Thread: 'Brain waste' thwarts immigrants' career dreams

Originally Posted by JohnDoe2

If you are qualified to be a doctor at home but you aren't qualified here

and you want to be a doctor the solution is to go home and be a doctor

or go to school here and get qualified.

Ditto!

Bottom line , and this is my own opinion , you can take it for what its worth

We have way to many people in this country , its time to take a break

I have no ill will toward legal immigrants , in fact I congratulate them for doing it the right way.

But we allow WAY to many people in here for whatever reason

She may be a doctor in her own country , but do we really need more busboys in this country?

I'm sorry its come to feeling this way but isn't it time we started to really think about protecting our own people? Isn't time to say enough is enough?

I hope she is successful because we do need doctors , we don't need more
busboys

Originally Posted by Justthefacts

I hope she is successful because we do need doctors , we don't need more busboys

"Sure we do! good ol' fashioned American busboys!"
Restaurants used to be full of them!

Originally Posted by JohnDoe2

'Brain waste' thwarts immigrants' career dreams

By DEEPTI HAJELA Associated Press
Posted: 03/26/2011 10:21:40 AM MDT

NEW YORK—After finishing medical school in Bogota, Colombia, Maria Anjelica Montenegro did it all—obstetrics, pediatrics, emergency medicine. Since she has moved to the United States, her resume includes jobs as sales clerk, babysitter, and medical assistant.

The 34-year-old woman's situation reflects a trend that some researchers call "brain waste." The term refers to immigrants who were skilled professionals in their own countries, but can't find work in the U.S. that makes full use of their education or training.

The Migration Policy Institute, an immigration think tank, estimates that 1.2 million college-educated immigrants in the United States were underemployed, out of a population of 6.7 million. About another 350,000 were unemployed.

http://www.lcsun-news.com/ci_17707482

NEW YORK—After finishing medical school in Bogota, Colombia, Maria Anjelica Montenegro did it all—obstetrics, pediatrics, emergency medicine, even surgery. By her estimate, she worked with thousands of patients.
None of that prepared her for the jobs she's had since she moved to the United States: Sales clerk. Babysitter. Medical assistant.

That last one definitely rubbed raw at times.

"I know I was working in my field," the 34-year-old New York resident said. "But that is medical assistant. I'm a doctor."

Montenegro is hardly unique, given the high U.S. unemployment rate these days. Her situation reflects a trend that some researchers call "brain waste"—a term applied to immigrants who were skilled professionals in their home countries, yet are stymied in their efforts to find work in the U.S. that makes full use of their education or training.

Most of these immigrants wind up underemployed because of barriers like language, lack of access to job networks, or credentialing requirements that are different from those in other countries. Some are held back even further because they're also in the U.S. illegally.

An analysis by researchers at the Migration Policy Institute, an immigration think tank, estimated that 1.2 million college-educated immigrants in the United States were underemployed, out of a population of 6.7 million. About another 350,000 were unemployed. The analysis, based on data from the Census Bureau's

2009 American Community Survey, did not differentiate between legal and illegal immigrants.
Brain waste has consequences for immigrants as well as American employers and the larger economy, said Jeanne Batalova, policy analyst at the institute and co-author of a study on the issue.

For immigrants, it means bringing home less money than they have the potential to earn. For employers, it means fewer skilled applicants in their hiring pools. For the country overall, it means a missed opportunity to leverage already trained professionals in areas where there may be a desperate need for them.

There's a "loss when human talent and potential is not maximized in the fullest," Batalova said.

Mohan Singh, 55, thought moving to the United States would be a smooth transition. Born and raised in India, he left his home country for Kuwait, where he worked in air conditioning and elevator maintenance. He lived in Kuwait for 25 years, started his own company and was successful enough to send his daughter and son to college in the United States.

At their urging, Singh came to the U.S. in 2000. He said he thought "that I'll be getting the same job, I'll be getting into a good field, make a good life."

It took seven years to complete the paperwork that allowed Singh to work here legally. When he applied for jobs, would-be employers focused on the fact that Singh had not worked in his field in the United States.

"They cancel all my experience," he said.

He now spends 12 hours a day, seven days a week, behind the wheel of a taxicab. It's a far cry from the work he's done for much of his life, Singh said, and the wages are much lower than those he once brought home. The whole experience has soured him on the idea of staying in America. He plans to move back to India in a couple of years, when his son is done with his post-graduate work.

"I used to have money, I used to have good life," Singh said. "Over here, I'm hand to mouth."

Nikki Cicerani, executive director of Upwardly Global, a nonprofit organization that helps legal immigrants find work in their chosen professions, said typically, immigrants come from environments where job-seeking is done differently. They may not know how to navigate the system, whether it's building a network to learn about job openings or having a resume formatted in a way that is familiar to American employers.

Interviewing can be especially tricky. "In many other countries, the resume and the educational experience is the clincher," Cicerani said, "whereas in the United States, the interview is make it or break it."

American employers can also have difficulty figuring out if an immigrant would be the kind of employee they are seeking, absent a ready way of understanding how foreign educational or professional expertise translates in the U.S. job market, Cicerani said.

"They're not really clear how to evaluate a foreign degree against a U.S.-educated candidate," she said.

Montenegro came to the United States in 2004 to care for her mother, who had been diagnosed with breast cancer. She stayed after marrying a man she met here, and became an American citizen. She now lives in the New York borough of Queens with her husband and two children.

Language was the first barrier that Montenegro encountered. She needed to improve her English, but she also needed to work. She took a job as a sales clerk in a local mall, and even though it felt strange to be a medical professional working in retail, she said, the position at least helped her polish her language skills.

Then came larger hurdles that no amount of perfect English could surmount. There's a series of exams, the first of which cost $1,000 alone, Montenegro said. She also has to complete a residency, a requirement for all graduates of American medical schools. There are a limited number of residency slots overall which makes it a very competitive process for everyone, but even more so for foreign medical school graduates.

Montenegro has one more exam to pass before she can apply for a residency, a process that will take at least a year or two. There's no guarantee that she'll be accepted for a residency; At times, she fears she may never work as a doctor here.

"So many times I want to get my things and my passport and go back to my country," Montenegro said. Over the years, she heard stories about the lifestyles her doctor friends in Colombia were able to afford as she worked at various low-wage jobs.

While Montenegro agrees that her credentials and her ability to provide good health care should be vetted before she's allowed to work in this country, she thinks having to train as a general practitioner all over again when she already has experience is a waste—especially for the U.S., she said, because she speaks fluent Spanish and could be an asset in any Spanish-speaking community in need of a doctor.

"I'm ready to do that and help people," she said.

Originally Posted by topsecret10

"I'm ready to do that and help people," she said.

"Help herself to all that Obama money and illegals!"

Bottom line , We are just letting way to many people in here

Originally Posted by stevetheroofer

Originally Posted by Justthefacts

I hope she is successful because we do need doctors , we don't need more busboys

"Sure we do! good ol' fashioned American busboys!"
Restaurants used to be full of them!

And they spoke English

To cayla, I read the article and what I saw was a woman who has to jump through a few hoops to get her license. Big deal. Sounds to me like she has a sense of that famous latina entitlelment. She wants to practice medicine now. What was the point of this article, if not to slyly imply that this is just not right. Let her be a doctor now. Will you be her patient if she slides on through? No you wont, cause she said she wants to work with spanish speaking patients (of course)

Originally Posted by stevetheroofer

Originally Posted by topsecret10

"I'm ready to do that and help people," she said.

"Help herself to all that Obama money and illegals!"

What she meant was "I'm ready to that and help MY people".

Cuban Doctors Are Accepted Into U.S. But Face Problems Practicing Medicine

Published March 26, 2011

Mar 18: Dr. Julio Cesar Alfonso, head of the South Florida group "Solidarity Without Borders Inc.," meets with Cuban doctors Roberto Carmona and Laura Arias in Hialeah, Fla. Carmona and a number of other Cuban physicians who defected while on overseas assignments have confronted a frustrating contradiction in American medicine: They were allowed into the U.S. because they are doctors. But, once here, they cannot treat patients because Cuba has refused to release or certify their academic records.

It all started with a cowboy hat.

Roberto Carmona snuck away from his superiors disguised as a South African cowboy. While working in Namibia, the doctor donned boots and a big hat so he could slip out to the American Embassy, where he asked about qualifying for a special program for Cuban physicians that he hoped would let him defect to the U.S.

Nearly a year later, he was accepted, just days before his overseas job ended. Carmona fled to Tampa, but escaping his homeland turned out to be the easy part.

Carmona and a number of other Cuban physicians who defected while on overseas assignments have confronted a frustrating contradiction in American medicine: They were allowed into the U.S. because they are doctors. But, once here, they cannot treat patients because Cuba has refused to release or certify their academic records.

Without transcripts, it's nearly impossible for the doctors to take the required medical board exams and to get approval from the U.S. group that accredits foreign physicians.

"To come to this country, we have to spend so much time demonstrating to U.S. immigration officials we are doctors and show them so many documents," Carmona said. "Then why is it once we are here, they don't believe us and make it so difficult for us to work in our profession?"

Cuba, which views the defectors as traitors, pays for its doctors' training and has for years sent them on goodwill missions abroad to provide free health care in poor countries.

In 2006, the U.S. created a special visa program specifically for Cubans on those missions, and more than 1,500 Cuban doctors, dentists and other medical professionals have used the visas to flee to the U.S., according to the State Department.

It's unclear how many doctors face the same problem as Carmona. The Educational Commission for Foreign Medical Graduates, a private nonprofit that oversees the accrediting process, said at least 20 have asked for waivers because of problems getting documents. And the numbers are likely to grow.

Emilio Gonzalez, former head of U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services who helped create the Cuban Medical Professional Parole Program, said the problem was relatively new. He suggested allowing doctors to begin residency programs or other retraining as they await approval to take the boards.

"There is a credentialing problem," Gonzalez said. But, he added, "there are ways to be creative."

Even when paperwork is readily available, the American accreditation system for foreign doctors is difficult. They must pass three lengthy exams in English, which often cost thousands of dollars. But without academic transcripts, they cannot prove they studied medicine.

Carmona was among a half-dozen Cuban doctors interviewed by The Associated Press about their decision to defect while working abroad -- a move that risks not seeing loved ones again for many years. The doctors are allowed to stay in the U.S. regardless of whether they practice medicine. The federal government's "wet-foot, dry-foot" policy says any Cuban who makes it to American shores can remain in the country.

Some became disillusioned with Cuba's communist system and left to escape economic and political repression. Others were frustrated by poor living and working conditions in their host country.

The defectors described taking extreme steps, like Carmona's cowboy getup, to avoid raising the suspicion of Cuban and local officials. Most spoke on condition of anonymity, fearing retribution against family in Cuba or further problems in obtaining transcripts. Some have yet to apply for accreditation.

Carmona said he became disillusioned with the Cuban system in medical school when he saw doctors paid $25 a month and forced to moonlight in other jobs to buy food when government rations ran out.

His application was denied to work in Venezuela, where the Cuban government has sent more than 30,000 health professionals in exchange for subsidized oil shipments. Then in 2007, he was offered a post in Namibia on the West African coast just north of South Africa.

At the time, his girlfriend was four months' pregnant and had already requested a U.S. visa through a separate process. It seemed his only chance to leave.

Since the Cuban medical parole program began, 444 graduates of Cuban medical schools have passed their board exams and been accredited, according to the Educational Commission. However, it's unclear how many of those came to the U.S. under the special program.

Educational Commission Vice President Bill Kelly said physicians can submit affidavits from other doctors who attended medical school with them or request a waiver from the commission's executive board.

"Anybody who indicates they don't have their transcripts, we point them in the right direction," Kelly said.

Carmona said he had tried to talk to someone at the commission about an alternative and enlisted help from state politicians, all to no avail.

Following an inquiry by the AP, Kelly suggested Carmona contact him directly and then offered to allow Carmona to provide the affidavits.

Dr. Julio Cesar Alfonso, head of the South Florida group Solidarity Without Borders Inc., which helps Cuban medical professionals with the parole program, has been lobbying to change the accrediting procedure. He said he's talked with more than two dozen doctors in the same predicament as Carmona.

Getting transcripts authenticated can be tough even when Cubans come to the U.S. with their government's permission.

Dentist Yenia Lopez left Cuba with that government's permission in 2008 after getting a U.S. visa, which is done through a lottery program because so many people apply. Milwaukee-based Educational Credential Evaluators, which accredits foreign dentists, rejected her application because it could not reconcile two versions of her transcripts.

Lopez said she initially sent an unofficial version and then provided her original copy, but there were discrepancies between the two. The company said it tried five times to verify the documents with Cuba, then closed her case in 2010, effectively ending her chances of working as a dentist in the U.S.

"I feel like they are in Wisconsin, and they just don't understand how things work in Cuba, and how complicated it is even to obtain the simplest documents," said Lopez, who has offered to pay the cost of additional verification attempts and now works as a dental assistant. "This is the rest of my life they are deciding."

As for Carmona, he is now a medical assistant and is saving money with his girlfriend, who came to the U.S. with their baby. He said he hoped his case would help other doctors like himself.

"I just want to do what I love," he said, "to be a doctor."

Read more: http://latino.foxnews.com/latino/health ... z1Hl04bNr4