http://www.sanluisobispo.com/mld/sanlui ... 431337.htm

Posted on Sun, Sep. 03, 2006

Immigrant laborers in SLO county

Here illegally, but here to stay
Many undocumented workers say they will not go home because of tighter border security and the fear of getting caught trying to get back in
By Nick Wilson
nwilson@thetribunenews.com

Martin spent seven hours in a jail cell reeking of urine in Yuma, Ariz., only to be sent back to Mexico.

He crossed the border again after walking for about 10 hours and paying a smuggler $300 for guiding him safely into this country.

Martin — a 31-year-old vineyard worker now living in Paso Robles — made the illegal border crossing in 1996 and has not returned to Mexico since. He’d like to visit siblings there, but he doesn’t think he will anytime soon.

He and other undocumented immigrants in San Luis Obispo County say they are not returning to their homeland because of tightened border security, higher costs to cross and fears that if they are caught it would hurt their chances of becoming citizens or legal residents.

"Sure, I miss my family and my country," Martin said in Spanish. "I’d like to go back. But my life is here now."

Arrests at the border are down by about 90,000 compared to last summer, said Corina Robison, a spokeswoman with the U.S. Customs and Border Patrol in Washington, D.C.

Robison said fewer undocumented immigrants are crossing since National Guard units deployed in June to border spots in California, Arizona, New Mexico and Texas.

The Tribune is not revealing the last names of the undocumented workers to protect their identities.

For the past decade, Martin has been waiting to hear about the status of his application for legal residency. He doesn’t want to be caught again at the border and ruin his chances.

He’s thriving here by the standards of rural Mexico. In the North County wine country, he earns $10 an hour compared to $20 a day in the mountains of Durango, where he worked in the fields tending crops. His 24-year-old wife works in a local restaurant at night to supplement their income.

They live with their two children in an $800-per-month, two-bedroom apartment in downtown Paso Robles. Their kids attend Georgia Brown Elementary School, where they’re learning in English and Spanish.

Martin’s life in the North County contrasts with the recent experience of Javier, an undocumented worker contracted by the carnival company at the California Mid-State Fair this summer. Javier paid a smuggler $1,700 in June to cross at night near Tijuana. The cost to hire a smuggler, often called a coyote, has gone up since the U.S. tightened border security.

The 42-year-old feared he would be left behind in the desert if he couldn’t keep up.

"I lost a lot of weight," he said in Spanish. "It was a lot of walking."

Javier immigrated to support his family of four, which he wasn’t able to do as a plumber in the city of Culiacan on Mexico’s west coast.

The transplanted San Juan Nuevo community

Each year, an estimated 300 to 400 local immigrants return to San Juan Nuevo Paracangaricutiro, Michoacan, Mexico.

Often they go at Christmas when re-enactments of Biblical stories and native dance competitions are held. For many, it’s a chance to reunite with family.

About 1,000 transplanted residents from the Mexican town of about 15,000 live in San Luis Obispo County. They work primarily in landscaping, construction, agriculture and food.

About half this transplanted community has legal status. Those who don’t have it cross the border illegally, according to community leaders. This holiday season, it’s uncertain how many may go back.

"Many will go again this year I’m sure," said Miguel, a San Juan native. "Those who don’t might not want to risk a harsh penalty of getting caught a second time."

Mario Herrera a community worker with California Rural Legal Assistance, based in Oceanside, said that getting caught repeatedly can mean jail time, and after several arrests "the Border Patrol starts thinking you’re a coyote."

A local 20-year-old San Juan native named Celia, a nail stylist, said friends have urged her to use fake documents to return to Mexico for a vacation, but she’s hesitant. She doesn’t want to be caught.

She and her mother used such documents, for which they paid $2,000 each, to cross and reunite with Celia’s father, Jose, in Paso Robles. Since that crossing six years ago, she graduated from Paso Robles High School and now speaks fluent English.

Celia notes that the saying among many San Juan immigrants is "where there is a will, there is a way" about the border crossings.

"I just talked with a guy whose granny passed away," Celia said. "I saw him recently and said ‘Did you go?’ He said, ‘Yeah, I crossed.’ I said, ‘That was fast.’ "

The border

Each undocumented immigrant has a story about the crossing — often one of great difficulty and distress. Some walk for 30 to 40 miles, lugging food and water until they run out. Each year, some die in the desert trying to cross. Since 1998, U.S. Customs and Border Patrol officials have recorded 3,098 deaths during attempted border crossings.

"People have to cross in grueling places where it’s cold," said Herrera.

And severe heat in the summer can make crossing uncomfortable and dangerous, Herrera added.

Typically, those who are caught have their names recorded, and fingerprints and photos taken before being returned south of the border, according to Border Patrol. Some are put in jail, but space in the jails is limited.

Local activist Pedro Arroyo says many Mexicans lead two lives — the working life here and a family life at home.

Each year, many people work in the U.S. and then return to Mexico for a couple of months, often at Christmas.

"A lot of men will make money here and then go back to their families," Arroyo said. "The driving force that brings them here is the economy. As challenging as it is to come into the country, many Mexicans would stay (in Mexico) if they could afford it. But they’re hungry."

These days, however, undocumented workers in North County — many of whom labor in the fields — are not risking trips to visit relatives in Mexico as often, said Ester Garcia, a migrant education worker based in Shandon.

"If it’s a family emergency, people will go," Garcia said. "Otherwise, I don’t see a lot of people going back and forth these days."

Cost is one issue. Since the border crackdown, coyotes have been charging between $1,500 and $3,000 to coordinate border crossings, local Hispanics say.

For a poor Mexican peasant, "$3,000 is a huge amount of money," Arroyo said, and sometimes that means assuming a debt. Often an agreement is made in the immigrant’s hometown, Arroyo said, and money is paid back over many years from the United States.

"Immigrants may get caught, but the one honest thing about coyotes is that they don’t charge until you get across," Arroyo said.