In my
work on immigration issues, I have come to know many undocumented immigrants. My
relationships with them prompted me to write my new book Undocumented: How Immigration Became Illegal (due out from Beacon
in May 2014). In it, I show how “illegality” and “undocumentedness” are concepts that
were created to exclude and exploit. I probe how and why people, especially
Mexican and Central Americans, have been assigned this status—and to what ends.
The more I wrote,
the more struck I was with how utterly arbitrary our immigration system is. But
writing about it is one thing, and living it is another. Last week the
arbitrariness hit home—literally—when my close friend and housemate was flagged
by US Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) and is now threatened with
deportation, after a routine traffic stop near our house.
Mariola appeared in
my life shortly after arriving in the United States from Guatemala, terrified, traumatized,
homeless, and seven months pregnant. She fled after many years of abuse and mistreatment. I told her that she could stay temporarily
in my extra bedroom while she figured out her next steps. That “temporarily”
evolved into a long-term house-sharing arrangement. Her son, Ernesto, was born
in May 2010 at Salem Hospital and came home to my house, where he has lived
ever since. Both of my own children were away at college and took a bemused
fascination with my new household configuration. Mariola and Ernesto have
become integral and beloved parts of all of our lives.