National Fugitive Operation Programs does a better job of wasting taxpayer money than protecting national security

Brian first ventured to the United States from Guatemala City when he was twenty years old, in 1997. He went to Tucson to live with his aunt. Two months after arriving, immigration agents caught him near his house, and he was ordered deported. At that time, people with deportation orders were released from immigration detention, and told to go back to their countries of origin. Many people did not return. Brian was among them. Ignoring his deportation order transformed Brian from an ordinary undocumented migrant to a “fugitive alien.”

Brian stayed in Arizona, where he worked in construction. A couple of years later, Brian married a Guatemalan woman who was a legal permanent resident of the US. He and his wife had two children together. In search of a better life, they moved to Utah, where Brian converted to Mormonism. His wife was already a Mormon. In Utah, they had a third child. Despite his marriage to a legal permanent resident and their three citizen children, Brian was not able to legalize his status in the US. As the years went by, he worried less and less about his illegal status. In Utah, he was able to get a driver’s license, and things seemed to be going well for them.

Early one morning in July 2009, ICE agents knocked on Brian’s door and asked for him. They had a warrant for his arrest. Because of his 1997 deportation order, Brian was what ICE calls a “fugitive alien.” Brian had never gotten in any trouble with the police, nor had anyone in his family. Nevertheless, he had a deportation order, and that was sufficient cause for ICE agents to come to his home, arrest him, and deport him seven days later.

In those seven days, Brian had no opportunity to see an immigration judge, to secure an immigration lawyer, or to contest his case in any way. He told me he refused to sign his deportation order, as he wanted to apply for cancellation of removal. His refusal to sign did not stop ICE from putting him on a plane back to Guatemala.

Brian’s arrest occurred in the course of a home raid. These raids typically are conducted very early in the morning, when most occupants are sleeping. Several ICE agents surround a house and knock on the door and windows. If the occupant opens the door, the agents may enter the home, frequently without properly identifying themselves or gaining the consent of the occupant. In Brian’s case, the agents asked about the other members of the house, yet Brian told them that they were all citizens or legal permanent residents, and the ICE agents did not enter the house. This is fortunate, as Brian’s children did not have to witness their father being taken away in shackles.

This home raid was part of the National Fugitive Operations Program (NFOP), an initiative led by Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) that has come under harsh criticism for its inefficacy. NFOP is intended to enhance national security by finding and deporting dangerous “fugitive aliens.” A “fugitive alien” is a non-citizen who has been ordered deported, yet has not left the country or reported to DHS. The budget of this program has increased dramatically since its inception in 2003 – from $9 million to $218 million in FY 2008. A recent report by the Migration Policy Institute criticizes NFOP, primarily because of its failure to arrest dangerous fugitives – “NFOP has failed to focus its resources on the priorities Congress intended when it authorized the program. In effect, NFOP has succeeded in apprehending the easiest targets, not the most dangerous fugitives” (Mendelson, Strom and Wishnie 2009: 2).

Although NFOP is designed to deport dangerous criminals, nearly three-quarters of the people they apprehended through February 2008 had no criminal records. In 2007, NFOP, with a $183 million budget, arrested only 672 fugitive aliens that ICE considered to be dangerous. The other 30,000 people arrested were people with deportation orders (15,646), undocumented migrants (12,084) or non-citizens who had been convicted of non-violent crimes, such as shoplifting (2,005). Mendelson et al of the Migration Policy Institute point out that “the number of fugitive aliens with criminal convictions arrested … remained relatively constant between FY 2004 and FY 2008. Congressional allocations to NFOP, by contrast, grew 17-fold over the same period” (2009: 15).

NFOP has been given the money and the authority by Congress to search homes for dangerous criminal fugitive aliens that threaten national security. Brian was one of those fugitive aliens, and that is why he was deported, even though he is married to a legal permanent resident, has three US citizen children, and his only crime was crossing the border illegally in 1997. It is easy to make the case that Brian did not have the legal right to remain in the US. That he presented a threat to national security, however, is a hard case to make.

Although it might seem perfectly reasonable to some people that ICE does its job by entering people’s homes and removing undocumented migrants, in reality, it is a tremendous waste of resources. Each team of ICE agents generally can only do about one raid a day, as they are always early in the morning. On a good day, they might find as many undocumented migrants as there are ICE agents. Most days, however, they will find one or two. There are only 104 Fugitive Operation Teams currently in the US. To use one of these 104 teams to find and deport a person like Brian is a tremendous waste of resources.

Who works and who plays on Sunday afternoons in the park

August 30, 2009

After spending most of the day inside yesterday, today, we decided to take advantage of the beautiful weather in Guatemala City and venture outside. Just a few blocks from our house is Avenida la Reforma, which is closed to cars on Sundays – making it a haven for pedestrians, cyclists, and skaters.

We made our way to Avenida la Reforma around 1pm. We walked for a couple of blocks until we reached the Obelisco. On the other side of the Obelisco, Avenida de la Reforma turns into Avenida las Americas, which has a huge divider down the middle where children can play.

The first thing the girls wanted to do was to go horseback riding. We had no trouble finding one of the groups of people who rent out horses for kids to ride. After their getting their horse-riding fix, we went to the huge playground that is on Avenida las Americas.

On a Sunday afternoon, it is full of families. Although it is a park, it is a space for play for some, yet for work for others. In addition to the families having their picnics and the kids using the playground equipment, there were many people trying to make some money on a Sunday afternoon. There was a man who rents out bicycles. Tatiana and Soraya were happy to see that, as they had been asking for their bikes all afternoon.

There were also many people selling toys, peanuts, cds, phone chargers, and all sorts of other things.

As we were sitting, watching the children play, a boy came up to us and asked if we wanted to buy some of the pirated dvds he was selling. I asked him how old he was. He was eleven, and has been selling dvds since he was ten. I noticed that a lot of the boys selling dvds were quite young. One was no taller than Tatiana and Soraya. He told me he was ten years old.

For some, the park is a place of play. For others it is a place of work. For some, childhood is about playing most of the time. For others, it is about working most of the time.

US Immigration Policy and Family Values

It has been a busy week. Three interviews, two trips to the military airport, plus a series of other meetings. Today, Saturday, I spent the day decompressing, and getting a few small tasks accomplished. I am still dealing with the emotional weight of the interview I had on Friday.

I still haven’t figured out how best to respond when people begin to shed tears during the interviews. It is likely true that crying is therapeutic and that interviewees are processing these emotions. That doesn’t mean that I need to be encouraging this process. I am a sociologist, not a therapist. And, when people do cry, how should I react? Should I look down, look at them, or look away? Should I touch them, hug them, or keep my distance? Should I cry as well? Should I smile? Should I change the topic? Should I keep quiet?

Another thing I realized after my interview on Friday is that I really shouldn’t interview people who have recently been deported. The person I interviewed on Friday has only been in Guatemala for three weeks. His wounds are still wide open. He has a lot of healing to do. The only other person who has refused an interview is a woman I met in Jamaica who had only been back in Jamaica for a couple of weeks.

The emotional stress of family separation weighs heavily on people, and it takes a long time to process those emotions and to figure out what to do with the children.

There was a case in the news recently of a woman in Mississippi who faces deportation, and lost custody of her daughter even before leaving the US. It seems as though the main reason she was denied parental rights is because she doesn’t speak English:

http://www.time.com/time/nation/article/0,8599,1918941,00.html

Baltazar Cruz is a Chatino-speaking indigenous woman from southern Mexico. When she gave birth in a hospital in Mississippi, the hospital called social services.

“According to documents obtained by the Mississippi Clarion-Ledger, the hospital called the state Department of Human Services (DHS), which ruled that Baltazar Cruz was an unfit mother in part because her lack of English ‘placed her unborn child in danger and will place the baby in danger in the future’.”

It is hard to believe this sort of ignorance continues to exist. As if her inability to communicate in English renders her unable to care for her child. It doesn’t stop there. Hospital workers also offered the excuse that Baltazar Cruz didn’t have the proper implements to care for a baby:

“The social-services translator also reported that Baltazar Cruz had put Rubí in danger because she ‘had not brought a cradle, clothes or baby formula.’ But indigenous Oaxacan mothers traditionally breast feed their babies for a year and rarely use bassinets, carrying their infants instead in a rebozo, a type of sling.”

This short article gives very few details on the case, so we are left to imagine what happened. Did the doctors and nurses see an Indian woman unable to speak English and feel obliged to save the baby, to civilize this new-born by putting her in an American home? Or, were there other, real, indications that this woman was incapable of taking care of a baby? I tend to suspect the former. If Baltazar Cruz was capable of getting herself all the way to Mississippi from her small town in the south of Mexico with little Spanish and no English, and to get a job, I am sure she is capable of many other things. Crossing all of Mexico and then the US/Mexico border illegally is no small feat.

The Story I Can’t Tell

I came home today with a heavy heart. I walked home from my interview in the rain, not really feeling the raindrops, just feeling a dull pain all over my chest.

I had an interview with a person who was deported from the US. We both shed tears during the interview. He shed more. I’d like to tell the story, because writing about it is therapeutic for me. I hope it was therapeutic for him to tell the story. I think it was. He has to process what has happened to him and to figure out what his next steps are.

As much as I’d like to tell the story, I can’t. At the end, he asked me not to tell his story. It’s too personal, he said. He said that no one can imagine the suffering he feels, the pain he feels in his heart. He doesn’t want me to tell the story. So, I won’t.

I can tell how it made me feel to hear his story. It broke my heart to hear how much he has suffered, and how much those he loves have suffered. Sometimes people tell me stories and I imagine how I would feel if it happened to me. With his story, I can’t even imagine it happening to me. It’s like it couldn’t happen to me. Or, at least, I am not willing to imagine it, to put myself in his shoes.

Of course I can’t feel his pain. But, I know it takes a lot to make a grown man cry.

I could see in his eyes that his whole world has fallen apart.

He couldn’t decide whether to speak to me in English or Spanish, so he spoke both.

His sister was with him, and she tried to convince him to let me tell his story. I didn’t try to convince him. I told him the choice was his, that some people might benefit from hearing his story, that his story might change some people’s minds about immigration laws. But, I didn’t try to convince him. If he doesn’t want me to tell his story, I won’t.

However, I never will forget it.

Parking, Riding the Bus, and Walking While Latino: Racial Profiling and Deportation in the era of 287 (g)

Two planeloads of deportees arrived in the military airport in Guatemala City yesterday, and one today. On the plane today, there were 138 passengers. Many of them had been living in the United States and were arrested on city streets.

One young man told me he was walking down the street near Tick Tock Liquors in Langley Park, Maryland. An officer stopped him and asked for his ID. He showed him a false driver’s license and was arrested and deported. This is a clear case of racial profiling. Do we want to live in a society where police officers ask people to show proof of citizenship or legal residence when walking around their neighborhoods? Langley Park, Maryland has a high concentration of Latinos. Some, like this young man, are undocumented. Others are legal permanent residents and citizens. Is it the role of the police to stop people and ask them to prove their right to live in the US? Most people I know don’t want to be asked by the police for their ID when they are walking down the street. Few people carry proof of citizenship with them.

Another young man I met at the airport today told me he was on a Greyhound Bus when ICE officials got on the bus and asked everyone for their identifications. This young man had lived in the US for several years and had a valid California driver’s license. That wasn’t enough for ICE officials. They asked him for proof that he was legally in the US. When he couldn’t produce it, they arrested him, detained him, and eventually he was deported. I personally don’t carry my birth certificate or passport unless I am traveling internationally. Very few people carry proof of citizenship with them when traveling from one state to another, and it is certainly not required by law. Does this meant that a person suspected to be undocumented could be pulled off of a Greyhound bus and detained by ICE officials simply for not having proof of the legal right to live in the US? Since when is this sort of racial profiling acceptable in the US?

Most of the deportees were men. Of the 138 who arrived today, no more than ten were women. I suspect that this is because men are more likely to be out driving, taking buses, and walking, and thus more likely to be picked up by the police and turned over to immigration authorities.

I talked to another young man who told me he was parking his car in the hospital garage at Miami Dade hospital when he was picked up. His mother was on her deathbed, and he had taken the morning off to visit her. As he was parking, another car hit him from behind. He was driving without a license and wanted to avoid trouble, so he tried to make a deal with the man who ran into his car. However, a security guard showed up and began to ask both of them for their IDs and the papers for their car. As they were going through this, a police officer showed up and took over. The officer asked the young man for his license. He told him he didn’t have a license. This officer was from the Miami-Dade County Sheriff Department. He then asked him if he was illegal or not. As far as I know, the county sheriff is not supposed to inquire about people’s legal status. And, if they do ask, you don’t have to respond. This young man, however, was not aware of his rights and told the county sheriff officer that he was undocumented. The officer called the Border Patrol, and they came to pick him up from the scene.

A few weeks later, his mother passed on. Fortunately, he was let out of detention to pay his last respects. He had exactly 45 minutes to spend with his dead mother, and had to wear a prison uniform and shackles. Nevertheless, he was grateful to have that time with his mother.

Ten days later, he was deported to Guatemala, leaving behind his wife and two small children.

Many of the people I met in the airport today had left their families in the US. I lent my cell phone to several of them to make phone calls to the US to ask their relatives to send money or to ask for phone numbers of relatives they might have in Guatemala. One man got in touch with his wife, and she wired him money. Another was able to secure a number for a relative here who came to pick him up.

One of the saddest cases today was that of a woman whose bags arrived, but she didn’t show up. She had a heart attack just before getting on the plane, and was not deported. Outside the gates of the airport, about seven of her family members were waiting when the officials had to tell them what happened. They were devastated, not knowing if she is alive or among the nearly 100 people who have died in the past few years in immigration detention facilities.

Ups and Downs of the Migrant Trail

This afternoon, I met Edison, a Guatemalan in his mid-thirties from a poor suburb of Guatemala City who has been deported twice from the US. His story is one of struggle and perseverance, with a few twists of bad luck.

Edison has worked since he was twelve years old. He worked and studied throughout high school. At 17, he left school and worked two or three jobs to save up money to buy a car and a piece of land. He married at age twenty, and had two children with his wife. Things were going fairly well for them, but they were still poor by most standards.

Shortly after Edison’s second daughter was born, his uncle came to visit from the US. He told Edison about all of the opportunities in the US, and suggested Edison accompany him to the US. Edison thought about it, and decided to give it a shot. He and his uncle were robbed after crossing the border into Mexico, and spent six months in Mexico with no money trying to get across before being caught and deported to Guatemala.

Back in Guatemala, Edison couldn’t stop thinking about going to the US. Having tried for so long, he became more determined to make the trip. Edison talked about it with his family, and his mother and brother lent him the money to pay a coyote the $5,000 it costs to get to the US. That was in 2003.

Edison made it to Los Angeles with the coyote. A friend of his came to pick him up and took him to Oakland, CA. Edison worked for the first couple of months as a day laborer. He barely made enough to get by and contemplated returning to Guatemala to be with his wife and kids. But, he had the debt to repay. Plus he was already in the US and figured if he just tried harder he could make it.

Edison befriended an African-American painter who gave him a permanent job in painting. From there, he learned electricity with a Mexican electrician. Soon, he had a small business of his own installing electricity. Edison was making good money, and sent between $1,000 and $2,000 home each month to his wife to build their house and for her to buy what she needed.

Things were going well for Edison, but he missed his family. He asked his wife to come with the kids. She said she would only go if he came to get them. Edison thought about it, and decided to fly back to Guatemala. It had been three years since he had seen his family.

Back in Guatemala, Edison bought a pick-up truck. Two months later, it was stolen from the city center. He bought a taxi to rent out to earn extra money. A month later, it broke down. Nothing was going right for Edison in Guatemala. He still had $5,000 saved, so before he lost that, he called the coyote who had taken him the first time and told him he was ready to leave. It took the coyote a while to get ready. Once they did, they set out for the US. Edison made it to Ciudad Juarez, on the US/Mexico border.

There, the coyote passed him on to someone else, and went back to Guatemala. Things went wrong from there, and Edison was picked up and deported back to Guatemala.

Back in Guatemala, he sought out the coyote and told him he had to take him again. Coyotes usually give you three chances to get to the US for your money. It took the coyote a few months, but he finally took Edison back to the US/Mexico border. Once they got to the border with Mexico, though, the coyote told Edison he didn’t have any more money, and that Edison needed $2,000 to cross over to the US.

Edison called his wife and she sold the taxi to send him the money. The coyote lied to Edison and said the money never came. Then, he took off, back to Guatemala. Edison was still in Juarez. He was in a house where migrants stay waiting to cross over. The owner of the house called his wife and told her to wire another $2,000, as Edison was already in Texas, and owed the money. If not, she would bring him back from Mexico. His wife sent the money.

When Edison found out, he approached the woman about her lie. She gave him back $1,000, and disappeared. He decided to try it alone. Edison met up with two Mexicans and a Colombian who also wanted to cross over. They went through a tunnel, and were picked up on the other side by a coyote. As they were driving on the freeway, four cars surrounded them and pulled out huge guns.

The driver stopped the car and they got out with their hands up. One of the officers threw Edison on the floor and pointed a gun at his head. Each of them was put into a different car and taken in for questioning. The officers told them that if they didn’t say who the coyote was, they would be put in jail. Edison spent over a month in prison, on a human trafficking charge.

After a month in prison, the officials came to him and told him that if he admitted that the driver was the coyote, they would put him on a plane to Guatemala the next day. He agreed to make a statement. Instead of putting him on a plane, however, he spent two weeks in a halfway house. From there, he went to immigration detention, where he spent two weeks before being deported to Guatemala.

Back in Guatemala, Edison works day and night to provide for his family. He rents a taxi to drive, and told me he earns about Q500 ($75) a week. He earned more than that in a day in the US.

Edison is not sure if he will make the trip again. Here, his family has a tenuous future. But, they are all together and none of them is going hungry. With him working so much, he can’t see them as often as he’d like. For now, he will continue to work hard, so long as his health permits.

I asked Edison what changes he would like to see in US immigration law. He told me he thought there should be a temporary worker program. He doesn’t want to live permanently in the US. But, he knows there is work for him in the US, and that he could live comfortably in Guatemala if he could work six months out of the year in the US.

Creative Ways of Finding People to Interview

At every turn, people in Guatemala City have been telling me how hard it is to find deportees. Most deportees live in the countryside. Most turn right around and go back. They won’t want to talk to me. A whole host of reasons why it will be difficult to find deportees. But, I am not one to give up. And, today, it looks as though I have had a turn of luck.

Last week, I took my three daughters to a gymnastics center for a try-out class. When we finished the class, it was 7pm and already dark outside. We waited about 15 minutes for a bus, but they were all going the wrong way. I decided to flag down a taxi. After a few minutes, we finally got one.

I chatted a bit with the taxi driver on the way home, and he seemed friendly enough. So, I decided to ask him if he knew any people who had been deported from the US. It turns out part of his run includes waiting outside the airport for people who have been deported to see if any need a taxi. So, he knows a few deportees. I gave the taxi driver, whose name is Misael, my number, and he told me he would find a deportee for me to talk to.

This afternoon, Misael called me and told me he had found a deportee willing to talk to me. He asked what time I’d like to do the interview. I told him 5pm would work, and he agreed to come at that time. I called Oliver, my assistant, and asked him to come along. I was a bit nervous about meeting up with the taxi driver, and thought it better if Oliver accompanied me.

Misael showed up at 5pm, and we came downstairs. We called his friend, who is also a taxi driver, to see if he was willing to do the interview. Unfortunately, he told me he was quite busy and that he’d prefer to do the interview in the afternoon, as evenings are his busiest times. He agreed that we could meet tomorrow at 2pm at a restaurant near my apartment. I finally have an interview set up. I won’t believe until I actually see it. Nevertheless, it looks promising.

When that didn’t work out as planned, Misael called another guy he knows who has been deported. He was a bit suspicious of our motives, and said he would have to think about it. I assured Misael that the interviews would be confidential, and gave him a piece of paper that explains the project and the procedures I use to protect interviewees’ identity.

I also gave Misael several of my cards, and encouraged him to contact other people he might be able to think of.

He said that he would think about it, and see if he had any other people he could point us to. I asked Misael to which areas of Guatemala City he took most deportees. He mentioned Zona 6 and Zona 18, two areas others have mentioned as well. When Misael talked about how touching it was to take deportees home so they can see their families, I became convinced that he is an honest person, and that I have nothing to worry about working with him.

When we were finished talking, I asked Misael if I could give him something for gas money. He said that I should give what I though right. I gave him Q50 – about seven dollars. He was clearly embarrassed about this quantity of money. I assured him that it was fair, as he had driven all the way to my house and had spent time talking to us. I had no idea he would find that to be too much. The other day I took a taxi downtown and it cost me Q50. In any case, he said the money would be a blessing, so I am glad I gave it to him.

This looks like a good lead, and hopefully I will be able to get this interviewing project off the ground soon!

Where in the world should I live?

There are a lot of things about the United States I don’t like. I am not in favor of the war. I don’t like the fact that people in the US think it is okay to use all of the world’s resources. I detest the fact that people in the US live in big houses, drive big cars, and eat outrageously big meals while others are deprived of these things. Perhaps I dislike most the widespread idea that people in the US deserve all of these things because of their hard work. As if people in poor countries don’t work hard.

Despite my misgivings about the US, I have decided to make my life there. For the most part, at least. Today, I was with a group of people who work for the United Nations who have lived all over the world. A Uruguayan man asked my husband, Fernando, how he likes the US. Nando said it has its ups and downs.

Feeling inclined to contribute, I pointed out that, although, there are things I dislike about the US, I also see it as our best option. I love a lot of things about Latin America. I enjoy the spirit of conviviality and friendliness, and the more open nature of society. However, I have a hard time dealing with the extreme inequality.

As I see it, if I were to live in Peru, for example, in order to have a decent living, I would have to work somewhere like the United Nations or USAID. The salaries of university professors are pitiful, and would never be enough for me to be able to visit my family in the US or to travel abroad. At the UN, however, I could have a decent salary. But, a job such as this would mean living in an elite neighborhood in Lima, surrounded by other elites. In Latin America, class divisions are very stark. My children would go to school only with other elite children, and all of those families would have maids that they would treat as less worthy than themselves.

I don’t want to live like that either – with all elite people in an enclosed neighborhood, surrounded by poverty on the outside. I don’t want my kids to grow up in a society where one small sector of the population thinks itself much better than the other.

As I was talking about this, a Colombian friend of ours pointed out that in the US, racial divisions are very stark. I agreed with him about that. In US cities, it is very hard not to live in a segregated area. In most cities, you have to choose if you want to live in the white, black, or Latino neighborhood. That would be another hard decision for my family.

In Lawrence, Kansas, where we live in the US, we didn’t have to make that decision. The town is primarily white, and there is not a lot of segregation. Of course, the issue is that my kids will grow up in a primarily white environment.

In any case, I feel prepared to deal with issues of race in the US. I can talk to my kids about race and teach them what I know about it. In terms of the tremendous class inequality in Latin America, I feel less comfortable.

At my friend’s house today in Guatemala, the owner of the house told the maid that she could take home a broken toy guitar, as the boy of the house got a new one. The boy, who is five, said to his mother: “Oh, I know why she took it. She gets all of our broken stuff.” The mother, who is Spanish, was devastated. She did not want her boy to grow up thinking that some people get all the broken things, while others get the good stuff.

I feel the same way. I don’t want my kids to grow up feeling entitled to anything. They don’t deserve things just because of who they are, and I want to be sure they know that.

Funny how, at the end of this essay, I came back to what I initially said I disliked about Americans – that sense of entitlement. Maybe I need to re-assess where I want to live.

For now, at least, I can do what I can to pass on my values to my children, no matter where we live.

Sunday Trip to Antigua

On Sunday morning, Nando and I took the kids to Antigua for the day. This involved taking a taxi to the “Trebol” in Zona 7 of Guatemala City where the buses depart to Antigua. When we got out the taxi, a transit police officer directed us to where we should wait for the bus. A few minutes later, a bus that had “Antigua – Guate” on the front pulled up and people began to ran towards it to try and get a seat.

The buses that go to Antigua are US school buses that have a second life in Guatemala.
Cheese Bus

Instead of two kids on each seat, as I remember the buses from my childhood, in Guatemala, the seats are meant to hold three adults. On the way back, we decided to splurge and buy each of the kids a seat, which cost $1.00 (8 Quetzales) each. Having Raymi sit between Nando and I gave us a bit more room. On the way there, however, the bus was more crowded, and Raymi sat on my lap, which meant she didn’t have to pay her fare. But, she did squirm quite a bit.

It is a fairly short ride – less than one hour, so it wasn’t that bad. And, if I sat straight up in my seat, I could avoid hitting my knees.

The bus lets you off at the market in Antigua, and it is just a few blocks to walk to the main plaza. The central plaza was full, typical of a Sunday morning. There were churchgoers, vendors, tourists – gringos and Guatemalans – and locals enjoying the beautiful weather.

Central Park

Being in Antigua reminded me that Guatemala is a major tourist destination for Americans and Europeans. I rarely see tourists in Guatemala City. In Antigua, they are all over the place. Antigua is well-known for its language schools, and it is a charming city, so the presence of foreigners is no surprise.

At the plaza, Tatiana, Soraya, and Raymi spotted two clowns making balloons for kids, and rushed over to make their requests. After that, it was nearly lunchtime, so we set out to look for an economical lunch. As can be expected, the restaurants near the plaza are fairly expensive and have tourist menus. We figured that if we walked away from the plaza, we could find some cheaper and more authentic options.

A few blocks away from the plaza, through the arches, we came upon the Plaza de la Merced, where there was a small market. There were several vendors, and we decided to try and have lunch there. We ordered cheese pupusas, flautas, chicken, rellenos, and a chile relleno sandwich. Some of it was pretty tasty; other items, like the flautas, were not very good. With all the options, though, everyone got enough to eat. We spent less than $10.00 for all of us, a pretty good deal.

Plaza de la Merced

After lunch, we took the kids back to the plaza, and they got their treat for the day – a ride around Antigua on horseback. The kids love horses, so this was quite exciting for them. They seemed not to mind the smell emitting from the burlap sack that the horses wore as a diaper. I kept a safe distance, taking pictures and making sure the kids were safe.

The kids were a bit restless after that, so we decided to look for a playground. On the way, we passed by an old church that looked as though it had been destroyed in the 1717 earthquake. I asked the kids to guess what they thought had happened to the building. They guessed hurricane, tornado, snowstorm, and other events before getting to earthquake.

The playground we found was in a part of the town called San Felipe. There were a few other kids there, and the kids had a good time swinging on the bars, riding on the slides and swings, and running around and getting dirty with the other kids.

Turns out the procession of the Day of Our Lady of Mercy was on Sunday as well, and that the procession began by the playground we were at. We left the playground and went outside to see the procession. It began with a long line of people, and was followed by about fifty people carrying on their shoulders an enormous float with huge statues on it. I don’t know if it’s called a float when you have all of those people carrying it, but you get the idea.

The "Float"

Part of the tradition in Antigua is to make elaborate designs on the streets with flowers and sawdust.
Flowers on the street


After watching the procession, we went back to the Plaza de la Merced, and had tacos. I had carne adobado, and the kids had chorizo tacos. They were quite good. It was getting late, and we decided to make a final stop in Pollo Campero to have a beer and use the clean restrooms before heading back to Guatemala City. Getting the kids off of the playset in the Pollo Campero wasn’t easy, but we eventually succeeded.

When we made it to the bus stop where the buses leave for Guatemala City, there was a bus leaving. It was standing room only, so we decided to wait for the next bus. This meant we got seats, but had to wait until it filled up.

We finally got to Guatemala City at 8pm. It was dark, and the bus let us off in the middle of the road. Luckily, we found a taxi, and made it safely back to our apartment.

Three planeloads of deportees in Guatemala City

Adrian stood out among the deportees at the airport. He was well-dressed, with a button-up shirt and slacks. He had a clean haircut and a recent shave. He was also a lot taller and more muscular than most of the rest.

Adrian came up to me to ask me what I was doing at the military airport, where a planeload of deportees had just arrived from Arizona. I explained that I am a sociologist from the University of Kansas and that I am writing a book on what happens to people once they are deported from the US.

Adrian began to tell me his story. He left Guatemala when he was thirteen years old. He is thirty now. When he was sixteen, his US citizen father applied for Adrian to legalize his status. Adrian was issued a temporary work permit and a social security number. He just had to wait for his green card, his proof of legal permanent residence in the US. Unfortunately, Adrian’s family moved and somehow they forgot about his pending application. Years went by, and Adrian never finished the process, never signed the papers that would have made him a permanent legal resident of the US.

When Adrian was 30 years old, he was arrested on his way to California. He told me that the woman he was riding with became jealous because of his other relationships and they got into an argument. Shortly afterward, she began to insist that she felt ill, that she had a serious bladder infection and needed to see a doctor. With no hospital in sight, he called 911 from his cell phone. The paramedics told him to meet them at the next exit. When he arrived there, the woman told the paramedics that Adrian had tried to kidnap her and had hit her. Adrian was arrested. He waited five months in jail for his trial. Adrian’s lawyer suggested he plead guilty, and accept a bargain for three years probation. After his trial, Adrian he wasn’t released; he was deported to Guatemala, leaving his wife and four kids in the US.

I asked Adrian where he was going. He told me he was going to his grandmother’s house in Guatemala City. Adrian hasn’t been to Guatemala since he was thirteen, and didn’t know what to expect when he left the airport.

Adrian was just one of the over one-hundred deportees who arrived to Guatemala today. Each day, between one and three airplanes full of deportees arrive in Guatemala. Some, like Adrian, have spent years in the US. Others were found in the desert, barely having made it to the US.

I met another young man, Gustavo, who told me the migra saved his life. He was with a group of Guatemalans that crossed the desert to get to the US. Gustavo was wearing boots, and developed blisters all over his feet. He could barely walk. In addition, he was hungry and thirsty. At one point, he could no longer take it and passed out. Lucky for him, immigration officials found him and took him to a detention center. I asked Gustavo if he planned to try again. He assured me he was not. The trip was too traumatic for him.

Today, I saw two planeloads of deportees arrive in the military airport. They come on chartered planes, at $25,000 a planeload. They arrived shackled, with just their clothes on their back. Those who were in prison usually wear all white; some of the ones caught in the desert arrived with caked mud still on their pants. One woman was wearing a low-cut blouse, stretch pants and three inch heels. Perhaps she was on her way to a night club when she was picked up. I called a taxi for her, and she went on her way to the zona 12 of Guatemala City.

Most of the deportees were young men. Less than a quarter were women, and there were two older men – maybe in their seventies. One woman I spoke to had lived in the US for sixteen years, and was crying because she had nowhere to go. She told me she didn’t have any brothers or sisters, her parents were dead, and she didn’t know any of her aunts or uncles in Guatemala. I lent her my cell phone and she called her husband in Fort Meyers, Florida. He gave her the number of his cousin, and he agreed to come pick her up.

Deportees who arrive in the military airport of Guatemala go through processing with Guatemalan migration, then talk to the Health Inspectors, the police, and are allowed to make a call to let their relatives know they have arrived. In addition, the Ministry of Foreign Relations offers them a snack – a sandwich with a drink and some cookies.

A recent newspaper article in Guatemala reported that 90 percent of deportees go back to the US within a year. In contrast, none of the people I talked to told me they were going back, at least not illegally. It could be that they think they will be able to return legally, and when they realize they can’t, they take the risk again. Or, when they realize their limited possibilities in Guatemala, and decide to take the trip.

I exchanged numbers with a few deportees at the airport, and asked them to contact me in two months or so, to ask them how they are doing, how they are re-incorporating into society.

I still can’t get over what I saw today – over one hundred people brought back to Guatemala in shackles. So many dreams destroyed and hopes shattered. So much desperation.

Getting around Guatemala City

Guatemala City is divided into several zones. They start in the middle, and spread out like a snail, going around from 1 up to 15. The spiral snail pattern is a bit off in some places, but the peripheral neighborhoods tend to have higher numbers.

The western outskirts have a few wealthy or upper middle class neighborhoods, going from the fairly well off zona 9 to the quite well off zona 10 to the elite zona 15. The city center is in zona 1. It is a commercial district, but has somewhat of a concentration of poverty. From there, you go to zona 6, a working-class/poor neighborhood. This leads out to zona 18, a poor neighborhood on the southeastern edge of the city.

I am still trying to get a lay of the land here in Guatemala City. Several people have suggested that there might be a concentration of deportees in the zona 6 and zona 18. Nearly 100 deportees arrive in Guatemala each day. Of these deportees, as many as 20 are from the capital. With numbers like these, it should not be hard to find people who have been deported from the US.

My husband, Nando, actually found one already for me. Nando met a guy in McDonald’s who told him that his brother had been deported. Hopefully it will work out for me to be able to interview him.

Oliver, my research assistant, has also suggested that we check out call centers. Since English ability is an asset in these call centers, where international companies outsource their customer service, there may be deportees in those call centers. Oliver has a connection with one of them, so that is an avenue we will pursue.

I took the bus to get home from the city center today. In addition to being a fraction of the price of a taxi, I got to see quite a bit of the city. Similar to what I have seen in other Latin American countries, the bus drivers let people get on the bus briefly to give their pitch, in the hope of getting some money from passengers.

Yesterday on the bus, a woman asked us to buy chewing gum from her for one quetzal. Today, a young man who told us he was HIV positive got on the bus and showed us his ability to cut beautiful swans and butterflies from colored paper. I gave him a few coins, and he said “thank you” to me in English. Then, he asked if I understood Spanish. I told him I did, and he let me know he speaks three languages. It crossed my mind to ask him if he had been deported from the US, but he got off the bus too quickly. Once he was off, two young boys got on and sang a religious song. I had given all of my change to the former guy, so I didn’t give them anything.

I rarely give money to children who ask for it in the streets. They may be orphans, but usually their parents are somewhere, and I do not condone parents sending their kids out to ask for money. It is a very risky situation to put the kids in.

The bus I was on took forever to get me home. It seems that buses here are somewhat independently operated. This means that the driver tries to make as much money as possible. So, if someone is running for the bus, they usually will stop to get their fare. In the US, there is no economic incentive for the busdriver to do that, so they might ignore you.

The drawback to the Guatemala system is that if the bus is full, it will stop at every corner and try to coax passengers to get on the bus. As such, a trip that is 15 minutes by car easily can turn in to over an hour by bus. In my case, that also means more time to observe what is going on in the city.

Another Day in Guatemala City: Meetings, Books, Walking and Gymnastics.

This morning, my research assistant, Oliver, came to pick me up at 8:30am. We had a morning meeting with Professor Miguel Ugalde. We had planned to take the bus, but Oliver unexpectedly had a car, which made the trip there quite a bit easier.

Oliver had originally suggested we walk to a bus stop about a twenty minute walk from my house. When we drove past the bus stop, I thought to myself that Oliver likely walks very fast, as it did not look like a twenty-minute walk.

Our meeting with Miguel was very productive. He gave us a list of at least ten people who work on issues related to migration that I should contact. I likely will not need to talk to all of the people he suggested. However, it is great to have so many leads, as that means I should be able to pick and choose the nice folks.

There are a lot of people, institutes, and agencies who work on migration in Guatemala. Eleven percent of the Guatemalan population resides abroad, and remittances (the money migrants send home) is the largest source of foreign currency in Guatemala. It tops tourism, coffee, and international aid. No wonder migration is such a big deal here.

After our two hour meeting with Miguel, Oliver dropped me off at a bookstore not too far from my apartment. I picked up one book for myself – a book on the Postville Raid by Eric Camayd-Freixas – in addition to several books for the kids. We may or may not home school, but, in the meantime, it seems we should be teaching them something.

When I got home, I spent about an hour with the kids, first doing a math assignment, and then moving on to some Spanish reading instruction. The book we have starts out by pointing out that Spanish is the easiest language to learn to read in the world. That is encouraging.

Once our lesson for the day was over, it was time to go out again. I had an appointment for a trial class for the girls at a gymnastics academy in the wealthy zona 14. Oliver told me it was about a 25 minute walk from our house. I figured that it might be a bit farther, but that we could try walking anyway. We set out from the house, made a left on Calle 12, and then a right on Avenida 6. After about four blocks on Avenida 6, I noticed the numbers were going down instead of up. I asked Nando about that, and he told me we were walking towards the city center. Oops. That was the wrong way. We asked another pedestrian where the Plaza Futeca was, and he told us we needed to get bus #101 on Avenida la Reforma, two blocks over, and in the opposite direction.

We made our way to Avenida la Reforma, and found bus #101. The driver confirmed it did go to Plaza Futeca. After a rather convoluted journey, the driver let us know it was time to get off, and let us off the bus at the intersection of Calle 20 and Avenida 10 in the zona 14. Just ten blocks from the Plaza Futeca. With no buses or taxis in sight, Nando, Tatiana, Soraya, Raymi, and I set out walking towards the Plaza Futeca.

Luckily it was a nice day. And, they were ten short blocks. About 20 minutes later, we were there. BabyGym is a nicely equipped gymnastics center, with all sorts of things for the kids to do. I wasn’t sure exactly what our trial class would consist of. I was hoping it would be that they would get to participate in a class with other students. Turns out it was a private one-hour gymnastics class with Tatiana, Soraya, and Raymi as the only students. The kids had fun and got a good workout. At the end of the class, I asked them if they wanted to come back. Tatiana and Raymi were displeased with the idea of being in the same class with their younger sister, Raymi. And, Raymi thought she needed to be in a class with at least one other five-year old girl. Other than that, they said they had fun.

I asked the receptionist about the other students, and she told me that they don’t have many students at the moment. There is one other eight-year old girl that Tatiana and Soraya can take a class with. There also is a four-year old boy Raymi can have a class with. That makes it a bit better, but doesn’t really solve our issue with the lack of socialization of the kids if we end up not being able to send them to school. It is funny – a private gymnastics class sounds fabulous in principle. But, when you are looking for friends for the girls, it is less attractive. Let’s hope they like the one other person in their class, if we decide to enroll them.

In the same plaza where BabyGym is, there is a great gym for me. I definitely need to get back to going to the gym. It wasn’t convenient in Kingston, and I am feeling a bit out of shape. That is one more reason to enroll the kids in BabyGym, as I can go to the gym while they are in their gymnastics class. Plus, if we walk there, I could get a decent walk in addition to the workout.

We told the receptionist we’d think about it. I suppose I will wait to see whether or not the kids ask to go back to the gym. Plus, we might check out other gymnastics centers, if we can find any. As we were leaving, we asked how to get back to our house.

The receptionist told us to walk a few blocks over to a Taco Bell, where we could get a bus going back our way. This was a bit of a shorter walk. When we got to the main street, however, we saw the bus going by. It was very full. People hanging out the front and back door full. I suggested to Nando that we walk. He wasn’t sure how far it was. We asked a young man, and he said it was about eleven blocks down. So, off we set, this time in the right direction.

On the way back, there was a nice playground in the Parque del Obelisco. The kids played there while Nando and I sat down and figured out our budget. I wanted to make sure we could afford to send the kids to this gym, and, if we did, how much we could afford for their schooling. Turns out we have enough, at least on paper.

The walk back was very nice. It was on a big avenue, but the avenue has a hug divider, which is like a little park in the middle of the street. So, the kids ran around, played on the statues and in the grass. Eventually, we made it home.

As you can imagine, the kids fell asleep almost immediately after dinner. I would have to, but I procrastinated too long on writing this blog post.

Writing with a Full House

Today is not going exactly as I had hoped in terms of writing, yet has been quite productive in other ways. I started out on the right foot with writing. I promised myself I would devote at least thirty minutes each morning to writing a proposal for a writing fellowship, due in mid-September. This morning, I spent 38 minutes on that project and made some real headway.

The next step, in my mind, was to make the online revisions to a chapter of a book on immigration policy that I am finishing up. However, a series of other issues took over before I could get to that.

First, I got a call from my research assistant. Last night I met with Oliver, an Australian who has lived in Guatemala for a few years. He agreed to work as my research assistant. He will help me set up interviews, accompany me to the interviews, write up fieldnotes after the interviews, and do other various tasks for me. Having a local expert will be a great help, as it will take me a while to learn to navigate Guatemala City. In addition, if I have an interview at 7pm in a poor neighborhood on the other side of town, a male companion is not a bad idea.

I was glad to hear from Oliver this morning, even though it took me away from my writing. He called to tell me that he has set up an appointment for Thursday for us to meet a friend of his who is very well connected in terms of migration issues. However, talking to him reminded me that I also need to get some documents ready for my interviews, and that I needed to contact Professor Miguel Ugalde to set up an appointment. When I called Miguel, he told me that he has arranged for us to go to the military airport where the deportees arrive on Friday. This is fantastic. I am anxious to witness this process, and potentially get contact information for deportees.

Once my phone calls were over, it was 9:30am, and time for Cecilia to come over. Cecilia is a private tutor, and we planned to talk with her about her home schooling the kids for us, or at least helping out with developing a curriculum and getting the kids on track. Despite my misgivings about home schooling, it may be our only option. Most schools in Guatemala are nearly done for the year – they finish in mid-October – and do not want to take new kids at this point. There are schools on a US calendar, but they have outrageous school fees - $6,000 just to enroll one child! We chatted with Cecilia a bit. She said she would suggest some schools to us, and that, if we decided to go with the home schooling, she’d be happy to help us out. Cecilia seems quite qualified. However, there are two things that give me pause. First, she charges US$15 per hour. That is a lot for Guatemala – la señora found it scandalous. Secondly, when I told her about the principal saying the girls were restless (inquietas), she recommended I look into the Monarch School, which specializes in kids who have ADD and other similar disorders. I take offense to even the implication that my kids might have ADD! So, we are not sure about working with Cecilia. For now, we have decided to ask around and continue to weigh our options.

Of course, this indecision means that the kids were running around the house all morning, and not really letting me get much work done. I was able to translate a document for my interviews – the Project Information Sheet. I sent that to my research assistant, Oliver, to look over. I also asked him to translate the Interview Guide. I was tempted to do it myself, but I convinced myself of the importance of delegating what I can.

With the kids in the house, it was difficult to make much progress on any other writing tasks. I spent most of the rest of the morning calling different schools, looking for teachers online, and searching for other activities for the kids. I set up an appointment for the kids to visit a gymnastics center this week. At least if they will be home schooled, they will have the opportunity to meet other kids in the gymnastics classes.

It looks like tomorrow will be a productive day. Miguel agreed to meet with Oliver and me to go over a list of contacts for people who work on migration issues at 9:30 in the morning. That will get the day off to a good start, and will get me out of the house. In addition, we may visit another academic institute in the area in the morning, as I heard they have issued a report on deportees in Guatemala.

After lunch, I gave into the fact that the kids weren’t going to let me work anymore, so long as they were in the house. I asked Nando to take them out. He agreed, and I got them ready. Finally, at 2:00pm, they left me in peace, and I set about writing this blog entry to get my mind back on track about what I have to do.

As soon as I sat down to write, la señora knocked on the door, inviting me over for coffee. I politely declined, telling her I really needed to get some work done, now that the kids were out of the house. She seemed to understand. I felt a bit bad about declining her invitation, but I have a list of things I need to do before the kids come back.

First step is to put the final touches on Chapter Five of my forthcoming book on immigration policy – Immigration Nation? Why Immigrants Come to the US and How US Immigration Policies Tear Families Apart – under contract with Paradigm Publishers, and due on August 31!

Blondie gets her groove on - Decalé Gwada

I have been seeing this video of a blonde girl getting her groove on on Facebook for a few weeks, and can't resist the urge to comment. If you haven't had the pleasure, the video is titled "Decale Gwada Blondinette" and is on youtube at:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IKx3UU7hwr0

When I first saw the video, I thought, that is cute - a little white girl who knows some sweet dance moves. The video kept popping up on friends' facebook pages, though, and I became curious about this fascination with the video, and about the origin of the famed video - topping 300,000 views on YouTube.

So, I decided to do a bit of Internet research. Turns out that, contrary to popular opinion, this is not dancehall, but Decalé Gwada, a type of music from the Congo, and the artist is Jessy Matador. The little girl lives in France, is nine years old, and has been attending African dance classes since she was six. She is performing the choreography from the original music video.

On Facebook, most comments I have seen are to the tune of "Damn, blondie can dance." Others imply that the moves are too sexual for such a young girl.

On some blogs, some (mostly white) folks are encouraged by the "proof" that white folks can dance, and maybe, by extension, jump. Okay. Other (mostly black) folks are disillusioned because they claim that many a black girl can do these moves, but that it is only interesting when a white person does them. Most folks, however, simply congratulate the blondinette for her moves.

Personally, I am fascinated by all the attention Elvyna (the dancing little girl) has drawn. The video is out there for all to see. The conclusions people draw from this spectacle are clearly influenced by their own standpoints. Much to be learned from the reactions and from the fact that there are so many!

How hard can it be to get the kids in school in Guatemala City?

Bright and early this morning, we took our three kids to a nearby school to enroll them. The teacher and the principal were very welcoming and told us about all of the benefits of their school. We agreed that we would like to enroll the kids in the school. It would cost us $200 per kid a month, $600 overall, but we decided that was probably our best option. The American School in Guatemala costs much more, and has a several thousand dollar enrollment fee. Public school seems not to be an option, because of the kind of visas we have.

Nando and I left Tatiana and Soraya at the school, and took Raymi with us. The principal explained that Raymi’s teacher was out sick, and that Raymi should meet her teacher on her first day. So, it would be better for Raymi to start the following day when her teacher was back. Raymi was quite disappointed, but we appeased her by telling her we would buy her some new shoes for school at the store. The kids have been running around in sandals, and it is a bit colder here than in Jamaica.

Nando, Raymi and I went on a shopping spree to get snacks and other things for the kids to take to school, as well as new tennis shoes for Raymi. After that, we came home and had lunch, and at 2pm, Nando went to pick up the girls.

Around 3pm, I got a call from the school. The principal told me that, she was sorry, but she didn’t think it was a good idea that the girls enroll in their school. Wow! I couldn’t believe that they wouldn’t want the extra money. According to the principal, Tatiana and Soraya are at the right level in math, but are behind in Spanish language reading and writing. (Here, they teach kids cursive first, and the kids read more English than Spanish, so that wasn’t a surprise.) She also said that the school year is nearly over, so it doesn’t make much sense. Finally, she pointed out that Tatiana and Soraya are restless. (She has a point there.)

In all, after spending the morning getting the girls into school, we find out that we are back at square one. Well, not exactly, the principal recommended another school to me, one that has the US calendar, and should be starting up right about now. I gave them a call, and they said they would let me know if there is space for the kids. Unlike the other school, it is not in walking distance. And, it may be more expensive. They didn’t want to give me the price over the phone. I imagine that means it’s not cheap.

Thinking about how much we will have to spend on school fees, it occurred to me that $600 per month is likely quite a bit more than a teacher earns in Guatemala. In Peru, teachers earn $200 per month, and it seems as though the prices in Guatemala and Peru are about the same. The minimum wage in Guatemala is about $150, so I would guess teachers earn about $300. One online forum I read indicated that teachers start out at about $200 a month, and max out around $600 after twenty years of service. All that to say we likely can afford a private teacher.

As I was thinking about this, la señora, the owner of our apartment, came over to ask me about the school, and to offer her suggestion that we hire a teacher. She apparently did the math as well, and insisted it would be less expensive to hire a teacher. The idea sounds attractive, but there are some drawbacks.

One of the major drawbacks is the lack of contact with other children. If we hire a private teacher, it will be just the three of them. I suppose one solution would be to use the money we save by hiring a teacher to enroll the kids in some sort of dance, music, or art classes. There, they might be able to meet other kids. Only issue with that is that Tatiana just told me she wants to take gymnastics, Soraya, Kung Fu, and Raymi, ballet. That could get a bit complicated.

I just found a website with kids’ activities in Guatemala City. http://www.laguiadeguate.com/public_laguiadeguate/?MainSection=categorias&cat_id=289 This has lots of options! Perhaps we could take the girls to see the martial arts and gymnastics places to see which one they prefer. The gymnastics place offers a free class. We just have to make an appointment. Sounds like a plan!

My first Sunday in Guatemala City: Globetrotters, Barbecue, and Church

My third full day in Guatemala turned out to be my first day of research. Miguel Ugalde, a university professor who lives close to us, invited my family to his house for a barbecue. After a small lunch at home, I marinated some steaks, and got the kids ready. Miguel came to pick us up at 2pm, right on time.

It is quite a coincidence that just yesterday I was musing about how much of the rest of my career as an academic I would be able to spend abroad, as today I learned that Miguel has spent most of his career traveling from one country to the next. Originally from Mexico, he has lived for extended periods of time in the US, Germany, Kenya, Nigeria, Italy, Israel, Belize, and Guatemala. Those are only the countries I can remember; I am sure he mentioned more. Some of this time, he was working as an academic. At other points, he worked for non-governmental organizations such as Save the Children and UNICEF. At any rate, he has had a very interesting life, and Nando and I greatly enjoyed listening to his stories.

I am very lucky to have found Miguel Ugalde. He has been immensely helpful with me getting set up in Guatemala, even though I had never met him before coming to Guatemala. I found his contact information online, and emailed him out of the blue asking for his support for my project. He readily agreed, and sent me a letter of support for my Fulbright-Hays application. Meeting him in person, I think that perhaps the facts that Miguel is an expatriate himself, and has benefited from the kindness of others in his travels are what leads him to be so generous with his time, expertise, and connections. I only hope I can find some way to repay him.

After a delicious meal and fascinating conversation with Miguel, I came home with Fernando, Tatiana, Soraya, and Raymi. Not too long after, Miguel came to pick me up to take me to a church in the Zona 2. Miguel knows the priest at this church, and suggested that we go there and announce to the parishioners that I am doing a study on people who have been deported, in the event that they would be willing to give their name and phone number such that I could contact them.

We arrived at the church just before 7pm. We had hoped to arrive before the mass ended, but got there just as parishioners were leaving. Luckily, there was another mass at 7pm. It was less crowded than the 6pm mass, yet still had a substantial number of attendees. The church was quite large, with a very high ceiling and about twenty-five rows of pews.

When the mass started, Miguel and I chatted outside for a bit about his family. He has two sons living in Guatemala, and another in the US. I don’t recall where his fourth son lives. Miguel also told me that the state where Guatemala City is located is one of the top three migrant-sending states in Guatemala. Of course, that has to do with the fact that it is the state with the largest population, but, nevertheless, a useful piece of information.

When the mass had gone on for a bit, we entered into the church and sat in the last pew. The priest was talking about poverty, and how the right thing for each of us to do is to make sure that we provide food for others when they are hungry. I did not do an exact count, but I was struck by the number of men in the church. There even were two young men seated near me who had come together. For some reason, I expected there to be more women than men at the service. Instead, it was about half and half. There were quite a few young families, as well as people who appeared to have come alone. A few of the women were dressed in the typical Mayan costume. Most, however, wore western clothes.

I am still trying to get a sense of Guatemala, of what is unique about this country. The prevalence of people wearing indigenous costumes in the capital city certainly would be one thing that differentiates Guatemala from other countries. In some rural areas, almost all of the women wear huipiles – the typical dress. In the capital, most people wear Western clothes, but huipiles are not uncommon. Most conversations I overhear are in Spanish, but I did hear a family speaking one of the Mayan languages to each other as I was walking to the grocery store.

Another thing I have noticed is that people don’t stare at me when I walk down the street. Where I live is close to the zone where all of the hotels are. So, perhaps there are a lot of foreigners in this area. And, at the church, it may be the case that American or other missionaries frequently come to the church, so people just figured I was a missionary. Or, it could be the case that Guatemalans just don’t stare. Well, I have only been here three days, so there is still a lot to figure out.

Celebrating Ten Years as an Academic

Today, I am celebrating ten years of life as an academic. I began graduate school in Sociology in August 1999. I was 25 years old, and had had a heck of a life. I grew up in Washington, DC, and began to travel the world in my early twenties. When I began grad school, I had spent nearly a year living in each of several European countries – England, France, and Portugal – and had traveled for lengthy period of time to Africa and South America. Notwithstanding my fabulous life before beginning graduate school, I have to say it has been a pretty good ten years.

By the end of this year, I will have spent more than three years living abroad since I began grad school. I also spent eight months in DC, mostly caring for my newborn twins, a year in Chicago, and have continued to travel to Latin America on a regular basis.

The job of an academic consists primarily of three parts – research, teaching, and service. I have spent about half of my time as an academic exclusively focused on research, and have had to juggle the three of those responsibilities for the rest of the time.

I spent a year in Peru doing dissertation research, in addition to two three month visits before going down there for the year-long stay. I spent the first two summers after I began my job in Kansas in 2005 in Peru. I spent my third year on the tenure track in Chicago, doing a post-doctoral fellowship at the University of Illinois at Chicago. This year, I will be abroad doing research the entire year.

My 25 years before becoming an academic were fun, full of travel, and exciting. These past ten years have been that way as well, in addition to being fulfilling. That said, sometimes I think that my experience as an academic has been unique, and that it may not be this way forever.

During the six years it took me to complete graduate school, I spent nearly every summer in South America, with funding from the university or some other source. When my twins were born, I took eight months off, and was able to ease back into the program the next semester. Once I finished grad school, I spent the summer in DC before moving to Kansas. Since taking my job at the University of Kansas, I have had funding each summer to go somewhere other than Kansas. In addition, I had a postdoctoral year in Chicago. And, now, I am on a Fulbright-Hays fellowship, which, again, takes me away from Kansas and some of my responsibilities there.

It has been great, but I probably will not get to spend the rest of my career alternating between the US and research abroad. Well, maybe I will. But, the odds are that I will spend the majority of my time engaging in research, teaching, and service, and not just research.

In any case, I hope the next ten years are as fun and as fulfilling as the last ten have been.

Settling in to the Zona 9, Guatemala City

While we were still in Jamaica, I found our apartment in Guatemala City online. In terms of what we were looking for, there were not many choices. I was pleased to finally find a furnished three bedroom apartment in a busy residential district not too far from the US embassy. We found the place at avguatemala.com.

Nando and the kids arrived at the apartment four days before I did. My first day in the apartment, the owner came over to introduce herself. She was very friendly, and gave me a big hug. She told me she had been like a mother to the kids while I was away. She had even brushed the twins’ hair, and lets them “borrow” her little pet dog whenever they want. I thanked her for her help.

Over the course of my first day, the owner came over several times. This makes me a bit uneasy, because, as you can imagine, with three kids and most of our stuff still in suitcases, the house is not exactly in order. Plus, it’s hard not to feel as if she is checking up on us.

When Nando was out at the supermarket, the owner came by and asked me if we could talk about payment. Apparently, what the agent told me and what the owner expects are not exactly the same. We agreed that I would go to the bank and give her more money to cover the deposit. I was pleased she offered to accompany me to the bank, as that takes away my nervousness that I could be robbed on the way back. If I hand the money over to her in the bank, then I don’t have to worry about that.

After asking around, we found out that, inside the very fancy hotel, El Camino Real, there are three ATMs, one of which dispenses dollars. This was nice. The ATM is all of the way inside of the hotel, and is guarded by two security guards. So, I felt completely safe taking out the cash, counting it, and giving it to the owner. This is very different from Lima, for example, where I would take a taxi to the ATM, have the driver wait outside, and then have to worry we might be being followed.

It was also interesting to walk around the El Camino Real hotel. It always amazes me how similar fancy hotels are from one country to the next. Inside the Camino Real, it’s as if you are no longer in Guatemala. You could be anywhere – San Diego, Paris, Barcelona, Kingston, inside any major global city, at least in the West. I haven’t been to fancy hotels in Japan or China, so am not sure if they look any different. Inside the Camino Real, though, I saw people dining in their exquisite dining room, a man getting off the elevator in workout clothes on the way to the gym, executives exchanging information in the hotel lobby, and lots of security guards. Perhaps the abundance of security guards would differentiate the third world fancy hotels from those in other parts of the world.

Chatting with the owner on the way to and from the bank, I was able to glean a little information about the kind of person she is. She has one daughter in Colombia, and another in Taiwan. Her grandson is about to enter the university. And, she thinks that most places in Guatemala City are dangerous. She especially told me not to go to Zona 1, the city center, as it is dangerous. I asked her where the market was. She told me it was in Zona 1, and I shouldn’t go there, as it is dangerous. I asked her about Parque Central, which I saw on the map. She said that is dangerous, even in the daytime. What is safe, in her world, however, is the area where we live.

I also found out that she owns or at least manages the whole building, which includes about six large apartments. That allowed me to relax a bit, as there are at least four other families she has to worry about. She lives in the apartment across from us, but, surely she must also have to tend to the other apartments.

Where we live is quite spacious. It has three bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a full dining room and living room. We haven’t figured out how to set things up. We could set one of the bedrooms up as a playroom. But, if we do that, it likely will be after my brother visits. Ian is coming to Guatemala with his two kids in a couple of weeks. I am very excited about seeing them.

In Guatemala City, we live in Zona 9, about a block from the Plazuela Espana. About three blocks from our apartment is a Pollo Campero, a chain chicken restaurant in Guatemala. We went there my first night night for dinner. As soon as we sat down, the servers all lined up at the front of the restaurant and sang a theme song about Guatemalan national pride. I am not sure if they do that every night, or if yesterday was some sort of national holiday.

The highlight of the night, however, was the fact that there is an indoor playground inside Pollo Campero. The kids got into a soccer match with some other kids there, in addition to sliding on the slides and just jumping around in general. In a city with a relative lack of green spaces, especially ones that are accessible at night, Pollo Campero turned out to be quite a find. Even if we don’t eat there all of the time, we can at least take the kids there for ice cream on days they don’t get much of a chance to run around.

Hopefully that will change soon, as I hope to put the kids in school soon. Unfortunately, Guatemalans are just about to finish the school year. So, they will be entering at the end of the school year. Either way, it will be good for the kids to interact with other kids and to improve their Spanish skills.

Setting up research in Guatemala

I arrived in Guatemala City today, Thursday, August 13. After a long flight and not having seen my family for a week, I don't expect to get much work done today. However, I hope to get down to business soon after arriving. On Friday, I have some article revisions to tackle, and some other writing tasks over the weekend. On Monday, I hope to meet with my contact person in Guatemala as well as my potential research assistant.

Miguel Ugalde, a university professor in Guatemala has been immensely helpful as I plan my trip to Guatemala. He has recommended a young man named Oliver to be my research assistant. We will meet on Monday to see if this will work out. I am hoping that Oliver will work for me about ten hours a week doing various research-related tasks, in addition to helping me secure interviews.

In Kingston, paying my research assistants Evelyn and Charlie per interviewee they scheduled worked out very well. The only issue with that is that there was at least one person Evelyn introduced me to who was not suitable for an interview, due to his mental illness. That may or may not be a result of the financial incentive. Nevertheless, this is a strategy I will continue to implement as a means of quickly securing interviewees. I also pay my interviewees a small compensation for their participation. That seemed to work well in Jamaica, as many deportees greatly appreciated the cash.

Hopefully Oliver will be willing to start work right away. If so, I will ask him to translate my interview guide as well as my project information sheet. Oliver is Australian, yet has lived for several years in Guatemala. I also will ask him to help me with some research on migration and deportation in Guatemala. If all works out, we can get this project off the ground as early as next week.

It has been relatively straightforward to plan my research in Guatemala. However, I imagine the implementation will be less so. Guatemala as a country is very distinct from Jamaica. Most obviously, Guatemala has a strong indigenous influence, whereas Jamaica has a much stronger African influence. Guatemala was colonized by the Spanish; Jamaica was colonized primarily by the English. The food, music, and climate are all quite distinct. This means that the tools I used in Jamaica to gain the trust of interviewees will be different from those I will draw from in Guatemala.

In Jamaica, I relied on my experience growing up in Washington, DC to create bonds of trust with the Jamaicans I interviewed. Most of them had also lived in primarily black communities in the US and my familiarity with those types of urban environments allowed me to engage interviewees in meaningful conversations. In some ways, my experience in Nigeria was also useful, insofar as respect, trust, and family bonds are very important for Jamaicans in ways similar to that for Nigerians.

In Guatemala, I likely will have to draw from a different cultural toolkit. I have spent a total of nearly two years living in Latin America, and about the same amount of time living and working in Latino communities in the US. Although most of my experience has been with Mexicans, Peruvians, and Salvadorans, some of the cultural knowledge should be transferable. Clearly, as in Jamaica, I will be an outsider. Hopefully, however, I can be a trusted outsider with whom deportees are willing to share their experiences.

In all places I have conducted interviews for research – Peru, Chicago, and Jamaica – I have found that respect, humility, and a willingness to listen have taken me very far. Hopefully this will prove true in Guatemala as well.

San Francisco to Miami to Guatemala – Planes, Trains and Airport Shuttles

On the plane traveling from San Francisco to Miami, I began reflecting on my rather convoluted travel plans. I flew from Kingston to Miami on the morning of August 6, and then from Miami to San Francisco that evening.

My first night in San Francisco, I stayed at a hotel near the airport. That worked out pretty well. I took the shuttle to the hotel where I was staying – the Howard Johnson in San Bruno. The hotel was actually quite clean and comfortable. At $60 a night, with free wireless, breakfast, and an airport shuttle all included, it was quite a bargain. I woke up early on August 7, took the airport shuttle back to the airport, and got the BART into Berkeley. That took a couple of hours, but I arrived at the conference right on time.

I had my carry-on luggage with me, and went straight from Berkeley to my hotel in downtown San Francisco, where I was sharing a room at the Metropolis Hotel. The Metropolis was a nice hotel, with friendly staff and attractive decor. Two of the perks are free coffee in the morning and free wine in the evening. The beds were also very comfortable. It was a bit more pricey than the Howard Johnson, but I managed to pay about the same by sharing a room with two other women. As I spent little time in the hotel room, that worked out quite well.

Once the conference was over on the afternoon of August 11, I took the BART back to the airport, and took a shuttle to my hotel by the airport. This time I stayed at Citi Gardens Hotel. It was a little less nice than the Howard Johnson at San Bruno, but closer to the airport, and certainly passable. I particularly liked the modern implements in the bathroom and the nice green space of the hotel. I woke up in the morning, had the free breakfast, and took the free airport shuttle back to the airport.

On August 12, I spent the night in Miami before flying to Guatemala the next day. Taking my time this way allowed me to save money in addition to taking things slowly and resting quite a bit. The drawback has been how long it will take me to actually arrive in Guatemala. Had I taken a red eye to Miami on August 11, I could have flown to Guatemala on August 12, and gotten there a full day beforehand. Of course, I would have arrived completely exhausted, as it is never really possible to get a good night's sleep on a red eye, especially one that is only five hours.

Instead, I had about ten hours of sleep on a comfortable bed in San Francisco and arrived in Miami fully rested. My plane landed at 9:30pm, and I made it to the hotel before 10pm. I was very lucky, as the shuttle was waiting for me at the airport. It took about five minutes to get to the Days Inn Airport North. The hotel, again, was decent. My room was super large, and was right next to the pool and the garden.

I arrived with an empty stomach, and was pleased to hear there was a Peruvian restaurant, Peru Place, three blocks from the airport. When I got to the restaurant, there was a soccer match between Costa Rica and Honduras, and the place was packed. The hostess told me they were charging entry because of the game, but she let me in to place a to-go order.

I looked around the restaurant and realized that the place was filled with Costa Ricans. When I asked a gentleman about it, he told me the Hondurans were at the restaurant next door. Who knows how they worked it out that the Costa Ricans would be at the Peruvian restaurant and the Hondurans at the Latin American restaurant, but it was something probably unique to Miami, or other global cities. For me, it made a simple trip to get something to eat much more interesting.

Back at the hotel with my pollo a la brasa, I found out that the hotel shuttle will drop me off at the Tri-Rail, which is the train I need to take to get to the Fort Lauderdale airport in the morning. This is all working out better than I expected. The airport shuttle leaves on the hour, so I can get the 7am shuttle to take the 7:39am Tri-Rail.

I arrive in Guatemala around 11:30 am on August 13. I will see my husband and kids for the first time in a week. I can't wait to see them. I am sure the kids will be unkempt, but I might be pleasantly surprised, as Tatiana and Soraya are getting better at brushing their own hair. I braided their hair into little braids before I left, but I can't be sure that will have lasted this long.

Funny that their hair would be on my mind. I suppose there are all other kinds of things I could be worried about with Nando and the kids in Guatemala City for the first time. Actually, Nando, the twins, and I were in Guatemala City in 2002, but just for a day. We spent three weeks traveling around Guatemala, and made a stop in the capital. In any event, Nando is quite resourceful, and I bet he has traveled all around the city with the girls, even though that can be challenging.

We have barely spoken since I left Miami. Nando called me when he boarded the plane to Guatemala on Sunday to let me know the plane was about to take off. And, I called our rental agent on Sunday afternoon to ask her if Nando had arrived. She assured me he had. Other than that, we have had no communication. I arrive in Guatemala City on the afternoon of August 13th, and will take a taxi to our apartment. Hopefully Nando and the girls will be there to let me in. If not, I will sit my well-rested self down and wait.

Networking, Race and Gender in the Academy

Tuesday, August 11, 2009

I can't believe I just finished my third major academic conference in less than three months. The American Sociological Association meetings are finally over, and I will not be attending any conferences for an entire year.

Once my year-long Fulbright-Hays grant starts on August 13, 2009, I am not allowed to travel outside of the country where I am doing research for the purpose of giving a paper or attending a conference. This is actually good for me, as I think I might attend too many conferences, if that is possible for an Assistant Professor. Each time I attend a conference I lose about a week's worth of writing. I suppose that's not much in the grand scheme of things, especially since I tend to do quite a bit of networking.

This year, networking for me consisted more of solidifying ties with people I already know. That is a lot more fun than meeting brand-new people, although I did a bit of that as well. I had lots of fantastic conversations about professional development, with junior and senior colleagues, and have quite a bit to ponder.

For example, my colleage Sylvia told me about the importance of junior facuty “reality-testing” their goals. This consists of telling a new faculty member what they need to publish in order to secure tenure – for example, three articles and a book. Then, you ask the new faculty member to lay out how they will accomplish this. This allows the new faculty member to take a pro-active position, and own their own plan. Of course, they might need guidance in terms of developing a plan that is detailed enough. Simply saying one article each year and starting to write a book in the fourth year, for example, is not nearly detailed enough. The plan needs to be broken down at least by month, and into manageable parts.

The panel I presented on was also fantastic, I think. All of the papers were developed with a vison of activism, social justice, and change, in addition to being based on solid research. It is heartening to know that other sociologists are invested in making the world a better place, and not simply quantifying the amount of oppression that exists. Notably, all of the presenters were relatively young women. I am not sure what the gender dynamics are that made this the case. However, I noticed that another excellent panel I attended on race and Latinos was also exclusively composed of young women. In contrast, a thematic session on race around the world was mostly senior men.

In my case, nearly all of the people I networked with this year were other female junior faculty. Although it was an absolute pleasure to hang out with these women, it does make me wonder if male faculy have other social circles, and if we women might be excluded in some ways from those circles. Given the history of gender inequality, I may have something to worry about. Next year, I will have to make more of an effort to figure out what the men are up to.

I wonder what the experiences of other junior faculty women are. Do you also mostly network with women at conferences? Who do you have meals with at conferences? Who do you present with? Who do you have drinks with? Who do you chat with in the corridors? Who comes up and asks you questions after you give a talk? Who comes to your sessions?

In addition to the gender dynamics, I would point out that there is also a racial and ethnic division of labor within sociology that leads to relatively racially homogenous social networks. The field, of course, is predominated by whites. However, there are a number of sections within the overall organization where there is a preponderance of people of color.

I belong to three sections of ASA - the international migration section, the race and ethnic minorties section, and the Latino/a sociology section. The ethnic makeup of these three sections is quite distinct. In particular, the Latino/a sociology section is almost exclusively Latino/a. On the one hand, this relative segregation creates a safe space for Latino and Latina sociologists. On the other hand, it places limits on the networking opportunities of people who only participate in that section.

For these reasons, it is important, especially for newer scholars, to participate in activities in a variety of sections. At the same time, it could be beneficial if more established scholars who are invested in the success of people of color would also become involved in those sections where many graduate students and junior faculty of color are concentrated.

Travel, Conferences, and San Francisco

Writing has become, for me, a habit. This means, on the one hand, that it is a hard to stop writing. On the other, it means that once I stop, it does not seem as easy to pick it up. It has been several days since I have written, and it is hard to just jump into it. However, experience tells me it will happen if I just do it, so here I am, typing away.

Since I last posted, I have been lots of places. I had a three day trip to Montego Bay where I met deportees, other contacts, and found a place to stay next summer – a condo overlooking the beach! I also spent some time on some of Montego Bay's absolutely beautiful beaches. Unfortunately, I returned to Kingston with an awful sore throat and painful ear. Even worse, I had only two days to wrap things up in Kingston, pack, and prepare to get my family to Miami and myself to San Francisco.

Miraculously, and with an abundance of help from my husband, we were able to get our apartment cleaned, our bags packed, and ourselves on the plane to Miami. We made it to the airport on time, and, after relieving our bags of the excess pounds, had no trouble checking in. We even had time to sit down and have breakfast before boarding. Even more amazing, as we were eating breakfast, an older woman approached us and complimented my girls on their good behavior! That was a first!! Usually, we get disparaging looks from folks who don't like to hear or see children. But, this lovely woman from St Louis was kind enough to come over to us and tell us how much she admired how well the children were behaving. Perhaps she didn't notice them playing tag when we were waiting in line to check in. Nevertheless, that set a nice tone for the day.

My husband, Nando, and my three daughters will spend three days in Miami before heading to Guatemala, while I go to a conference in San Francisco. Once in Miami, Nando's brother picked us up and took us to the Ocean Surf Hotel, where Nando is staying with the girls. Before leaving them, I got to spend some last few moments on Miami Beach. At 8pm, I caught my flight to San Francisco for a conference, the American Sociological Association Annual Meeting. After a five and a half hour flight, I made it to a hotel close to the airport, where, with the help of some antihistamines, I had a good night's rest. I woke up early to take the train into town for a preliminary conference in Berkeley.

At first, the conference was a bit of a culture shock. After hanging out with my family and doing research in Kingston, it was a bit of an adjustment to be in a room full of sociologists, where I was supposed to be networking and talking in academic-ese. I was very glad to see a friend of mine, Jessica, as I knew I could be myself with her. Nevertheless, I was surprised at how quickly I was able to get back into the groove. This was made substantially easier by the fact that everyone was quite friendly.

The preliminary conference was called “Making Connections,” and was organized by the International Migration Section of the ASA. These specialized conferences tend to be friendlier and easier to navigate than big, disciplinary ones. In addition, the international migration scholars were very friendly. People who sat next to me extended their hands in greeting and smiled. This level of friendliness is not always the norm in a roomful of PhDs, so I was pleasantly surprised.

At the end of the day, however, I was exhausted. I came to my hotel room in downtown San Francisco with my room mate, Wendy, and tried not to fall asleep, as it was only 8pm. Wendy and I chatted about the ups and downs of our jobs, and I was able to stay awake until 9:30pm. I managed to stay asleep most of the night until 6am, when I really couldn't sleep anymore.

I got up and got ready to conference again. (For us academics, yes, “to conference” is a verb.) I went to two sessions on transnationalism, which is a subfield my work on deportations is engaging with. I also ran into tons of people I haven't seen since last year's conference, or since I left Kansas in May.

I am debating with myself how much I want to take advantage of my time here and enjoy San Francisco. Despite two nights of rest, I am still exhausted from all of the travel. But, the weather has been gorgeous here, and it would be a shame to waste all of this sunshine we have been seeing.

Hopefully, I will be able to get a good night's rest tonight. I am a bit nervous, as Nando is flying to Guatemala first thing tomorrow morning with the girls! I am hoping he has no problem getting out of the country or getting into Guatemala! Really, there should be no problem, but the potential for things not going right worries me. I asked Nando to call me as soon as he gets into the waiting area to get on the plane tomorrow, and again once he gets to Guatemala. Hopefully, by this time tomorrow, I will have nothing to worry about.