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Mexican consul walks a fine line
Monday, October 02, 2006
JANIE HAR
The Oregonian
On a makeshift stage at Hillsboro Stadium, Fernando Sanchez Ugarte repeats the cry that launched Mexico's independence.

"Viva Mexico!" he yells to the crowd gathered for the annual celebration. Fathers carry babies on their shoulders. Mothers hush older children. A small boy blithely rolls a toy airplane, its shrill rings punctuating the evening air.

As Mexican officials around the world do every September, he shouts the grito first uttered in 1810 by a renegade priest named Miguel Hidalgo. But in a nod to a new time and place, Sanchez also says slowly, first in Spanish, then in English: "It's important we acknowledge, and that we recognize, how this country, the U.S., offers many of our people the opportunity to improve, to make a very decent living here."

As Mexico's consul general in Oregon -- the public face of his government -- the 56-year-old Sanchez walks a careful line. Latinos are the fastest-growing minority, and Mexicans and their descendants are dramatically changing Oregon's neighborhoods, work force and culture.

At the same time, Mexicans who have migrated illegally to this country have fueled criticism, driven political debates and held all Latinos, documented or not, up to scrutiny. The Pew Hispanic Center estimates Oregon is home to 175,000 undocumented immigrants, most from Mexico. Sanchez puts the figure closer to 100,000.

About a year ago, critics began protesting the weekend sessions that Sanchez's office hosted around the state for Mexican nationals. The consulate offered information on worker safety and Oregon driver's licenses. It issued "matricula consular" identification cards, which opponents say are used by illegals to get state services.

Under pressure, Gov. Ted Kulongoski pulled state agencies from participating at the weekend events. Ever diplomatic, Sanchez shrugged off the move, saying it was Kulongoski's call.

"He's a consul general in a very controversial time," says Hillsboro Police Chief Ron Louie.

Before he came to Oregon, Sanchez was president of Mexico's antitrust commission, battling entrenched industrial titans and, at times, members of his own government as he tried to grow the nation's economy.

His new life in the Pacific Northwest forced him to slow down and deal with regular folks. Here, his tasks are more mundane, but the overall mission, he says, is the same: helping fellow Mexicans better their lives.

"I feel very happy these people have taken great personal risk and great personal hardship to come all the way over here and are improving in their lives and getting closer to the dreams they have," Sanchez says. "But then, on the other hand, you feel kind of sad by the fact that many of these people didn't have the right opportunities back at home."

Wife insisted on Portland

Sanchez -- cerebral, reserved, an economist -- moved to Portland in October 2004. It wasn't his idea.

He had just finished a 10-year term as president of the Mexican Federal Competition Commission, a grueling job that got him bashed verbally on national TV and threatened personally. Appointed by then-President Ernesto Zedillo to the newly created antitrust authority, Sanchez battled powerful phone, beer and airline companies in an attempt to level an economic playing field steeped in cronyism and elitism.

Exhausted, he requested a post outside Mexico City -- perhaps Milan, Miami, Washington, D.C.

His wife insisted on Portland. They had visited the city for the first time on a clear, sunny weekend in May at a time when the Willamette River sparkled.

It wasn't easy for a man accustomed to working nonstop.

"The first six months," says his wife with a laugh, "I think he hated me."

Sanchez agrees it was tough. "But I really like it here," he says.

Mexico opened a consular office in downtown Portland in 1996, a sign of rising economic and cultural ties. Back then, an estimated 150,000 Latinos lived in Oregon, according to the U.S. Census. A decade later, the figure stands at 360,000, or 10 percent of the overall population, with people of Mexican heritage making up the vast majority.

On any given day, scores of men, women and children crowd the lobby and parking lot of the consulate building. A staff of 20 works behind a small counter and in cramped offices, helping Mexican workers collect unpaid wages, tracking children whose parents have gotten sick or died, and processing consular ID cards.

"He's trying to manage the floodgate of demand for services, and there is a floodgate," says Gale Castillo, executive director of the Hispanic Metropolitan Chamber.

Arriving at work one recent Monday, Sanchez slices through the lines of people. His office, in a back corner of the building, shows little personality: a large mahogany desk and couch dominate.

He may lack the common touch, but Sanchez has made it a priority to work with education officials to improve high school dropout rates and to ensure Mexicans receive information on health care, jobs and other necessities. And more so than previous consuls, say Oregon officials and community leaders, Sanchez has emphasized economics, bringing high-ranking Mexican trade officials to visit.

Friedrich Schuler, a history professor at Portland State University who has invited Sanchez to speak to his classes, says the consul represents a new, mature Mexico, one focused on problem-solving, civic duty and long-term trade.

"Not too long ago, diplomats were political appointments that brought, at best, interpersonal skills," Schuler says. "But he represents the fact that Mexico is one of our most important trading partners. It's delightful to see that."

Policy wonk image

On a recent rainy afternoon, Sanchez and his wife, Cristina Diez, 46, eat halibut and salmon at one of their favorite restaurants, the Chart House in Southwest Portland. From their corner table they have a sweeping view of the Willamette.

He is dressed in his usual suit and tie, his brown hair tinged with silver. He wears a pair of stylish gray Gucci eyeglasses, selected by his wife. She's dressed casually in slacks and a white knit shirt, black earrings dangling against her blond hair.

The two met in 1987 when both worked for Mexico's Ministry of Finance, she a young attorney and he a tax policy director general. She disliked him on sight, this economist who never smiled and "knew everything about everything." He thought she was smart.

They married 13 years ago, the second marriage for each. Between them, they have four grown children.

"He was so complicated," Diez says.

"The way he talked was so excessively technical," she says, recounting their early years. "I told him, 'You can't only be this weird guy who knows about the economy. You have to be a lover and a father and a tender person and someone who has fun in life.' "

At this point, Sanchez's usually somber expression turns sly. "Yeah, she transformed me into a more likable person," he says.

Serious again, he acknowledges that relating to people was not a skill he bothered to develop. "I had never explored it as deeply as she had."

The fourth of nine children, Sanchez was born into a middle-class family in the suburbs of Mexico City. His parents were devoutly Catholic and involved their children in bringing food and repairing churches for the needy. His father, an ophthalmologist, donated eye care.

Growing up, Sanchez lost himself in a world of theories and thoughts. At age 7, sick with rheumatic fever, he was forced to stay quietly, calmly in bed for nearly a year. He says he devoured encyclopedias, science and history books.

In college, Sanchez chose economics, blending his desire for practicality and public service. After getting a doctorate at the University of Chicago, he returned to Mexico City, where he held a number of government posts, focusing on tax reform and foreign investment, coaxing the country's elite group of automakers to make way for companies such as BMW and Honda.

Likely to return to Mexico

At Hillsboro's celebration of Mexican independence, Sanchez swings a large Mexican flag side to side.

This may be his last independence celebration in Oregon, as a new Mexican president will be sworn in Dec. 1. He and his wife say they are ready to return to Mexico City, where a new granddaughter awaits. He says he may continue in government or go into consulting.

Sanchez starts the grito.

"Mexicanas y Mexicanos," he calls solemnly. "Viva la independencia de Mexico."

He pays homage to a list of Mexican greats: Hidalgo, Morelos, Juarez.

"Viva el estado de Oregon!" he calls.

"Viva!" the crowd shouts.

"Viva la ciudad del Hillsboro."

"Viva!"

"Viva Mexico! Viva Mexico! Viva Mexico!"

Janie Har: 503-221-8213; janiehar@news.oregonian.com