As a result of homeland security threats posed by the porous southern border Congress enacted laws carried out by the administration to deport many who had come to the United States illegally and not filed properly for citizenship. With the border securely walled and vetted, there was no going back for those deported. It was especially harsh for those called dreamers. What happened to them after they were deported?
A CNN reporter arrives by plane on the scene in Leon, still a long drive to his destination, San Miguel, to see if he could find out what has happened to some of the deported. Upon arriving at the airport, he asks the man running a taxicab service if he knew anyone that's been deported. In heavily accented English, the man, Emilio Gutierrez, says and nods, "Yes. Señor, I do. Several."
"Could you point one out to me? I'd like to get an interview."
"I see one coming now… That's Tom Santos driving up. He could take you to San Miguel?"
"Only if he's been deported from the United States."
"Oh, he has. Si, he has. One of my best. Speaks easily with Americans. May I help you with your bags to your cab? Tom will help you load them." Gutierrez waved to Santos to drive up to where they were standing.
A young man, about 20ish, jumped from the cab and came around eagerly to help the reporter with his gear. He was tall and lanky with a partially blonde surfer style haircut, wearing jeans and a Chicago Bears jersey ripoff with cut off sleeves, showing his muscles. He stuck out his hand and declared, "Hello, I'm Tom. Welcome to Mexico. I expect you want to go to San Miguel?"
"Eric Brightman, I'm with CNN, the Cable News Network. Mr. Gutierrez said that you were deported from the US. Is that true ?"
A wry smile formed on Tom's face. "I guess so. Who wants to know?"
"Well, I do, for one. And my audience. Everyone up in the States is interested, too, in what happened to you who were deported as a result of the tightening of immigration in the United States. Will you allow me to interview you?"
"What's in it for me? Any cash?"
"I'm afraid I can't offer you cash, but if I get our interview on camera, I can promise you a little face time on the air when I make my report. What do you say?"
"Sounds pretty good to me. What do I do?"
"You can help me mount these cameras in your cab."
Eric opened up his case and brought out two small portable cameras. With Tom's help, he mounted them in the cab, one facing him and the other facing Tom. With the cameras in place, they loaded his travel bag and other gear in the cab and were on their way on the hour and a half drive ahead. Plenty of time for the interview.
Eric attached clip-on microphones and showed Tom how to In on and turn off the camera on his side, and they were off. Tom immediately turned on the music from his Sirius XM, but Eric cautioned him to turn it off if they were going to be heard while interviewing. Not long after leaving the airport, they were on beautiful, if a bit dangerous, mountain roads into scenery that Eric felt very comfortable in. He could’ve just been a tourist enjoying what he saw, but he had a job to do and stuck to it.
After prepping Tom on what they were going to do, and getting comfortable with the mike and the situation, Eric said, “Okay, Tom, let’s start. What’s your name and where are you from?”
“I’m Tomas Miguel Santos. I'm from Elgin, Illinois. I came there when I was three from this part of Mexico near San Miguel with my parents. They tell me that we drove across the border with an uncle. That it was easy in those days at the ferry at Los Ebanos with a load of watermelons. My earliest memories were of staying with a lot of others who came for fieldwork and the harvests in Illinois and Wisconsin. But the fieldwork petered out by the time I was in my teens and we started mowing lawns, picking up trash, painting buildings and whatever work we could find. My school was mostly Hispanics and there were gangs that I never joined. I was hoping to go to college when they came in the night to our apartment and put our whole family on a green bus back to Mexico. Am I talking too much…?” Tom raised his eyebrows to the camera, a little bit worried.
“No, not at all. just continue… How did you get here?”
“My family is from here. We are from a little village up ahead about halfway to San Miguel. So, when we got dumped at the border with nowhere to stay, we boarded a bus and rode all the way here where my mother and father have joined the village community but have little opportunity for work anymore. I support them with whatever I can. I’m happy to do that.” Tom smiled, obviously happy. And his teeth obviously whitened.
“That’s generous of you. How are you able to do that?”
“Like I said, back in Elgin I wanted to get out of that kind of living and hard work and go to college where I could get a good job and help my parents who hadn’t been able to save anything raising me and my two sisters while putting us through school. As soon as we got here, my sisters couldn’t stand living in the village, so they are in Mexico City finishing their schooling. It’s a good thing that our parents taught us both written and conversational Spanish or we would be having a hard time here.
“Who’s paying for their schooling?”
“I am. But I hope when they graduate that they will manage to marry an American or rich Mexican. They are both beautiful and intelligent… like me…” He smiled broadly.
“You sure seem to be happy-go-lucky. With the burden of taking care of your parents and paying for Your your sisters’ schooling, that must be quite a load?”
“Not at all. I have a beautiful apartment in San Miguel. Make very good money driving this cab. Especially with the big tips that Americans pay me to drive them back and forth to the airport. They really like me because I’m an American and they feel really at ease riding these mountain roads with me at the wheel.” Tom waved his hand showing where the beauty never ended with rugged mountains and verdant valleys all around. My drives are entertaining and informative. They can count on me to get them where they want to go safely, and that counts for a lot here.”
“Did you think it would be like this when you were deported?”
“Oh, I was really pissed. Them coming in the night like that and making us pack in a hurry only our essentials. Later, we were able to get the money we had in banks, but it wasn't fair. But now, I have a good life in a little bit of paradise."
"But you're a young man. Any social life?"
"Social life! All the señoritas love me. They all want to marry an American. And these retirees and ex-pats. Their granddaughters come down to see them. I get to know them on their long cab rides with me. The girls are soon bored with the retired life and all of them want me to show them the sights. I make my own hours so I can take them on excursions to local parks, a couple of volcano sites, and some waterfalls and swimming holes I know of. That's the first thing they think of… Going skinny-dipping… I love it!"
After a couple of days in San Miguel, Tom took Eric to "A successful deported guy," in Guadalajara. Just outside of that vibrant community, they arrived at a new gated development being carved out of the mountainside. When Tom dropped off Eric and his gear at the office, he told him, "You're going to like Art. He's the most successful deported guy I know except for those that have hooked up with the cartels." He winked. Eric got the point.
Already introduced by telephone, courtesy Tom, Arturo Cortez, CEO of Cortez Brothers Construction, greeted Eric at the door and ushered him into his ultramodern office/showroom filled with promotional material and illustrations of haciendas and villas that he had either built or were for sale to be built in this very exclusive mountainside retreat for wealthy ex-pats. Big-screen videos flashed on the walls.
Art Cortez was dressed in khakis with a definite designer style and wore a gold Apple watch on his wrist. His jet black hair was slicked back in a style of the wealthy and he wore a jade ring reminiscent of Maya ancestry… Looked it, too. Art had the relaxed composure of someone very sure of himself--a star.
Offering Eric some Mexican coffee that rivaled anything Eric had ever tried at Starbucks, Art took the initiative. "According to what Tom told me, you are interviewing us to see how we are doing after being kicked out of the United States… Am I right?"
"Yes, I came down here to get the real story on what has happened to those of you who fit into that 'dreamer' definition but were forced to leave anyway. Do I have permission to set up my cameras and get video of our discussion?"
"More than happy to. I'll have Monica look after things here while I take you on a tour of our development. Okay?"
"It will be a little bit more complicated than just a straight interview. But I'd like to get a little video of this fabulous showroom before we go out on the development if you don't mind."
"Don't mind at all. You can set up in my office and we can start the interview there. Okay?"
"Sounds great. Let me finish this coffee and get my gear out. I'm buzzing from this caffeine already, so it should be a pretty snappy conversation." They both laughed and got busy videoing the showroom and the rest of the office with Art narrating like the excellent salesman he was.
Once set up in Art's office overlooking the development below with floor-to-ceiling panoramic windows, the interview began.
"Your name is Arturo Cortez, CEO of Cortez Brothers Construction. When did you first come to the United States?"
"I understand that I was carried on my mother's back when my family crossed the Rio Grande. We lost my father along the way to dehydration and my two brothers were quite small, so we faced a lot of hardship once we got to the United States. My mother, Teresa, went through a lot… Sexual abuse from the men as well as only menial jobs to support the four of us. The first thing that I remember was when I was about four and we lived in the near east side of Houston, the four of us in one room sharing a bathroom with three other families. Mom worked at Ninfa's on Navigation so we always had food. We also started working at whatever we could… I was delivering papers by the time I was seven… To help support the whole family.
"Ninfa got famous and started developing franchises around the city. When I was 10, Mama got the manager's job at the new Ninfa's in Southwest Houston and we moved to a good school and a small house close to the restaurant. By that time, my brothers were already working construction. I followed during the summers. By the time Aldo was 18 and I was 14, we had already started our own little business using the Green Sheet to advertise our services doing handyman work and remodeling jobs whenever we could get them.
"When the Feds came to our shop and told us to pack up because we were being deported, it came as quite a shock. We were working hand to mouth and didn't have any need for lawyers. But we paid taxes like every other business. I got my driver's license by faking my age at 15 and had a Social Security Card from the time I could first get one. But that didn't count for anything. We were hustled off to a bus and sent to Mexico without Mama. But she was deported, too, later. We all ended up here in Guadalajara living with her family.
"My brothers and I started hustling construction work among the expatriates down here. Within three months we bought two haciendas that had been under construction and then halted--cheap. We finished those off and sold them for a hefty profit. About that time a wealthy investor from Mexico City had this land you see here and heard about us. We made a deal with him to create this paradise community for wealthy ex-pats for a cut of the profits. Looks to be in the millions with him putting up all the capital for the construction. I've already sold three palaces, so he's very happy… Shall we take a look?"
Art and Eric took down the camera equipment and moved it to his Range Rover 4 x 4. And resumed the interview as they started through the massive gates to the camouflaged razor wire topped wall separating the community from the rest of Mexico. On Eric's cue, Art resumed his discussion.
"I am the architect, engineer and accountant for this project. Of course my brothers and my executive assistant, Monica, help out, but we save a lot of money by cutting out the middleman. By the use of computers and my experience in Houston working with rich clients like we have here, I find it relatively easy to meet their needs, if a little difficult, sometimes, to obtain their taste in materials… Some very expensive… Some very exotic… and some, illegal. I try to steer the clients in the right direction when it comes to the environment." He chuckled.
They pulled up to a marble palace that looked more like a temple than a residence. Hooked up the body cameras and Art walked Eric through the pristine place that would soon be occupied by its wealthy owner, a former WWF champion.
"It's hard to find workers here who can work with Italian marble, but fortunately, with my Spanish I was able to steal some artisans from the Catholic Church. As you can see, they did a really good job." The entry was like that of an office building with two marble curved staircases with gold rails leading to the second floor. "The staircase and chandelier are merely decorative. There are two full service elevators that everyone will use tucked under the stairways. We spared no expense to meet the client's needs." Eric nodded and the video he was taking clearly verified it.
On the right side of the grand entry behind the stairway was a dining room that easily accommodated 20 diners. On the left was a full-size, open kitchen with commercial appliances. Between the dining room and the kitchen, double glass doors opened through a glass wall to a formal patio with brass furniture and beautifully landscaped flower boxes creating a formal garden affect. Beyond that was an infinity pool and a view that was spectacular over the top of other houses below. This was living at its best.
In the front on either side of the grand entry was a sitting room that doubled as an office and on the other side a library that also doubled as an office. Upstairs there were six bedrooms and three baths (actually spas) with decadent Roman accents. The bedrooms all had spectacular views and balconies. The whole house had an inside/outside ambience for tropical living. Eric was very impressed. He imagined what this place must have cost its buyer.
They toured two other homes. Of different styles and less spectacular than the first one, but still well out of the financial range of anyone but the very rich. Art assured him. "I've already sold out half of the development and we are on schedule to complete this entire place in about three years. You won't believe how much money is here in Mexico from the rest of the world. They come here because of the climate, the security this place offers, and the lack of scrutiny from government and local officials, taxes and other reasons… I don't ask." His wry smile said it all.
After a night on the town with Art, Eric flew from Guadalajara to Mazatlan on the Pacific coast. A long time tourist mecca like Acapulco. Eric hoped to find deported there that were in menial jobs for low pay. He checked into a five star hotel and thought he might find one in the Ritz Restaurant in the hotel when he went for dinner. He asked the maître d' with the name tag, Carlos, if he knew any waiters that were deported from the United States?
"We do have one, Señor. My best waiter. Ricky Rodriguez. But I can't…"
Eric pulled two $100 bills from his pocket and held them out to Carlos. Carlos looked around to see if anyone was watching and then took the bills and slipped them in his pocket. "I just want to interview him for about 15 minutes after I have my dinner. I'm a reporter from CNN."
Carlos shuffled his feet in a bit of indecision while looking down, and then looked up at Eric. "Okay, Señor, but do your interview out on the verandah so that you will not disturb our guests… They like it quiet. We are a first-class hotel. Dinner is complimentary for you." He was saving face.
"I understand. I will be very quiet and respectful. I won't keep Mr. Rodriguez away from his duties for very long. Muchas gracias."
Carlos seated Eric away from other guests in the huge dining room, but in the area that Ricky served. It wasn't long before Ricky arrived. He had a big smile on his face and his uniform was impeccable as he greeted Eric. "Good evening, Sir. Would you like a drink before the menu or would you like to order now? I can recite the menu for you if you like or recommend what is best for this evening…" He hesitated, allowing Eric to say what he wanted, unlike other waiters who don't give a chance to respond.
"I'd like a gin martini, straight up with olives. And, I'd like you to bring me the best entrée from the kitchen this evening. Surprise me." From the look on Ricky's face, it was obvious that he was liking this guest already. Had to warm him up for the interview.
Ricky hurried off to get the martini, bringing it back in record time. A short while later, he brought the main course, marlin freshly caught off the coast that day. The meal was "on the house," but very good and Eric thanked him both for the food and the service. Like every waiter, Ricky came by and asked if Eric wanted dessert.
"No thank you, Ricky. But I would like to interview you if that is possible. Were you deported from the United States?"
"I didn't know it was obvious. What is it, my accent, or what?" Ricky looked worried…
"Nothing like that. I asked your boss. I'd like to interview you for CNN. Let me go upstairs and get my gear. When I come back down I'll meet you on the verandah and we can talk. I paid your boss to give us some time together. Okay?"
"Okay, I see. I'll watch for you on the verandah and then ask Carlos to be dismissed."
"Good. See you soon out there."
Within 15 minutes, Eric had set up his cameras on tripods with the Pacific and the hotel as backdrops and twinkling lights of the city all around. The lighting was fabulous. Ricky brought him another martini, "on the house," and a beer for himself.
Eric led off with his usual question. "When did you come to the United States?"
"I think I was two. I came with my parents to work that summer in California and we just didn't go back. We settled near Salinas and did farm work. I started working in the fields when I was six. I learned a lot about produce and cooking. I'm studying to be a chef. I got a job lined up already here at the hotel."
"Where's your family?"
"They all got their citizenship. I didn't because I didn't think I needed to. I started to go to public school in Salinas in kindergarten and went all the way through high school. Next thing I knew, they put me on a bus and shipped me to Tijuana. It's a good thing I can speak Spanish or I wouldn't have gotten out of that hellhole. I got myself a couple of cruddy, dangerous jobs there and then took the bus down here.
"I knew of Mazatlan because of California friends who vacationed here. When I got down here I found that it was easy to get a waiter job. It's only been a year, but I've already saved up enough from tips and things to pay for my culinary school. Carlos recommended me for the kitchen here and I'll be an apprentice chef in a couple of months.
"Life is good. Much better than staying on the farm back in California. I get along great with the tourists and have found that a lot of the chicks want to date me after I wait on their tables and charm them." He relaxed and took a swig of beer, enjoying the interview.
"So, no complaints about being deported?"
"Not yet. You can't beat the weather here. It's a party all the time. The hotel has put me up in a nice apartment. When I start earning a six figure salary I'll be able to live anywhere I want in this burg. My buddies still up in Salinas are envious of me."
Eric slept in a little late the next morning after drinking a little too long, "on the house." After Ricky's shift they closed the hotel bar in the wee hours of the morning. Ricky had found two girls from Seattle to join them to liven the conversation.
There was a knock on the door, and a voice said, "Housekeeping," so Eric let the young woman in in his underwear. She went about her business in the room and bathroom, humming a familiar pop tune. Suddenly, she spoke, "You must be a reporter. That's some pretty nice gear you have there."
Eric had never heard a maid speak to him like that. And this one spoke English with an American accent. He had to ask. "Are you an American?"
"I was, or thought I was. I grew up in El Paso. I even thought I was born there except my parents didn't have any records and we were deported to Juarez. Lost our home and everything. I was a cheerleader and expected to graduate from high school and go to beauty college, but they wouldn't even let me finish."
"Do you mind if we have a little interview? I'm reporting on people like you, deported from the United States. But you'll have to let me get dressed first. Do you have to ask for permission?"
"Go right ahead. In this kind of job, I'm used to everything." She giggled and he understood. "I've only got a couple more rooms this morning to do. And then I'm off. Let me go finish those up and I'll be back. Okay?"
Anita Alvarez, or Annie, as she liked to be called, returned in about 30 minutes and had changed into jeans, tennies and a white loose-fitting blouse that was befitting the warm humid climate and typical wear for young women in town.
They moved out to a lounge on the floor and set up the cameras and microphones. Eric led off with some introductory information and then asked, "How do you feel about being deported to a country you never lived in?"
Annie looked askance a minute as though she might be thinking, but then replied in her best assertive, cheerleader style, "I had mixed feelings at first. I grew up on the border and we often went to Juarez on Mexican holidays and visited our relatives there. But I felt like I was American. I was quite popular in high school but a bit unsure about college because my grades were only average. I was thinking maybe of going to cosmetology school.
"That all changed when I got to Juarez. My parents, two of my brothers and I were all crammed in my aunt's small house with none of the conveniences we had in El Paso. I could've gone to work at one of the maquiladoras but it was dangerous and low-paying. I had to get out of there, so I took a bus here and I'm very glad that I did.
"I'm staying with a couple of other maids here in the hotel, but I've already got a hair and nail boutique job lined up that I'm starting very soon. The owner is getting quite old and doesn't speak English well. She wants me to cater to the tourists and I think I can do that. All I have to do is learn everything that I can from this experienced woman and I'll be on my way to financial independence. The tourists here really like to take advantage of shops like this and they tip well."
"So you think you have it better here than you had back home?"
"A lot better. Tropical climate. Great friends. Great business opportunity. In the long run I will try to get involved with the pageant circuit and make some big money." Her eyes lit up at the prospect. "El Paso was the capital of preparing girls for pageants. But there was no way I could break in there--it was a closed club." She turned up her nose indicating they were snobs.
After a few more interviews in a few more places, Eric returned to CNN headquarters in Atlanta. His report was cut to one half hour, but he felt it was his best accomplishment so far in his young career. Eric knew that his experience had changed his view of what it meant to be deported for young Americans of ambition and merit. Not as bad as one might have thought. His interviewees were already stars. They were on television.
Copyright 2017 © Ronald W. Hull
2/22/17
