A series of assumptions, based on a tired American notion of immigration from Latin America, has lingered in the public mind to explain who undocumented workers are and why they come here. The American imagina- tion goes to a young, male bracero, a barely- literate peasant who possesses only obsolete farming skills. This man is seen as the victim of chronically stalled economic growth in his home country, where the poor are relegated to perpetual underemployment in backward sectors not integrated with expanding in dustry. This rural Latin American, from his vantage point of destitution, admires the bountiful United States. Finally, the attrac- tion grows so strong he makes his move. Our fifty interviews in New York City in- validate this popular conception. * To begin with, these people came to the United States almost entirely from urban areas. They had substantial wage labor exper- ience under their belts and most held jobs im- mediately before leaving. They were neither the chronic unemployed nor the poorest in their societies. * The largest group came from the urban working class. Among them were mechanics, sewing machine operators and other factory workers, as well as a printer, a welder, a truck driver and a construction worker. Others were self-employed artisans, small producers, shopkeepers or social service workers. This group included several tailors and school teachers, a shoemaker, a dancer, a graphic artist and a few students working at whatever they could find to pay their way. Only one out of 50 had been primarily engaged in agri- cultural work. * Twenty-six out of fifty immigrants in- terveiwed were women. With such a small group this figure tells nothing about the exact ratio of men to women in the larger im- migrant population but it does suggest that immigration to New York City is far from overwhelmingly male. * Compared to the general population in Latin American countries, these workers had a relatively high level of education. The me- dian level of school completed was 11th grade for women and 10th grade for men. Not only were all literate but nearly half of the women and one-fourth of the men had completed 12 or more years of education. * At the time of migration, the men were in their prime working years (the average was 26 and two-thirds had come after age 24). On the whole they had known the discipline of wage labor for many years. All but one of the women had some work experience outside the home. Since women had more limited em- ployment options, they emigrated at a younger age (averaging 22 with three-fourths 8NovlDec 1979 9 arriving before the age of 25.) All in all, these immigrants constituted a young, healthy, literate, semi-skilled group of experienced laborers, representing a loss of resources to their own countries. Given these characteristics, why would they leave? MOTIVES FOR MIGRATING The immigrants said they left because they were trapped. Those who were wage laborers were trapped in a type of factory work character- ized in most of Latin America by low pay; fragmented, semi-skilled work; long hours and poor working conditions. Very early on in their working lives these workers recognized they were stuck in bleak, dead-end jobs with little chance for advancement. Flora had studied in a vocational school in Panama hoping to gain enough skill to land a good job, but she ended up sewing underwear in a large factory with two hundred other women. Three years later the job was ex- hausting her body and wearing down her faculties. Moreover, she realized that her em- ployable life was limited. "In Panama there is one thing I don't like," she explained. "A girl can work ten years in a factory but they prefer young girls. If a women is thirty, they don't want her to work any more. I saw this where I worked. I began to think, 'What will happen when I am thirty ... ?'" By the time Flora quit she was an accomplished seamstress, deter- mined to use that skill to create a better life. Conrado's situation in Colombia had of- fered more promise. As part of a government- al program for the sons and daughters of workers, he was given a scholarship to receive vocational training at the plant where his father worked. After two years of working at the plant and studying to finish the training, the company pulled the rug out from under him. Not only was no job available at his new- ly acquired skill level but they offered him a job downgraded from the one he had held for two years. At first he took the lower-level job but eventually quit in frustration. For several years he searched for better jobs, even travel- ing to Venezuela to try his luck there. Finally in Colombia he found employment as a me- chanic but still his problems were not over. He explained, "I was earning a skilled worker's salary in Colombia (amounting to Common washing hole in a small village? No, laundry workers in the basement of a hospital in Cuenca, Ecuador in 1972. NovlDec 1979 910 about $26 a week), but seeing that the posi- tion never went any higher . . and in reality I knew they weren't going to pay more . . . once again I decided I had to leave the country to get more skills and to make more money.", For both Flora and Conrado, roads to im- proving their situations at home were blocked. Simultaneously, like all others in their countries, what they had achieved was being undermined by the economic realities. Max explains he had "what you could call a good job in Colombia, working as a printer on a large press. I had been there for seven years, since I was 14, working my way up. By the end I was earning $100 a month. Of course, my economic situation was not very good be- cause with what I was making I could barely sustain myself and my sister." At age 21, Max was exhausted and so were his alternatives: The deteriorating economic conditions equally affected those who were artisans and small producers. Teresa and Jenaro, self- employed tailors in Ecuador, were squeezed by growing inflation, which in the early to mid-70s fluctuated between 12% and 23%.1 Furthermore, operating on a small scale prevented their competing effectively with local factory production or foreign imports. Keeping prices competitive meant that though their shop had plenty of work, it yield- ed only a small income. "Life was very expen- sive. There was not enough to eat. After pay- ing our costs we were left with only $16 a month for food and clothing." They con- sidered getting factory jobs but finally decid- ed that if they had to work in a factory, it may as well be one in the United States where they could earn more. For such small producers, competition with factory production often also decreased the demand for their goods. In the case of Jacin- to, a Dominican who along with several others ran a small shoe factory, the lack of steady work became too much. When the work had so shrunk that there was only enough to do for two or three months of the year, he decided he had to leave. Even Eduardo, the only one from a rural background, was not an exception. Although he worked a small plot of rented land with two oxen he owned, he had to work intermit- tently as a wage laborer in coffee or cotton plantations whenever it was available. Labor- ers would congregate in the plantations before sunrise waiting to be hired for the day. Too many times Eduardo returned home without having earned a cent. Landless and barely surviving, he finally found a job in the construction of a sugar mill, earning a grand total of $6 for a 50-hour week. After eight months, the work ended. Eduardo decided to leave the mountains. Clearly, the workers we interviewed were by no means on the outside of industrialization in their country. Rather, their histories sug- gest that they were casualties of capitalist development itself. The small urban artisans among them were squeezed out of business by competition from larger producers; the workers in small manufacturing were incor- porated into the labor force only to be squeezed out of their jobs by the perpetuation of exhausting working conditions. We do not intend at this point to undertake an analysis of these experiences- that will re- quire another complete Report. Suffice it to say that these stories invite such an analysis in the context of the economic development policies which held sway in Latin America beginning in the 1950s. As NACLA has docu- mented, these "import substitution" policies accelerated the breakdown of traditional small production both in agriculture and ur- ban manufacturing. 2 In its place emerged a process of industrialization which, by the ear- ly 60s attracted the interest of foreign in- vestors and transnational corporations. The workers, peasants and artisans displaced by this process were transformed into a vast ur- ban reserve of labor, but the economic model did not provide enough jobs to employ them fully or offer them an acceptable standard of living. Thus, workers like the fifty immigrants became candidates for the massive migration toward the industrial promised land, the United States. For the immigrants, oppressive economic conditions were often fully entangled with the political context in their countries. "The Sal- vadorean government," states Eduardo, "does not help the poor in any way. We don't have land and the government only helps the rich." The situation sounds quite similar to the words of Armando, a skilled metal worker: "In Colombia either one is rich or one is poor. There is nothing in between. The country is NACLA ReportNovIDec 1979 11 run by a handful of rich families.. They have good health, good education, good work. The poor have nothing." The relationship between the political and economic factors causing emigration was clearly argued by the Haitians who talked about repression as a way of life. As a Hai- tian community organizer in New York ex- pessed it, "If the police or someone from government steals your land, what can a man do? Speak out? Economically he is in a bad situation but politically he is worse off. He cannot say someone stole his land. There is no government policy, just abuses." Faced with a critical situation they were economically and politically powerless to overcome, the fifty chose to emigrate. Alfredo, a Dominican who had just fin- ished high school, recalled, "I got together with my family, and they suggested the best thing to do was to travel to the United States and make my way there. That way I could not only take care of myself but also send some aid for my family." ALL IN THE FAMILY Emigrating was neither a new nor abstract idea. Many friends and family members had gone ahead, clearing the path for those behind. Before coming to the United States, some Colombians we interveiwed had first gone to Venezuela, Dominicans had gone to Puerto Rico and Haitians had gone to the Bahamas. The presence of a community of emigrants in these countries offered a crucially needed support system to facilitate the process of entry and integration. Along the paths of migration extended the network of "kin" who continually reinforced the route and attracted new laborers. The continent to the north could acquire a special allure. "In my neighborhood," Ivan recounted, "people would tell fairy tales about the United States. I remember one time, a woman who was living in the United States returned to El Salvador and told every- one that things were so good there you could buy clothes in the afternoon, wear them once and if you didn't like them you could throw them away." But despite such nurtured illusions, the choice of New York ultimately was based more on the fact that family and friends-- legal or not--were already living there. Before making it to New York, however, risks and difficulties loomed that the kin net- work could often do nothing to alleviate. Usually emigrants have little trouble obtain- ing permission from their own governments to leave,* but laying their hands on a visa for permanent residence in the United States is another story. Without a permanent resi- dence "green card" a foreigner is punishable by deportation for working in the United States. Since 1965, the U.S. immigration code has given preference to the close relatives of American citizens and permanent residents, and to exceptionally skilled professionals. While maintaining a small contract labor program to supply foreign workers to U.S. agriculture, in effect the law leaves little berth for low-wage laborers, precisely those people pressing for access. 3 Even for those im- migrants with some legal basis to petition for residence, the complicated process now takes about two years; and even then, because of the glut of applicants, the limited quotas and strict requirements concerning financial sponsorship and guaranteed employment in the United States, the outcome for the appli- cant remains in doubt. The pressure of their circumstances led many to seek other ways to enter the country. THE "TOURIST" TRADE More than half of those we interviewed entered the country with tourist visas which allowed them to visit for only a few months but not to work. (Immigrants from Caribbean islands who fly directly to New York almost always enter as tourists.) Once they overstay the visa's deadline and remain in the country they are considered here illegally. Tourist visas are the most accessible means of legal entry. The number of tourist visas issued in each country fluctuates according to *The one exception to this rule is Haiti. There a brutal government has imposed both ubiquitous political repres- sion and severe economic duress on the population, pro- ducing a large number of people anxious to leave. But the Haitian government has restricted out-migration. As a result some emigrants have even resorted to clandestine escapes by boat to Miami, Florida. Fearing reprisals if forcibly returned to their country, thousands of Haitians have attemped to gain some minimal security by applying for political refugee status in the United States. NovlDec 1979 11NACLA Report the discretion of the U.S. consuls. (For exam- ple, some Dominicans alleged that after the U.S. invasion in 1965, resident visas were readily issued by the consulates in an attempt to rid the country of as many potential dis- sidents as possible.) Today, to obtain a tourist visa, the intention to return home must be sub- stantiated. Sizable bank accounts, titles to a house and a car, coupled with a round-trip ticket, are generally required to demonstrate sufficient motive to return. Obviously the immigrants we spoke to did not have such resources. To come up with the documents necessary to get a visa, frequently the immigrants were forced deeply into debt to their families, friends or black marketeers. For the Ecuadorean tailors, Teresa and Jenaro, the total cost of securing documents and financing the trip for them and their daughter was $6000. To guarantee payment, Teresa's elderly parents agreed to put up their home as collateral. Should Teresa and Jenaro be caught and deported, her parents could lose their home after the first missed pay- ment. For many of the immigrants, paying off such debts compelled them to find a job quickly after arriving. As long as large debts hang over their heads, they are forced to stay in the United States, locked into whatever conditions they encounter. More often than not, no family member or friend is able to sign over property titles or make a loan to establish a bank account. But false papers can be purchased and bank ac- counts "rented" in the highly organized black market which exists in all of the immigrants' home countries. In the Dominican Republic established black marketeers are said to hawk their services openly to visa applicants who wait on long lines outside the consul's office each morning. Aurelio, a Dominican welder, paid $800 for a resident card and passport, neither of which was in his own name. After successfully entering the country, he returned the documents at a prearranged meeting in the airport. It is likely that many people have entered the United States with the same visa before and since. In addition to the black market, im- migrants from El Salvador, Guatemala, Haiti and Ecuador asserted that occasionally employees in U.S. consulates would, for the right price, guarantee both visas and safe passage to the United States. For example, Anamaria, an Ecuadorian who had once been denied a visa, was successful with a subse- quent application only after she paid a U.S. consular staff worker $400 to remove the records of the earlier denial from her files. Paul, a Haitian truck driver, explained that before a more expedient deal came through, he paid a U.S. embassy employee part of an agreed-on $800, the rest of which was to be provided upon delivery. And in Colombia travel agencies often seem to have "good con- nections" in the consular offices and know how to obtain tourist or residence visas for travelers willing to pay extra for their tickets. Overall, the cheapest part of the trip was the plane ticket itself which, at today's prices to New York, ranges from as little as $159 from the Dominican Republic to as much as $304 from Ecuador. An additional $1000 was required to insure entry in most cases. Besides obtaining documents, genuine or false, im- migrants had the alternative of "entry without inspection," INS jargon for illegal border crossings. By this time, there is a well-traveled route proceeding north by air from Ecuador, Colombia and Central America to Mexico Ci- ty, then overland to the border, primarily to Tijuana, and from there across to the United States. This mode of entry is efficiently organized between agents in the home coun- tries, Mexico and the United States, and fully exploits the vulnerability of the immigrants. Max's story is a case in point. After flying from Colombia to Mexico, Max was stopped on his bus ride north by Mexican police. They identified him as a foreigner and threatened him with arbitrary arrest unless he paid a $80 "fine" before con- tinuing on. In Tijuana he found a taxi driver to deliver him to the border where he ex- pected to find a "coyote" (a smuggler) to take him across. The driver, however, alerted Mexican border guards by flashing his car lights. For another $150, undoubtedly shared with the driver, the officials not only let him pass but also helped him find a coyote. The coyote took Max across the border through drainage tunnels. Emerging on the other side, he was placed in the trunk of a car and taken to Los Angeles where he was held hostage for over two weeks. The coyote threatened to turn him over to immigration 12Nov/Dec 1979 One of the more dangerous methods. More commonly now groups cross on foot together in remote areas. officials unless he paid $400. Relatives in New York sent the money but the coyote de- manded more. Max finally was let go when he discovered that the coyote himself was an un- documented immigrant. Max arrived by bus in New York City, penniless. As he recalled, "It never occured to me for a moment that I'd arrive in this manner. I expected that my cousin would greet me and the next day we'd go out dancing and have a good time." GREAT EXPECTATIONS Much about life in the United States had never occured to Max and the other im- migrants. Although they had been able to ex- press quite graphically the conditions which had impelled their departure, their future prospects were often only vague and unrealistic dreams. Some, like Lila, had hoped to study. While in Ecuador, she had been led to believe that her relatives in New York were well enough off to support her while she studied. The shock of reality hit quickly. "The worst experience I had here was four or five days after arriving, when they told me I had to look for a job and that I had to learn to sur- vive because no one supports anyone in this country." Some believed that, in a few years time, they could save enough money to return and start a business of their own, or develop more skills to later land a better job back in their country. At first the relative difference in their wages reinforced these hopes. Felipe had earned $14 a week in the Dominican Republic, and after his first week in New York he earned $80. It didn't take long to realize that the higher costs of New York City living ate away that difference dramatically. Yet many like Anamaria did manage to send money to their families, recognizing that by sacrificing her standard of living while here, she could put her sisters and brothers through school at home. And others, like Eduardo, had few plans whatsoever, only the need to escape their familiar and grim realities. When asked why he didn't remain in California and look for work, Eduardo replied, "It was too close to El Salvador. I wanted to get away." Ironically, they very quickly ended up in the type of job they were trying to escape. Nothing in their social and economic backgrounds differentiated these workers from other Latin Americans who now live here legally. The United States had borne no social cost to raise, train and integrate them into the labor force, which, for a U.S. citizen is figured to cost the government, as of 1977, about $44,000.' Neither does their illegal status set them apart. Voicing motivations similar to previous immigrants, Adalgisa asserted, "We must help our family, and in our country there are no economic resources to support us." She further explained, "com- ing here without documents is simply a matter of necessity." LEAVING HOME 1. Instituto de Investigaciones Economicas, "El Costo de Vida en el Ecuador" (Ecuador: Universidad de Guaya- quil), 1979. 2. See NACLA's "Brazil: Controlled Decompression," NACLA Report on the Americas, Vol. XIII, no. 3 (May- June 1979). 3. See NACLA's "Caribbean Migration, op. cit. 4. Cited in Wayne Cornelius, "Mexican Migration to the United States," Working Paper No. 2, (San Diego; Center For United States-Mexican Studies, University of California), May, 1979.
