21st Century Colonialism: Mexico

Lifestyle, slideshow — By Andrea Keating on May 22, 2010 at 1:18 pm

The recent Arizona immigration law has re-ignited the debate on U.S. immigration, the role of the federal government and the lack of a comprehensive national law. While emotions and tensions are heated and varied on this dialogue, one student studying abroad in Mexico, puts a face to the often abstract notion of the immigrant and their struggles.

Once I stepped off the plane in Mexico City, I had no trouble finding my brother. He was the only 6-foot-tall white guy in the crowd.

“How was your flight?” I asked.

“Fine, Sebastian didn’t cry,” he said, referring to his son who was fast asleep on his shoulder. “I wish his mom could be here though,” he sighed, knowing that would never happen. Ever since my brother’s wife Monica crossed the border into the United States six years ago, she hasn’t been able to see her family back in Mexico. So, my brother finally decided to go in her place. I was just there to translate.

“Mi bebe!” exclaimed his mother-in-law, Silvia, with tears in her eyes. She smothered the groggy one-year-old in kisses. “Mi bebe precioso, hermoso y bello.”

Once we got home, she introduced us to the family. Everyone was shocked to see that Monica had married a gringo (a slang term for Americans), and that his sister could speak such good Spanish.

As people started heading to bed, my brother glanced over the family photos. In one of them, Monica was standing in uniform in front of a plane.

“Moni used to fly planes,” Silvia said. “She was at the top of her class in flight school.”

Then, she let out a deep sigh. In the U.S., Monica works at a fast food restaurant making less than minimum wage. “She hates her job now, but she does what she has to.” We just nodded and went to bed with many unanswered questions.

The next morning, we embarked on a sightseeing expedition with the whole family. Yes, the WHOLE family. Somehow we managed to squeeze all eleven of us (babies included) into your average mini-van. Once we were all in, we blared the reggaeton and headed downtown.

Our first stop was the National Palace. This colossal building took up several city blocks. After showing our IDs to the heavily-armed guard, we were allowed inside. The walls of the inner courtyard were covered with a series of intricate murals depicting Mexico‘s history, the entirety of which took Diego Rivera 25 years to complete. Further down was Constitution Hall, an ornately decorated auditorium with fabric walls and gold-plated ceiling tiles. Finally, we walked through the Benito Juarez museum, which contained many personal artifacts of the former president.

Leaving the National Palace, we walked around the Zocalo, one of the largest open gathering spaces in the world. It was marked by a 60-foot Mexican flag in the center, along with a number of artisans and food vendors staggered throughout. Occasionally, you’d see a group of traditional Aztec dancers hopping around in feathered headdresses and blowing incense on the crowd. Afterwards, we paid our respects to the National Cathedral across the plaza.

The next day, we visited the Basilica of Our Lady Guadalupe, one of the most sacred sites in Mexico. People make the pilgrimage from all over the country, the especially devout walk from the front gates to the pews on their knees. Near the entrance stands the monumental New Church where current services are held. Its main altar is illuminated by hundreds of candles arranged in the shape of a cross. Behind that, there’s the original church. It’s undergoing serious reconstruction. You could see cracks running up the arches and statues hanging off the wall at precarious angles. Finally, we set off for the large hill that loomed over the entire site. We trekked up the maze of flower-lined stairs until we reached the very top, the place where the Virgen supposedly showed herself to Juan Diego.

We finished off our whirlwind of a weekend with a game of dominos. The little ones had been bugging us about playing, screaming “Domino, domino!” every night. My brother took the opportunity to have a heart to heart with his mother-in-law, which meant I, as the resident translator, would get dragged into it.

“Why did Monica come to the U.S.?” he asked. The whole room went silent. Everybody just looked at each other. I tried to give him the hint that he should drop the subject.

“What? I want to know,” he said. “She never talks about it.”

“Sometimes there are reasons why people don’t want to talk about things,” Silvia responded. There was a long pause before she spoke again. We kept playing in silence

“Right around the time her father died, the flight school shut down. She had no other options,” she said.

“How did she..” my brother trailed off. She stared him down through her black-rimmed spectacles.

“The first time she tried to hike through the desert outside of El Paso. She got caught and spent three months in jail.”

“She wasn’t the only one,” murmured Pablo, one of Monica’s brothers.

“The second time, we hired a coyote,” Silvia said. “They took care of everything from the transportation to the paperwork.”

Coyotes are human smugglers that aren’t afraid to risk a life or two sneaking across the border. They charge thousands of dollars, and if you miss even one month’s payment, some will go after your family.

“And how come you guys don’t ever visit us in the U.S.?” my brother asked.

Silvia scoffed.

“Do you have any idea what it takes to get a visa?! First, you have to take out $2,000. Then, you have to apply for an appointment. It could be anywhere from six to eight months down the road. When your day finally comes, you have to show them EVERYTHING. Bank statements, house statements, car bills, where you’ve worked, where you’ve lived, where you went to school. And if you‘re denied, you don‘t get your money back. I’ve tried five times and still… here I am.”

“Whoa that’s crazy!” I piped in. Having spent the past four months studying abroad in Mexico, I was well aware of their visa requirements, or rather, the lack thereof. “I didn’t have to do any of that. I literally just stepped off the plane and they gave me 180 days.”

“All I asked for was TWO WEEKS!” she yelled with tears welling up in her eyes. “Two weeks to see my own daughter and grandson! And they wouldn’t even give me that… You Americans, you don’t realize how easy you have it.”

Tags: Arizona immigration law, family, immigration, Mexico, Study Abroad, travel