Human Beings Are Not Illegal
by Soneile Hymn
There’s a very human side to immigration — with very real consequences and tolls on who we are and can be.
I must have been about 15 on that warm spring day at the Trident Café in Boulder, Colorado. As I took my seat, I noticed the headline of an abandoned newspaper at a nearby table announcing the capture of “illegal aliens.” A string of absurdities passed through my mind as I did a double-take. Had the government finally come clean about the existence of aliens? Was this a hoax? I examined the paper, quietly muttering, “Aliens?” After a moment, my slightly older and more experienced friend gave an amused snort and told me the less exciting and more depressing explanation: humans find our own species to be alien.
As far as we know, immigration is fundamental to the human species. It generally occurs when we feel we can thrive elsewhere and take a leap of faith in a search for a better future. Terms like “illegal aliens,” and its shorthand version “illegals,” criminalize and dehumanize people, completely overlooking the immense contributions immigrants make in our communities as well as our economy.
While mainstream media covers immigration in ways that tend to fan the flames of division and alienation rather than offer context and explore solutions, some small but significant schisms in the generally divisive coverage of immigration indicate signs of an emerging new story.
In June of 2011, for instance, Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist Jose Antonia Vargas “came out” as an undocumented immigrant. In his heartfelt essay for New York Times Magazine, he wrote:
We’re not always who you think we are. Some pick your strawberries or care for your children. Some are in high school or college. And some, it turns out, write news articles you might read. I grew up here. This is my home. Yet even though I think of myself as an American and consider America my country, my country doesn’t think of me as one of its own.
Vargas’ media splash was an effort to stoke the fire of a new dialogue on immigration and to advocate for the DREAM Act, legislation promising a path to citizenship for tens of thousands of undocumented youth. In addition to publicly revealing his citizenship status, Vargas created Documented, a moving and intimate documentary of his personal journey. He also founded the organization Define American, which became a high-profile hub of stories about American identity and diversity.
Following his self-made outing, Vargas began receiving email after email from others who wanted to go public or were already doing so. In 2012, Vargas had located and enlisted 35 other undocumented immigrants from all over the world to stand with him for the cover photo of the June 25 edition of Time, whose headline read: “We Are Americans (Just Not Legally).” Gian Paul Lozza, the Swiss-born photographer who took the cover photo, said in the magazine’s “Behind the Cover” story: “They’re living in America, but only in the shadows. They come from so many different countries, religions and backgrounds. We wanted to bring that diversity to light.”
Lozza photographed each person individually for the web version of the article; each striking image included a caption with an expression of hope. “I want to be a psychologist,” states one. “I want to be free so I can reach my full potential.” “I want to keep fighting until I can see my mother again.” “I want to be the change I want to see in the world.” These unifying voices touch the humanness within the story of immigration.
Another testament to the shifting tides came in April of 2013, when the Associated Press (AP) announced it would no longer use the term “illegal immigrant” to describe people. The policy stated that the AP would only use the term “in direct quotes essential to the story,” and use “‘illegal’ only to refer to an action, not a person.” The New York Times also updated its policies on how it uses the phrase and encouraged its reporters and editors to “consider alternatives when appropriate to explain the specific circumstances of the person in question, or to focus on actions.”
Then, in the summer of 2014, came one of the most striking pieces of new media from the New York Times. “The Way North” is an incredibly rich and diverse tapestry of writing, audio, photography and video that chronicles the ambitious 38-day journey of staff photographer Todd Heisler and reporter Damien Cave, along Interstate 35. The duo examined how the American heartland is being changed by immigration. They met with local politicians and residents from the Mexican border at Laredo, Texas, to the Canadian border at Duluth, Minnesota, exploring the complex communities along the interstate, which is a major artery in the circulatory system that brings immigrants from Mexico and beyond to the United States. By the end of their trip, Cave said he felt much more hopeful about the ability of people to live together in community. “The thing that is really striking,” he said, “is the divide between how people live at the local level and the conversation in Washington. Washington feels so disconnected from the reality of what’s happening in people’s communities.”
The Times’ multimedia perspective of immigrant voices, along with the communities in which they live, offered a powerful alternative to the old, simplistic media of the past. It reflects a shift in the American conscience that isn’t being proportionately reflected in most other mainstream media. I hope that these stories from the heart will continue to proliferate and find their way into the mainstream.
“The Way North” also exposed a changed demographic in U.S. immigration over the past few decades. Whereby large numbers of single men used to cross the border to find work, now it is largely families doing so, increasingly turning our system of deport-ation into a system of familial estrangement. Roughly 50,000 parents of U.S. citizen children are taken from their homes every year. A 2011 inquiry found that over 5000 of these children were living in foster care; according to Immigration and Customs Enforcement, an average of 17 children are placed in state custody every day.
Those who practice nonviolence know that damage to one is a damage to us all. The rifts of immigration affect everyone. A man who had lived on my street for over a decade was recently deported, and the wound is felt by the whole neighborhood. The man’s wife and young son continue to live there, though the neighbors who reported him have since moved away. Our borders not only separate us from our fellow humans on the international scale; they drive wedges into families and communities.
My daughter, Ramona, is a dual citizen of the U.S. and Costa Rica. Her dad has never visited us, and not because he doesn’t want to. The visa application process takes months and requires bank statements, letters from employers and about half the average monthly Costa Rican income. His chances of being granted a visa to visit are low, and having a child living here puts him in the “high risk” category to overstay a visa, which is the central factor in the determination process. Ramona and I regularly visit Costa Rica. I apply for the visa on the airplane and its cost is included in my ticket. Though Ramona was born in the U.S., Costa Rica welcomed her as a citizen, the only requirement being a signature from her parents. I could get temporary residency almost instantly in Costa Rica as her mother, and permanent residency within months. Families are highly valued in Costa Rican policy at all levels, which is reflected in the country’s immigration laws. I want to live in a world in which our priorities express belonging over alienation, love over fear.
As I write this, the courts have prevented Obama’s executive legislation on immigration, at the behest of Republicans in Congress, from moving forward. The legislation would halt, at least in the short term, the deportation of undocumented youth as well as the undocumented parents of American children. It breaks my heart that our leaders still use the most vulnerable among us in their political games. The time has come to take down the walls and dream a bigger dream, together. A dream in which we are free to live with those we love, in the places we believe we can best thrive.
Soneile Hymn is Director of Flow at the Metta Center for Nonviolence and the loving mother of Ramona.
This piece originally appeared in the Summer 2015 issue of Emergence, the previous name of our magazine.
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