not happening as fast as
we'd like for it to happen, but it's definitely moving
forward," he says.

Nevertheless, he has a backup plan. On his days off,
he's taking Mexican academic equivalency tests to show
future employers. He's passed all the elementary school
level tests, and as of late May was considering a six-
month break from work to focus on the middle school-
level exams.

"I'm thinking that just everything that I know,
everything that I've acquired from the States, it kind
of favors me," he says. "I just got to make it work."

ABOUT THIS AUTHOR
Ruth Samuelson is a freelance writer. Her stories have
appeared in Global Post, The Washington Post, Fox News
Latino, The Atlantic Cities and other publications. She
was previously a staff writer at the Washington City
Paper.

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