The Consequences of Crossing the Border

by Stephen Brown

NEW YORK-When Bruno Martinez decided to leave his small community in Mexico and head to the United States crossing the border wasn't that hard. It was 1992 and he was 17. "There were two lanes at the checkpoint," Martinez recalled, "one for trucks and one for cars. It was really early in the morning. We simply crossed in between the two lanes with jackets over our heads. The guards were attending to people."

When he made the crossing in 2008 it was much more of a challenge.

At the end of 2007 Bruno got the news that his father was dying of spinal cancer. In the midst of a crackdown at the border of the United States and Mexico he would have to go back home for the first time in 12 years. This time around he would have to immerse himself in the clandestine world of immigrant smugglers, get caught three times at the border and spend $2,600.

Listening to Martinez tell his story is like hearing someone recount an action movie. A normal, hardworking man is caught up in forces beyond his control and must take a large risk to do what's right. To reunite with his family he must be on the look out for the authorities, use passwords and codenames to prove his legitimacy, and finds himself at the whim of shady smugglers who have connections all over town and are constantly chattering on their walkie talkies.

But Martinez's illegal adventure is one that is replayed on a daily basis across America. "It all sounds very familiar, " Marcelo Suarez-Orozco, the co-chair of the New York Univeristy Department of Immigration Studies, said, referring to Martinez's adventure.

Martinez crossed into Arizona in 1992 and 2008, now the most heavily militarized area of the U.S.-Mexico border. There are over 2,000 Border Patrol agents stationed in Arizona, the most of any state bordering Mexico, according to the agency's Web site. Yet, it remains the preferred point of entry because it is less developed and a much larger area to guard. Over 6,000 National Guard troops are to be stationed in all the border states by the end of 2008 as part of "Operation Jump Start," a plan by President George W. Bush to slow illegal immigration through the southern border. Roughly 1 million people cross the border illegally each year, according to the Department of Homeland Security.

Recently, as security has been tightened at the border, fines and prosecutions have increased as another deterrent to illegal immigrants. Surveillance cameras, the construction of a giant wall, and more patrols make crossing the mountainous terrain in southern Arizona a tall order. The surge of high tech equipment, federal agents and national guard troops is part of a $2 billion investment spearheaded by the Bush administration.

The crackdown directly affected Martinez, "Never have we felt such insecurity," he said, adding that he is not sending as much money back to Mexico because he fears the authorities may come knocking at any moment. But this did not keep Martinez from risking the loss of everything in New York that he had worked so hard to earn. Martinez had to be with his father before he died.

Twelve million undocumented workers live in the shadows in the U.S. One immigration lawyer who regularly assists undocumented workers and did not want her name published said she sees stress in many of her clients. "Most of them don't travel because they'll be banned from re-entering. They don't see their families for 15 to 20 years and it causes depression," she said.

The risk Martinez took to be reunited with his family after 12 years highlights the failures of current immigration policy. "The problems (of illegal immigration) go to the heart of how difficult it is to manage this in a rational, humanistic framework," the NYU professor, Suarez-Orozco said.

When Bruno arrived in 1992, Manhattan hadn't yet evolved into the wealthy enclave it is today. The West Side, where Martinez found his first job, was still an industrial area. Martinez worked in a clothing factory. "It was tough work. Nine hours a day, no talking, only sewing," he said.

Years later, Martinez found work at a fruit and vegetable store in Brooklyn. He still works there, now in a managerial position due to his seniority.

He makes $650 a week, working 12-hour shifts six days a week. "This is my salary. I don't have vacation time, fixed break times, insurance, or overtime, but I do know the money I get," Martinez said.

By the time Martinez heard about his father's ill health, he had built a comfortable life in New York. Two of his three brothers had also come to New York, he had married, and he and his wife, Angelique had three kids that her words, "don't want to go to Mexico." He and Angelique had bought a two-story house in Mexico City and rented it as another source of income. But, the house was in his father's name; he would have to go to Mexico City to change the title on the documents. The will had to be resolved among the family.

A week before he left, Angelique was unsure of what the future held. "I'm happy because he is going to see his family, but sad because we might not see each other again. What am I going to do? I don't know," Angelique said. On Jan. 22, the day of the flight, Martinez got cold feet and started thinking about ditching his plans; his wife convinced him to get on the plane to Mexico City

The two months in Mexico were one surreal experience after another. Old friends looked at him differently. "They treat you strange, some as if they were superior, others jealous, others with a lot of respect," Martinez said.

He met his Aunt Ines Martinez in Mexico City. "It was really beautiful--so many years since we'd seen each other. We all began to cry," Ines said in a telephone interview in Spanish. Martinez is one of Ines' 10 nephews scattered across New York and Minnesota. She rarely gets to see them. "What most interests me is that they all talk to me; that they are happy and content," Ines said.

Martinez said seeing his father again brought a tear to his eye . "I remembered him as strong, always working with his tractor in the field. Then, to see him weak, skinny and stuck in bed--it was a shock," Martinez said while lighting another cigarette.

But it wasn't too late for Martinez to spend time with his father man to man. "We spent a lot of time talking, listening to music. We never really had the opportunity to talk about music together," he said

The sights and smells of his community in the state of Puebla brought back countless memories. "The flavor of food is better there. In the field there are fruits and vegetables growing everywhere; you cut them and eat them. It's a distinct flavor," Martinez said. Even going to sleep was strange. "You lie down there, you look up, and you can see stars everywhere. Even in Prospect Park (in Brooklyn) you can't see any stars. It is a completely different life," Martinez said.

When it came time to pick a smuggler, often called a coyote, to get him back across the border, everyone in the village had an opinion. He settled on a man who happened to be from the same community and who he deemed trustworthy. The charge of $2,600 was the most expensive around, but as with other services, you get what you pay for.

By making crossing the border more of a challenge, the U.S. government has unwittingly created an environment in which illegal operations prosper. Unscrupulous smugglers who think only of profits yield horror stories at the border, such as the 18 immigrants who died of the desert heat in the bed of a parked truck in 2003. Making it into the U.S. from Mexico now involves "a much more complex network with different layers of illegality," according to Suarez-Orozco.

Martinez flew from Mexico City to Hermosillo, a city near the border. In the airport lobby Martinez took his backpack off and put it on his chest--a signal to the person he was to meet. The man already knew his name and directed him to a cab that would drive them to Nogales, a city on the border with Arizona. The cab driver got his cut.

At Nogales, Martinez checked into "El Aguila" a hotel about six city blocks from the border. He already had a room reserved; the woman at the desk got her cut, too. Martinez got the impression that the hotel made almost all its money from customers looking for room and board before crossing. On the bottom floor were rooms with eight bunk beds full of people getting ready to try their luck.

A different man appeared at his door at eight the next morning. Martinez, along with about eight others, hopped in a pick-up truck and then walked to the fence. "My adrenaline was at the maximum," Martinez recalled. The coyote cut a hole, and when the surveillance camera mounted on top of the barrier rotated away from the group, they made a run for it.

The effectiveness of the new security cameras at the border have been called into question. The New York Times reported that the cameras had problems focusing on targets and did not function well in rain. This time the cameras apparently served their purpose: Martinez and his band of cohorts didn't make it far before the Border Patrol was upon them.

Martinez spent the rest of the day in a holding cell. The authorities took his fingerprints and a mug shot and gave him the option of signing a paper saying he was voluntarily going back to Mexico. It was an easy decision to sign; the alternative is to wait a week to go to court. After being let out, Martinez called his contact back in Puebla. The boss already knew Martinez hadn't made it. He was picked up and taken back to the hotel. They would try again the next day.
The next time they tried a different route that took them over a mountain. After walking through the night, they were caught trying to circumnavigate a checkpoint at the border. Martinez went through the same process with the authorities.

On the next try he and four others, along with the smuggler, made it as far as Highway 19. The coyote radioed someone on his walkie talkie and in five minutes a Dodge Camaro picked them up on the side of the road. The Camaro had been completely gutted so that five people could hide inside. They were busted at a checkpoint between Nogales and Casa Grande in Arizona. One more day in a holding cell.

The form that Martinez signed three times is called a voluntary departure form. Essentially, the signer puts in writing that he or she will return to Mexico and not try to cross the border again. This is the most common form of deportation. In 2005, there were 965,538 voluntary departures, according to the Department of Homeland Security. The continuing influx of illegal immigrants is a testament to voluntary departure's effectiveness as a deterrent.

William Brown, a lawyer in Las Vegas, put the absurdity of Martinez being able to try to cross over and over again in perspective. "What's the alternative? Put him in our prisons? They are already full of documented Americans," Brown said.

Illegal immigrants are divided into two categories, those who stay past the expiration date of their visas, and those who enter clandestinely, known as EWIs (entries without inspection). According to Suarez-Orozco, 60 percent of illegal immigrants here in the U.S. are EWIs. The first time someone is caught crossing the border, it is considered a federal misdemeanor crime.

Tom Shea, the director of training and technical assistance at the NY Immigration
Coalition begged the question, "Why is it so easy to call a person a criminal who crossed the border, and not someone who speeds, which is a misdemeanor too? Undocumented workers are presented as someone more nefarious."

The rhetoric surrounding the immigration debate in the U.S. obscures the actual severity of illegally crossing in the eyes of the law.

For Martinez the fourth time was the charm. He made it "without being inspected." The Camaro served its purpose and they made it to a safehouse in Phoenix. Martinez called his wife and told her to pay the $2,600 to a collector in New York. The last service included was the long car ride from Phoenix to New York.

The chances of being caught crossing at the border are 40 percent, according to Princeton University Professor Douglass Massey of the Mexican Migration Project. Not a good bet for someone like Martinez, who prided himself on never having been arrested. The current odds of apprehension "are on the high end of historical trends," Massey said in an e-mail, adding that the risk of being detained has been rising steadily since 2003.

Other elements of risk have surged in recent years as well--elements that Martinez became very familiar with. "One of the unforseen consequences of the crackdown (at the border) is that crossing illegally takes longer and costs more," Professor Suarez-Orozco said.

Yet, crossing clandestinely is the only option for the thousands of immigrants looking to try their luck in the U.S. "The process for (legal) entry is so onerous and has such a low likelihood of success that it's not a viable alternative to illegal entry," Brown said.

Shea argued that the dangers involved highlight the need for a path to legalization. "Border patrol is wasting their time arresting workers instead of traffickers. If there was a legal avenue for immigrants, they would take it. The traffickers are are going to keep trying to cross no matter what," Shea said.

It wasn't only Martinez's wallet that took a blow paying the smugglers. His chances of being naturalized now are very slim. "If some day some type of amnesty arrives, I won't be eligible," Martinez said. In fact, by having entered the U.S. illegally, Martinez is subject to the "10 year bar," legal shorthand meaning that he cannot enter the country legally for ten years, regardless of family he may have in the U.S.

"This guy has been working for 15 years. It is outrageous that there in no outlet in place for him to legalize," Shea said after hearing of Martinez's travails.

In the wake of all this, Martinez came back with a few more gray hairs and a penchant for chain smoking. Yet his problems were far from over. He had to tell his wife of 13 years that he had not been faithful to her while in Mexico. "I couldn't just stay locked in four walls the whole time I was in Mexico. I went out, had a few drinks..." Martinez said, trailing off and shaking his head.
His wife kicked him out and they are now separated. His three kids do not want to talk to him. He is renting a room across from where he works, and spends most of his time watching television or working.

"It is not a good feeling being alone," Martinez said, "You feel empty. And being alone isn't for me. I hope I can sort this out."