Samuel arrived in the United States when he was 15 years old. When he was 19, he was arrested and charged with attempted murder of a police officer. He believes he was wrongfully convicted. He spent 26 years in prison and was deported to Jamaica.
I was charged for attempted murder.
This is some of the things I hate to talk about. …
It’s just an unfortunate situation, you nuh.
I’m to be blamed of some of it because
the company or whatever. …
I might have caused certain things. …
I spent 26 years …
half of my life was gone. …
When everyone is locked up they always say “oh I didn’t do it”.
You nuh, it’s a common joke.
But … for a person who actually is there
and haven’t done anything
it’s not no joking matter. ….
Probably I don’t explain myself properly
just to let someone really understand. …
it’s just painful for me. …
Well I’ll talk about it.
But you nuh ….
I just say it’s like, here we go again. ….
I was charged with attempted murder. ….
The people that I was hanging out with is friends, you nuh....
the night when I got arrested
I was in a stolen car
which I didn’t know. …
And we got we got stopped.
And that’s where when I got arrested.
And after, then, that’s how I know I was charged with attempted murder. …
They found a weapon. …
No prints were found.
They say that we don’t take fingerprints from a weapon.
Samuel, Kingston, Jamaica
Showing posts with label deportees in Jamaica. Show all posts
Showing posts with label deportees in Jamaica. Show all posts
June 3, 2010
Three types of Jamaican Deportees
Since the passage of the Illegal Immigration Reform and Immigrant Responsibility Act of 1996 (IIRIRA), over a million non-citizens have been deported from the United States after being convicted of criminal charges.
Jamaica is a top receiving country for criminal deportees. In my research with Jamaican deportees, I found that nearly all Jamaicans who are deported are deported because of encounters with the criminal justice system. Unlike, for example, Guatemalans, who are usually deported after an encounter with immigration agents, Jamaicans seem to nearly always be first picked up by police officers, and then passed over to immigration agents. This alone is indicative of the criminalization of Jamaicans in the United States.
My research with deportees in Jamaica indicates that there are three primary ways that Jamaicans get involved in the criminal justice system. One of the most common ways involves Jamaican boys who grow up in Brooklyn, the Bronx, Queens, or Harlem and find themselves lured to the streets as youngsters. Many are raised by single mothers who keep long working hours and have little time to supervise their sons. Jamaicans who get into trouble as youth are nearly always males and seem to live almost exclusively in New York City.
Another common way for Jamaicans to get into trouble in the United States is as adults. These Jamaican men live for decades in the United States without ever getting into trouble. However, one mistake or one case of bad judgment leads to their arrest, conviction, sentencing, and deportation. Unlike the youth, these men rarely lead a life of crime in general. Instead, they are law-abiding people whose lives suddenly change after an encounter with the criminal justice system.
The third way that Jamaicans end up getting into trouble is one that includes both men and women. These men and women tend to be law-abiding citizens in Jamaica. However, they decide, usually for financial reasons, to get involved in the drug trade in the United States. For the women, this usually involves carrying drugs. For men, this often involves street-level selling. Once caught and convicted, they are deported.
These three kinds of deportees are very different. The first set has a lot in common with African-American youth who grow up in the inner city. The second set often face harsh sentences because of an unforgiving justice system combined with stereotypes about black men in the United States. The third set involves opportunists who see a way to make money off of the illegal drug trade, yet whose plans are foiled once they are caught.
The legal system in the United States, however, makes few distinctions between these three sorts of cases. Once convicted of certain charges, a non-citizen is deported. If the charges are classified as an “aggravated felony,” non-citizens have no opportunity to explain that they have been law-abiding citizens for the past thirty years, or that they came to the United States as infants, or that they have few or no ties to their country of birth. It makes little sense for the law to fail to distinguish between non-citizens who come to the United States to participate in criminal activities, non-citizens who come to the US as infants, and non-citizens who lead law-abiding lives for decades and have one unfortunate encounter with the law.
Unfortunately, the deterministic nature of IIRAIRA often prevents judges from taking individual factors into accounts and Jamaicans are often summarily deported from the United States after living there for decades.
crossposted at: STOP DEPORTATIONS NOW
Jamaica is a top receiving country for criminal deportees. In my research with Jamaican deportees, I found that nearly all Jamaicans who are deported are deported because of encounters with the criminal justice system. Unlike, for example, Guatemalans, who are usually deported after an encounter with immigration agents, Jamaicans seem to nearly always be first picked up by police officers, and then passed over to immigration agents. This alone is indicative of the criminalization of Jamaicans in the United States.
My research with deportees in Jamaica indicates that there are three primary ways that Jamaicans get involved in the criminal justice system. One of the most common ways involves Jamaican boys who grow up in Brooklyn, the Bronx, Queens, or Harlem and find themselves lured to the streets as youngsters. Many are raised by single mothers who keep long working hours and have little time to supervise their sons. Jamaicans who get into trouble as youth are nearly always males and seem to live almost exclusively in New York City.
Another common way for Jamaicans to get into trouble in the United States is as adults. These Jamaican men live for decades in the United States without ever getting into trouble. However, one mistake or one case of bad judgment leads to their arrest, conviction, sentencing, and deportation. Unlike the youth, these men rarely lead a life of crime in general. Instead, they are law-abiding people whose lives suddenly change after an encounter with the criminal justice system.
The third way that Jamaicans end up getting into trouble is one that includes both men and women. These men and women tend to be law-abiding citizens in Jamaica. However, they decide, usually for financial reasons, to get involved in the drug trade in the United States. For the women, this usually involves carrying drugs. For men, this often involves street-level selling. Once caught and convicted, they are deported.
These three kinds of deportees are very different. The first set has a lot in common with African-American youth who grow up in the inner city. The second set often face harsh sentences because of an unforgiving justice system combined with stereotypes about black men in the United States. The third set involves opportunists who see a way to make money off of the illegal drug trade, yet whose plans are foiled once they are caught.
The legal system in the United States, however, makes few distinctions between these three sorts of cases. Once convicted of certain charges, a non-citizen is deported. If the charges are classified as an “aggravated felony,” non-citizens have no opportunity to explain that they have been law-abiding citizens for the past thirty years, or that they came to the United States as infants, or that they have few or no ties to their country of birth. It makes little sense for the law to fail to distinguish between non-citizens who come to the United States to participate in criminal activities, non-citizens who come to the US as infants, and non-citizens who lead law-abiding lives for decades and have one unfortunate encounter with the law.
Unfortunately, the deterministic nature of IIRAIRA often prevents judges from taking individual factors into accounts and Jamaicans are often summarily deported from the United States after living there for decades.
crossposted at: STOP DEPORTATIONS NOW
November 14, 2009
The JUTA Taxi and other ways to get around Kingston
(Note: this is a re-post from June 5, 2009)
Many people have warned me that, in Kingston, you are only supposed to take the JUTA taxis – the official ones operated by the Jamaican Urban Transit Authority. We took one from the airport to the hotel. They are safer than the unmarked taxis, but often pricier. Thursday night, I left the hotel at about 10:45 pm. Outside, a JUTA driver asked me if I needed a taxi. I said I did – to go the six blocks to my apartment. He said it would cost US $5.00. That struck me as a bit much. It's not that I mind paying the gringo tax, but there are limits.
I thanked him and kept on walking. I was not sure what I was going to do, but another man stopped me at the hotel gate and asked if I needed a taxi. I told him where I was going, and he said JA $200 – about US $2.50. I thought that was reasonable, so I asked him if he was a JUTA taxi. He said he wasn't, and that if I didn't feel comfortable, he didn't mind. I quickly sized him up. He was in his fifties, and looked like a nice gentleman. So, I asked him if he was sure he wouldn't kill me on they way home. He assured me he wouldn't, and I got in his taxi.
During the ride home, I told him I usually walk back home. He said that was fine during the day, but that I shouldn't at night. He pointed to the block just before mine, and said that it was frequented by crackheads. I found that believable, as the other day I woman who had all the signs of heavy crack abuse asked me for money. And, on the corner of my house, he pointed to several young woman and told me they were prostitutes. When we arrived at the gate of my apartment complex, I paid him and went into the house. Later, that driver, Ken, became one of our regular taxi drivers in Kingston. It turned out that he also was a regular for a few folks in our housing complex.
The next morning, I walked back to the conference at the Kingston Hilton the next day, there were two women who clean the street who asked me for money to buy some juice. I pointed out that they had a cooler of drink next to them. The women didn't understand me, however, so I just said I didn't have any change. I do think it might be a good idea to give them some change sometimes, as perhaps they would look out for me. However, I don't want to have to pay a tax for walking down the street. Perhaps next time I see them, I'll give them JA $50.
Parts of the conference were a bit dull at points, so I worked on my blog. I used to think that I could only write in the morning, in relatively uninterrupted settings, and with encouragement from others. However, with this blog, I find that I can write anywhere, anytime. Writing on it throughout the day helps me empty my “Psychic RAM” as Meggin McIntosh “The Ph.D. of Productivity” calls it. She has this neat idea that your mind has a RAM (Random Access Memory), like a computer does. When your computer's RAM is overloaded, it works slowly. The same goes for your psychic RAM. One way to clean out your psychic RAM is to write things down. I have always been a fan of to-do lists. However, writing down my random thoughts on this blog also helps me to keep a clear head by getting all of my thoughts (not just my plans) out of my head and onto the computer.
Many people have warned me that, in Kingston, you are only supposed to take the JUTA taxis – the official ones operated by the Jamaican Urban Transit Authority. We took one from the airport to the hotel. They are safer than the unmarked taxis, but often pricier. Thursday night, I left the hotel at about 10:45 pm. Outside, a JUTA driver asked me if I needed a taxi. I said I did – to go the six blocks to my apartment. He said it would cost US $5.00. That struck me as a bit much. It's not that I mind paying the gringo tax, but there are limits.
I thanked him and kept on walking. I was not sure what I was going to do, but another man stopped me at the hotel gate and asked if I needed a taxi. I told him where I was going, and he said JA $200 – about US $2.50. I thought that was reasonable, so I asked him if he was a JUTA taxi. He said he wasn't, and that if I didn't feel comfortable, he didn't mind. I quickly sized him up. He was in his fifties, and looked like a nice gentleman. So, I asked him if he was sure he wouldn't kill me on they way home. He assured me he wouldn't, and I got in his taxi.
During the ride home, I told him I usually walk back home. He said that was fine during the day, but that I shouldn't at night. He pointed to the block just before mine, and said that it was frequented by crackheads. I found that believable, as the other day I woman who had all the signs of heavy crack abuse asked me for money. And, on the corner of my house, he pointed to several young woman and told me they were prostitutes. When we arrived at the gate of my apartment complex, I paid him and went into the house. Later, that driver, Ken, became one of our regular taxi drivers in Kingston. It turned out that he also was a regular for a few folks in our housing complex.
The next morning, I walked back to the conference at the Kingston Hilton the next day, there were two women who clean the street who asked me for money to buy some juice. I pointed out that they had a cooler of drink next to them. The women didn't understand me, however, so I just said I didn't have any change. I do think it might be a good idea to give them some change sometimes, as perhaps they would look out for me. However, I don't want to have to pay a tax for walking down the street. Perhaps next time I see them, I'll give them JA $50.
Parts of the conference were a bit dull at points, so I worked on my blog. I used to think that I could only write in the morning, in relatively uninterrupted settings, and with encouragement from others. However, with this blog, I find that I can write anywhere, anytime. Writing on it throughout the day helps me empty my “Psychic RAM” as Meggin McIntosh “The Ph.D. of Productivity” calls it. She has this neat idea that your mind has a RAM (Random Access Memory), like a computer does. When your computer's RAM is overloaded, it works slowly. The same goes for your psychic RAM. One way to clean out your psychic RAM is to write things down. I have always been a fan of to-do lists. However, writing down my random thoughts on this blog also helps me to keep a clear head by getting all of my thoughts (not just my plans) out of my head and onto the computer.
October 17, 2009
Deported and Forgotten in Jamaica
Harold’s life never was supposed to turn out like this. His father was a chief accountant for a bauxite company and his mother was a prep school teacher. Harold spent twelve years in the military. He was a dignified man who found himself wallowing in poverty in his last years of his life.
When I met him, he was an emaciated old man, hungry with barely a bed to sleep on. His house had no light and no water, as he could not pay the bills. We met at his house, but he did not invite me in; he was ashamed of his house, mostly of what his house lacked. He did not have a seat for me to sit in, so we sat on the concrete stairs outside that led up to his house.
He held back tears for most of the interview, until he finally couldn’t hold them back anymore, and they flowed down his cheeks. The pressure of not knowing where his next plate of food would come from was too much to think about. Worse still was the fact that no one in the world seemed to care.
Harold is a man who slipped through the cracks of the immigration system. Had he been properly informed, he would be in the US today, with his wife and children. Instead, he is in Kingston, where there is no work for an old man like him.
Harold went to primary school in Manchester, Jamaica. He began secondary school, but never finished. Instead, he joined the army. He stayed there for twelve years, earning a medal for efficient service. Upon leaving the army, he got a good job with the government, driving a car for the Water Commission.
Harold had a sister and a brother in the US. They communicated occasionally, and came to visit once in a while. He didn’t maintain strong ties with them. In 1982, Harold traveled to the US for the first time, on a temporary visa. He traveled back and forth for a few years, working in the US for a few months at a time, and then decided to move there in 1988, with his wife. His eight children were getting older, and he wanted to be able to pay their school fees.
In the US, Harold and his wife had one child together. She was thirteen when I met Harold. Three of Harold’s other children were also able to travel to the US to join them. The remainder stayed in Kingston.
In the US, Harold worked as a welder for a company, making good wages. However, in 1994, he had an accident on the job and hurt his back badly. Harold’s job offered him fifty thousand dollars in worker’s compensation for his injury. Since it was a permanent injury, he thought that was insufficient and found a lawyer in order to ask for more. His lawyer recommended Harold legalize his status to make the claims.
Harold went to what he thought was a legitimate immigration office, and paid three thousand dollars for a green card. He was able to travel back to Jamaica to attend his grandmother’s funeral with the green card, so he did not think there was a problem with it. In addition, this was the same office where he had renewed his temporary visa on several different occasions.
However, his green card turned out to be fraudulent, and he was arrested in December 1995 because of it. In June 1998, Harold was deported back to Jamaica, after spending two years and seven months in detention, both fighting his case, and getting treatment for his back injury.
Harold lost his case and was deported to Jamaica. He had never been compensated for his back injury, as his lawyers did not complete the case before he left. They tried to get him to sign for eight thousand dollars while he was in detention, but he knew that was much less than he deserved for a permanent injury. In Jamaica, it is practically impossible for him to continue his case.
With an injured back, at age 63, Harold can’t find work in Jamaica. He is a skilled welder, but can’t bend over and is unable do the work. Plus, at his age, it is hard to find work. I asked Harold how he survives. He told me “By the grace of God,” and proceeded to give me an example.
The Sunday before, he saw a woman who works with deportees. She asked him if he had had his Sunday dinner. Recounting this story, he began to cry. It brought tears to his eyes that someone cares about him enough to wonder if he had eaten. Tears streamed down his sunken face as he told me that his wife and children in the US don’t even care if he has eaten, yet this woman did.
Today, his children in the US and in Jamaica barely call to see if he is okay. He has separated from his wife, and they don’t speak. He couldn’t keep from crying when he told me that his family rarely calls him and almost never sends him money.
When I met him, he was an emaciated old man, hungry with barely a bed to sleep on. His house had no light and no water, as he could not pay the bills. We met at his house, but he did not invite me in; he was ashamed of his house, mostly of what his house lacked. He did not have a seat for me to sit in, so we sat on the concrete stairs outside that led up to his house.
He held back tears for most of the interview, until he finally couldn’t hold them back anymore, and they flowed down his cheeks. The pressure of not knowing where his next plate of food would come from was too much to think about. Worse still was the fact that no one in the world seemed to care.
Harold is a man who slipped through the cracks of the immigration system. Had he been properly informed, he would be in the US today, with his wife and children. Instead, he is in Kingston, where there is no work for an old man like him.
Harold went to primary school in Manchester, Jamaica. He began secondary school, but never finished. Instead, he joined the army. He stayed there for twelve years, earning a medal for efficient service. Upon leaving the army, he got a good job with the government, driving a car for the Water Commission.
Harold had a sister and a brother in the US. They communicated occasionally, and came to visit once in a while. He didn’t maintain strong ties with them. In 1982, Harold traveled to the US for the first time, on a temporary visa. He traveled back and forth for a few years, working in the US for a few months at a time, and then decided to move there in 1988, with his wife. His eight children were getting older, and he wanted to be able to pay their school fees.
In the US, Harold and his wife had one child together. She was thirteen when I met Harold. Three of Harold’s other children were also able to travel to the US to join them. The remainder stayed in Kingston.
In the US, Harold worked as a welder for a company, making good wages. However, in 1994, he had an accident on the job and hurt his back badly. Harold’s job offered him fifty thousand dollars in worker’s compensation for his injury. Since it was a permanent injury, he thought that was insufficient and found a lawyer in order to ask for more. His lawyer recommended Harold legalize his status to make the claims.
Harold went to what he thought was a legitimate immigration office, and paid three thousand dollars for a green card. He was able to travel back to Jamaica to attend his grandmother’s funeral with the green card, so he did not think there was a problem with it. In addition, this was the same office where he had renewed his temporary visa on several different occasions.
However, his green card turned out to be fraudulent, and he was arrested in December 1995 because of it. In June 1998, Harold was deported back to Jamaica, after spending two years and seven months in detention, both fighting his case, and getting treatment for his back injury.
Harold lost his case and was deported to Jamaica. He had never been compensated for his back injury, as his lawyers did not complete the case before he left. They tried to get him to sign for eight thousand dollars while he was in detention, but he knew that was much less than he deserved for a permanent injury. In Jamaica, it is practically impossible for him to continue his case.
With an injured back, at age 63, Harold can’t find work in Jamaica. He is a skilled welder, but can’t bend over and is unable do the work. Plus, at his age, it is hard to find work. I asked Harold how he survives. He told me “By the grace of God,” and proceeded to give me an example.
The Sunday before, he saw a woman who works with deportees. She asked him if he had had his Sunday dinner. Recounting this story, he began to cry. It brought tears to his eyes that someone cares about him enough to wonder if he had eaten. Tears streamed down his sunken face as he told me that his wife and children in the US don’t even care if he has eaten, yet this woman did.
Today, his children in the US and in Jamaica barely call to see if he is okay. He has separated from his wife, and they don’t speak. He couldn’t keep from crying when he told me that his family rarely calls him and almost never sends him money.
October 16, 2009
Homeless in Kingston, Jamaica
Hakim was born in 1954. Before he turned ten years old, his mother traveled to the US, leaving him with his aunt. As a young man, Hakim went to Kingston College, a good public school in Kingston. As he was doing well in school, his mother decided to leave him behind when she came for his brother two years after she migrated.
In his mother’s absence, Hakim became involved in the Rastafarian movement at the age of 12. By age 14, he was fully committed to the movement. This got him into trouble at school, as Rastafarians were persecuted in Jamaica at the time. Hakim told the principal of his school that he wanted to become the first Rastafarian doctor. The principal demanded a meeting with his parents. Hakim told him they were in the United States. His aunt refused to meet with the principal, as she was displeased with him for becoming a Rastafarian as well. As a consequence, Hakim left school and went to live in the hills with the other Rastas.
He lived there for three years before deciding to join his mother in Cleveland, Ohio. His mother thought that she would be able to dissuade Hakim from his Rastafarian tendencies. One of her tactics was to cook pork everyday, in the hope that, out of hunger, he would give up his beliefs. When she was unsuccessful, there was quite a bit of conflict, and Hakim decided to move out on his own. He ended up in New York, where he found a Rastafarian community.
He worked in a grocery store for a while, but wasn’t able to make ends meet. So, Hakim got a little creative. As he put it, he took money out of the bank without a bank account. He handed the bank teller a note letting her know that he wanted her to fill up a bag with money. She did. He got caught, and charged with bank robbery. He was sentenced to six years in prison, and served three. In 1979, Hakim was released from prison. Once out, he moved around a bit, and ended up in Connecticut.
In 1987, he found himself in trouble with the law again. Hakim was outside with his friends, and some officers approached them. Hakim saw the officer pulling out his handcuffs and asked why he planned to handcuff him if he was not doing anything. Hakim told me the officer began to beat him. This scene caused his neighbors to come out of their houses and to tell the police officer to leave him alone. In court, Hakim was charged with obstructing justice and inciting a riot. He was found guilty of obstructing justice, and given the maximum sentence of two years. Hakim told me he studied the law books in jail, and found that he was the first person in Connecticut to serve the maximum sentence for that.
In 1994, Hakim was picked up twice for marijuana possession. He did not serve any time for this, but had to pay a fine, and do community service.
Hakim had eight children in the US. The oldest is 31 now, and the youngest is 12 years old. He had the children with different women, but maintained ties with all of them, through phone calls, visits, and child support. His greatest regret is not spending more time with his children before he left, as he cannot see them now.
After 1995, Hakim did not get into trouble with the law again. He worked in a grocery store, and tried his best to make ends meet and to support his family.
In 2005, he was picked up on the job. He had a deportation order, based on his two charges of marijuana possession in 1994. Hakim had no idea that he might be deported when he pled guilty to those two charges. The laws that made his crimes deportable offenses were passed in 1996, after he had pled guilty to these crimes. He spent over a year in immigration detention, fighting his case.
Hakim did not want to return to Jamaica. After 34 years in the United States, and with no ties to Jamaica, he was worried about surviving in Jamaica. When I met him in June 2009, Hakim was homeless. He had lost his job due to layoffs, and had nowhere to go. A friend was letting him stay with him for a few days. When we met, he was well-dressed and clean. He told me his greatest fear was that he would end up without a place to take a shower and iron his clothes.
His mother and brother in the US send him money occasionally. However, it is not enough to rent an apartment or even to eat regularly. In Jamaica, Hakim has to depend on the good will of others to survive.
In his mother’s absence, Hakim became involved in the Rastafarian movement at the age of 12. By age 14, he was fully committed to the movement. This got him into trouble at school, as Rastafarians were persecuted in Jamaica at the time. Hakim told the principal of his school that he wanted to become the first Rastafarian doctor. The principal demanded a meeting with his parents. Hakim told him they were in the United States. His aunt refused to meet with the principal, as she was displeased with him for becoming a Rastafarian as well. As a consequence, Hakim left school and went to live in the hills with the other Rastas.
He lived there for three years before deciding to join his mother in Cleveland, Ohio. His mother thought that she would be able to dissuade Hakim from his Rastafarian tendencies. One of her tactics was to cook pork everyday, in the hope that, out of hunger, he would give up his beliefs. When she was unsuccessful, there was quite a bit of conflict, and Hakim decided to move out on his own. He ended up in New York, where he found a Rastafarian community.
He worked in a grocery store for a while, but wasn’t able to make ends meet. So, Hakim got a little creative. As he put it, he took money out of the bank without a bank account. He handed the bank teller a note letting her know that he wanted her to fill up a bag with money. She did. He got caught, and charged with bank robbery. He was sentenced to six years in prison, and served three. In 1979, Hakim was released from prison. Once out, he moved around a bit, and ended up in Connecticut.
In 1987, he found himself in trouble with the law again. Hakim was outside with his friends, and some officers approached them. Hakim saw the officer pulling out his handcuffs and asked why he planned to handcuff him if he was not doing anything. Hakim told me the officer began to beat him. This scene caused his neighbors to come out of their houses and to tell the police officer to leave him alone. In court, Hakim was charged with obstructing justice and inciting a riot. He was found guilty of obstructing justice, and given the maximum sentence of two years. Hakim told me he studied the law books in jail, and found that he was the first person in Connecticut to serve the maximum sentence for that.
In 1994, Hakim was picked up twice for marijuana possession. He did not serve any time for this, but had to pay a fine, and do community service.
Hakim had eight children in the US. The oldest is 31 now, and the youngest is 12 years old. He had the children with different women, but maintained ties with all of them, through phone calls, visits, and child support. His greatest regret is not spending more time with his children before he left, as he cannot see them now.
After 1995, Hakim did not get into trouble with the law again. He worked in a grocery store, and tried his best to make ends meet and to support his family.
In 2005, he was picked up on the job. He had a deportation order, based on his two charges of marijuana possession in 1994. Hakim had no idea that he might be deported when he pled guilty to those two charges. The laws that made his crimes deportable offenses were passed in 1996, after he had pled guilty to these crimes. He spent over a year in immigration detention, fighting his case.
Hakim did not want to return to Jamaica. After 34 years in the United States, and with no ties to Jamaica, he was worried about surviving in Jamaica. When I met him in June 2009, Hakim was homeless. He had lost his job due to layoffs, and had nowhere to go. A friend was letting him stay with him for a few days. When we met, he was well-dressed and clean. He told me his greatest fear was that he would end up without a place to take a shower and iron his clothes.
His mother and brother in the US send him money occasionally. However, it is not enough to rent an apartment or even to eat regularly. In Jamaica, Hakim has to depend on the good will of others to survive.
October 12, 2009
With Fourteen Years and Five Kids in the US, It is Difficult to Re-Adjust to Jamaica
Philip grew up in downtown Kingston. During high school, he ran for the track team. He excelled in running, and made it into a track meet in Orlando, Florida when he was 21 years old. He obtained a visa to participate in the meet. He saw this as an opportunity to escape the poverty he and his mother experienced in Kingston. As a single mother, working as a house cleaner, his mother barely earned enough to get by. Thus, after Philip ran in the track meet in 1994, he decided he did not want to return to Jamaica.
The only person Philip knew in the US was a woman he met in his neighborhood in Kingston. She had come to visit some friends, and they developed a romantic relationship. Once he was in the States, they decided to make their lives together and get married. Philip found a job at the Post Office, and his wife applied for him to get his papers in order. At that time, they were living in Silver Spring, Maryland. However, when Philip’s mother-in-law became ill, they moved to Boston to be closer to his wife’s family.
Philip is not sure what happened to his application for permanent residency, but it seems that, since they didn’t report the address change, his green card was sent to the Maryland address after they moved, and then returned to the INS, as they no longer lived there. He thus had to go through the application process again. The second time, he had a court date in Boston. On the way there, he was pulled over by the police, and was late for his court appearance. He told me that he missed his court date, and his application was denied.
Philip and his wife had their first child in 1998 and their second child the next year. Their second daughter was born severely disabled. She was born unable to see or hear, is confined to a wheelchair, and only eats from a feeding tube. Philip and his wife were not as responsible as they should have been with his application. However, it seems clear that Philip should have been given legal permanent residence in the US, on the basis of his marriage and US citizen children. However, he missed his chance to prove that he had a bona fide marriage, and his application was denied. He thus was ordered deported in 2002.
Philip was not aware of this deportation order, and kept on with his life in the US. He opened up a small vegetarian restaurant and also worked a musician. With the money he made from this, he was able to support his children. He had three more children, all girls. When I spoke with him, the youngest was two years old.
While on a road trip in the Louisiana, Philip was pulled over because he was the car he was driving had paper plates from another state. When the officer heard his accent, he checked with Immigration to see what his status was. When the officer contacted immigration agents, he found out that Philip had a deportation order, and took him into custody.
Philip most likely qualified for relief from deportation, based on the facts that he had lived in this US for 13 years, is married to a US citizen, and has a daughter who is severely disabled. However, Philip was taken to a detention facility in an isolated part of Louisiana where he had no way to plead his case. Philip had a lawyer in Massachusetts, who told Philip that he needed $3,000 to take his case. Philip did not have the money to pay. Philip never saw an immigration lawyer. After three months in immigration detention, he was on a plane back to Jamaica.
After being deported to Jamaica, he moved in with his mother in one of Kingston’s infamous ghettos. When I met him, he had been in Jamaica for eleven months. He still found it hard to think about anything other than the US – his family, his business, his life. In the US, he ran a restaurant, and worked as a musician in the evenings. In Jamaica, he feels lost and is unable to find gainful employment. His wife had to close his restaurant in the US when he was in detention, as she was unable to take on that responsibility. He feels useless in Jamaica, as if in a foreign country. Having spent the prime of his life in the US, his banishment is devastating. He told me, “It’s like I am dead.”
The only person Philip knew in the US was a woman he met in his neighborhood in Kingston. She had come to visit some friends, and they developed a romantic relationship. Once he was in the States, they decided to make their lives together and get married. Philip found a job at the Post Office, and his wife applied for him to get his papers in order. At that time, they were living in Silver Spring, Maryland. However, when Philip’s mother-in-law became ill, they moved to Boston to be closer to his wife’s family.
Philip is not sure what happened to his application for permanent residency, but it seems that, since they didn’t report the address change, his green card was sent to the Maryland address after they moved, and then returned to the INS, as they no longer lived there. He thus had to go through the application process again. The second time, he had a court date in Boston. On the way there, he was pulled over by the police, and was late for his court appearance. He told me that he missed his court date, and his application was denied.
Philip and his wife had their first child in 1998 and their second child the next year. Their second daughter was born severely disabled. She was born unable to see or hear, is confined to a wheelchair, and only eats from a feeding tube. Philip and his wife were not as responsible as they should have been with his application. However, it seems clear that Philip should have been given legal permanent residence in the US, on the basis of his marriage and US citizen children. However, he missed his chance to prove that he had a bona fide marriage, and his application was denied. He thus was ordered deported in 2002.
Philip was not aware of this deportation order, and kept on with his life in the US. He opened up a small vegetarian restaurant and also worked a musician. With the money he made from this, he was able to support his children. He had three more children, all girls. When I spoke with him, the youngest was two years old.
While on a road trip in the Louisiana, Philip was pulled over because he was the car he was driving had paper plates from another state. When the officer heard his accent, he checked with Immigration to see what his status was. When the officer contacted immigration agents, he found out that Philip had a deportation order, and took him into custody.
Philip most likely qualified for relief from deportation, based on the facts that he had lived in this US for 13 years, is married to a US citizen, and has a daughter who is severely disabled. However, Philip was taken to a detention facility in an isolated part of Louisiana where he had no way to plead his case. Philip had a lawyer in Massachusetts, who told Philip that he needed $3,000 to take his case. Philip did not have the money to pay. Philip never saw an immigration lawyer. After three months in immigration detention, he was on a plane back to Jamaica.
After being deported to Jamaica, he moved in with his mother in one of Kingston’s infamous ghettos. When I met him, he had been in Jamaica for eleven months. He still found it hard to think about anything other than the US – his family, his business, his life. In the US, he ran a restaurant, and worked as a musician in the evenings. In Jamaica, he feels lost and is unable to find gainful employment. His wife had to close his restaurant in the US when he was in detention, as she was unable to take on that responsibility. He feels useless in Jamaica, as if in a foreign country. Having spent the prime of his life in the US, his banishment is devastating. He told me, “It’s like I am dead.”
October 5, 2009
Deportee Profile: Elmer - Surviving in Kingston after 36 Years in the US
I met Elmer in downtown Kingston. He had a gentle, round face and was wearing jeans and a white button-up shirt. He was soft-spoken and had a very gentle demeanor; it was hard to believe he had done hard time.
Elmer told me of his humble background. His father was a baker, and his mother was a higgler – meaning she bought and sold in the market for a living. When Elmer was 20 years old, his parents moved to the US. He went four years later – in 1969.
Before moving to Jamaica, Elmer was working for the bauxite company in Kingston. With his earnings, he was able to build an addition to his parents’ house – a room for himself. He was doing well for himself, but he saw a better future in the US. In addition, his parents were in the US and his nine brothers and sisters all planned to go as well.
When Elmer first got to the US, he found it depressing. He didn’t know anyone there other than his parents and siblings. Once he started going to trade school to learn to be an electrician, however, things got better, as he made new friends, and met people to socialize with.
Eventually, Elmer finished trade school and became an electrician. He had three children in the US. When I spoke with him in July 2009, they were 26, 20, and 17 years old. Elmer had only seen the 17 year old from behind bars. He had spent 15 years in prison.
Elmer earned decent money as an electrician. But, in the mid 1980s, Elmer began to have trouble finding work. There was a recession going on, and work began to dry up. He knew some Jamaicans in Brooklyn who sold weed, and decided to get in on the business. Not too long after he started, the police raided a house where Elmer was. They found 200 pounds of marijuana in the basement. Each of the four men in the house was charged with the full quantity, and Elmer was sentenced to fifteen years in prison on drug charges. When he was released from prison in 2004, he spent six months in immigration detention, and was deported to Jamaica, the country he had left 36 years before.
Back in Jamaica, Elmer returned to the family’s house in Kingston. His mother and his oldest daughter gave him some money to get settled. He was fortunate that they still had the family house; his mother had been sending money to Jamaica to maintain the house. His cousin was living there at the time, taking care of the place, and Elmer had a place to stay.
Having been away for so long, there was no one in Jamaica to help Elmer. As a deportee, it is very difficult for him to find work. To have money to live on, Elmer rents two of the rooms in his parents’ house. That provides him with money to pay the utilities on the house and to have food to eat. He pointed out that he is better off than many deportees, as he has a roof over his head and food to eat. If he gets sick, however, he often doesn’t have money to go to the doctor.
In addition to struggling financially, in Jamaica, Elmer is far away from all of the people important to him – his parents, his children, and his friends. When his father died in the States, Elmer was not able to attend the funeral.
Elmer has resigned himself to the fact that he has to remake his life in Jamaica, and hopes to find a way to get together some money to start a business. As a self-employed man, he will not have to worry as much about the stigma attached to being a deportee.
Elmer told me of his humble background. His father was a baker, and his mother was a higgler – meaning she bought and sold in the market for a living. When Elmer was 20 years old, his parents moved to the US. He went four years later – in 1969.
Before moving to Jamaica, Elmer was working for the bauxite company in Kingston. With his earnings, he was able to build an addition to his parents’ house – a room for himself. He was doing well for himself, but he saw a better future in the US. In addition, his parents were in the US and his nine brothers and sisters all planned to go as well.
When Elmer first got to the US, he found it depressing. He didn’t know anyone there other than his parents and siblings. Once he started going to trade school to learn to be an electrician, however, things got better, as he made new friends, and met people to socialize with.
Eventually, Elmer finished trade school and became an electrician. He had three children in the US. When I spoke with him in July 2009, they were 26, 20, and 17 years old. Elmer had only seen the 17 year old from behind bars. He had spent 15 years in prison.
Elmer earned decent money as an electrician. But, in the mid 1980s, Elmer began to have trouble finding work. There was a recession going on, and work began to dry up. He knew some Jamaicans in Brooklyn who sold weed, and decided to get in on the business. Not too long after he started, the police raided a house where Elmer was. They found 200 pounds of marijuana in the basement. Each of the four men in the house was charged with the full quantity, and Elmer was sentenced to fifteen years in prison on drug charges. When he was released from prison in 2004, he spent six months in immigration detention, and was deported to Jamaica, the country he had left 36 years before.
Back in Jamaica, Elmer returned to the family’s house in Kingston. His mother and his oldest daughter gave him some money to get settled. He was fortunate that they still had the family house; his mother had been sending money to Jamaica to maintain the house. His cousin was living there at the time, taking care of the place, and Elmer had a place to stay.
Having been away for so long, there was no one in Jamaica to help Elmer. As a deportee, it is very difficult for him to find work. To have money to live on, Elmer rents two of the rooms in his parents’ house. That provides him with money to pay the utilities on the house and to have food to eat. He pointed out that he is better off than many deportees, as he has a roof over his head and food to eat. If he gets sick, however, he often doesn’t have money to go to the doctor.
In addition to struggling financially, in Jamaica, Elmer is far away from all of the people important to him – his parents, his children, and his friends. When his father died in the States, Elmer was not able to attend the funeral.
Elmer has resigned himself to the fact that he has to remake his life in Jamaica, and hopes to find a way to get together some money to start a business. As a self-employed man, he will not have to worry as much about the stigma attached to being a deportee.
September 30, 2009
Disabled Veteran Deported to Jamaica for Resisting Arrest, after Two Decades in the US
Caleb was born in 1964 in St. Thomas, Jamaica, a parish not too far from Kingston. He grew up with his grandmother, who worked as a domestic, and his grandfather, who worked for the post office. In high school, Caleb was a police cadet. He became a police officer when he graduated, and was stationed at the US vice-counsel’s house as security.
Through this connection to the vice-counsel to the US, Caleb was able to get a one-year visa to go to the US in 1985. Once there, he married a US citizen, and became a legal permanent resident in 1988. Soon afterwards, he joined the US army.
Caleb told me he was attracted to the idea of being in the military ever since he moved to the US. He recalled commercials he saw in the US that showed the benefits of joining the armed forces. As a temporary migrant, however, he couldn’t join the army. He spoke to the recruitment officers in town, and they told him that as soon as he became a legal permanent resident, they would sign him up. As soon as his green card arrived, the first thing Caleb did was to join the army.
Caleb dreamed of a military career, but was hurt during his military service, and had to leave the army after two years of service. He was in rapid deployment training when he was injured in a tank accident. He developed three hernias in his back, and was declared a disabled veteran. Because of his injury, the US military paid for his education, and Caleb went back to school.
He studied Computer Science at a community college in Florida from 1992 to 1996. Once he finished, he got a job with the City government. From there, he worked in several government jobs, all in the region, all in computing.
In Florida, Caleb lived in Avon Park – an immigrant community in Florida. He described it as an “integrated town” that was generally quiet, but had some issues with drugs and crime. In his neighborhood, people called Caleb “Soldier,” and often asked him to help with filling out forms and with their computers. In the neighborhood, Caleb volunteered at a local computing program in the evenings – a Head Start program. When Hurricane Andrew hit, Caleb signed up to volunteer with the relief effort. He also helped veterans at the hospital.
Caleb told me he often stayed away from Jamaicans, since most of the Jamaicans he met smoked marijuana, and he did not condone that behavior. He lived a quiet, family life, spending most of his free time with his family.
When I spoke to Caleb in 2008, he had two children – a sixteen year old boy and a twelve year old girl. His children had a very hard time dealing with his deportation. His daughter cried every night for two months when he was deported. Finally, the kids were able to visit. When they came to visit, and saw he was okay, they felt better. The kids have come to visit each summer since he was deported four years ago. Caleb spoke proudly of his children. His son had recently won an award for public speaking, and had traveled to DC to meet the president.
I asked Caleb why he never became a citizen. He told me he saw the only two benefits to becoming a citizen were that he could vote and that he could get a federal job. The cost was that he would have to renounce his Jamaican citizenship. So, even though he served in the US Army and wanted to live permanently in the US, he decided he did not want to renounce his Jamaican citizenship, as a matter of principle. He knew people could be deported for committing crimes. But, since he considered himself a model citizen, and someone who avoids crime at all cost, he didn’t think he had anything to worry about.
As a former police officer, a solider, and a college graduate, Caleb did not see himself getting into any trouble. He had never gotten into trouble with the law in Jamaica; in contrast, he was a police officer who upheld the law.
The first time Caleb got in trouble in the law, it was while he was stationed in Germany. When he came home to visit his wife, he was picked up by the police, and charged with possession with intent to distribute cocaine. He protested the charge, asking how that was possible. He did not use or sell drugs. The prosecutor said they had proof of his crimes on tape. It turned out to be a case of mistaken identification. Caleb was stationed in Germany on the day the tape was recorded. Although his name was cleared, this charge stayed on his record, and would come back to haunt him.
The second time Caleb got in trouble, he was charged with aggravated assault. Caleb was out with friends, and some of his friends were involved in a fight. Caleb told me he did not hit anyone, but was not willing to place the blame on anyone else either. He was convicted and put on probation for two years.
The third time, Caleb was driving his Lexus to his friend’s house. When he parked, a police officer pulled up behind him and asked him something about his tags. Caleb asked the officer if he was under arrest; the officer said he was not, so Caleb went into his friend’s house. When he came out of his friend’s house, the car was gone. The next morning, Caleb went to the police station, and found that his car had been impounded. The police officer charged him with resisting arrest without violence.
When Caleb went to get his car back, he found that it had been badly damaged. The police had taken off of the doors and broken the glove compartment, presumably looking for drugs. They had not found anything. Caleb presumes that they did not want to be responsible for the car, so found something to charge him with.
When Caleb went to complain about his car, he was placed under arrest. Caleb was held in jail for three months as he went back and forth to court. He continuously asked about his attorney, but was not appointed one. Five minutes before his jury trial, he met his court-appointed lawyer for the first time. She asked him about his case. Given the fact that the case was going to trial in the next few minutes, Caleb decided he would rather represent himself. He told his side of the story, but the jury found that he had left the scene, which is grounds for resisting arrest without violence. The jury found him guilty, and the judge sentenced him to nine months in jail.
From there, Caleb had to go to court for the violation of probation. The judge sentenced him to forty-six months in prison for the violation of probation. After doing his time, Caleb was deported to Jamaica, the land he had left twenty years before.
Back in Jamaica, despite his college education and years of experience, Caleb has not been able to find work. In Jamaica, the stigma of “deportee” is hard to beat, and makes it difficult for Caleb to find employment.
Through this connection to the vice-counsel to the US, Caleb was able to get a one-year visa to go to the US in 1985. Once there, he married a US citizen, and became a legal permanent resident in 1988. Soon afterwards, he joined the US army.
Caleb told me he was attracted to the idea of being in the military ever since he moved to the US. He recalled commercials he saw in the US that showed the benefits of joining the armed forces. As a temporary migrant, however, he couldn’t join the army. He spoke to the recruitment officers in town, and they told him that as soon as he became a legal permanent resident, they would sign him up. As soon as his green card arrived, the first thing Caleb did was to join the army.
Caleb dreamed of a military career, but was hurt during his military service, and had to leave the army after two years of service. He was in rapid deployment training when he was injured in a tank accident. He developed three hernias in his back, and was declared a disabled veteran. Because of his injury, the US military paid for his education, and Caleb went back to school.
He studied Computer Science at a community college in Florida from 1992 to 1996. Once he finished, he got a job with the City government. From there, he worked in several government jobs, all in the region, all in computing.
In Florida, Caleb lived in Avon Park – an immigrant community in Florida. He described it as an “integrated town” that was generally quiet, but had some issues with drugs and crime. In his neighborhood, people called Caleb “Soldier,” and often asked him to help with filling out forms and with their computers. In the neighborhood, Caleb volunteered at a local computing program in the evenings – a Head Start program. When Hurricane Andrew hit, Caleb signed up to volunteer with the relief effort. He also helped veterans at the hospital.
Caleb told me he often stayed away from Jamaicans, since most of the Jamaicans he met smoked marijuana, and he did not condone that behavior. He lived a quiet, family life, spending most of his free time with his family.
When I spoke to Caleb in 2008, he had two children – a sixteen year old boy and a twelve year old girl. His children had a very hard time dealing with his deportation. His daughter cried every night for two months when he was deported. Finally, the kids were able to visit. When they came to visit, and saw he was okay, they felt better. The kids have come to visit each summer since he was deported four years ago. Caleb spoke proudly of his children. His son had recently won an award for public speaking, and had traveled to DC to meet the president.
I asked Caleb why he never became a citizen. He told me he saw the only two benefits to becoming a citizen were that he could vote and that he could get a federal job. The cost was that he would have to renounce his Jamaican citizenship. So, even though he served in the US Army and wanted to live permanently in the US, he decided he did not want to renounce his Jamaican citizenship, as a matter of principle. He knew people could be deported for committing crimes. But, since he considered himself a model citizen, and someone who avoids crime at all cost, he didn’t think he had anything to worry about.
As a former police officer, a solider, and a college graduate, Caleb did not see himself getting into any trouble. He had never gotten into trouble with the law in Jamaica; in contrast, he was a police officer who upheld the law.
The first time Caleb got in trouble in the law, it was while he was stationed in Germany. When he came home to visit his wife, he was picked up by the police, and charged with possession with intent to distribute cocaine. He protested the charge, asking how that was possible. He did not use or sell drugs. The prosecutor said they had proof of his crimes on tape. It turned out to be a case of mistaken identification. Caleb was stationed in Germany on the day the tape was recorded. Although his name was cleared, this charge stayed on his record, and would come back to haunt him.
The second time Caleb got in trouble, he was charged with aggravated assault. Caleb was out with friends, and some of his friends were involved in a fight. Caleb told me he did not hit anyone, but was not willing to place the blame on anyone else either. He was convicted and put on probation for two years.
The third time, Caleb was driving his Lexus to his friend’s house. When he parked, a police officer pulled up behind him and asked him something about his tags. Caleb asked the officer if he was under arrest; the officer said he was not, so Caleb went into his friend’s house. When he came out of his friend’s house, the car was gone. The next morning, Caleb went to the police station, and found that his car had been impounded. The police officer charged him with resisting arrest without violence.
When Caleb went to get his car back, he found that it had been badly damaged. The police had taken off of the doors and broken the glove compartment, presumably looking for drugs. They had not found anything. Caleb presumes that they did not want to be responsible for the car, so found something to charge him with.
When Caleb went to complain about his car, he was placed under arrest. Caleb was held in jail for three months as he went back and forth to court. He continuously asked about his attorney, but was not appointed one. Five minutes before his jury trial, he met his court-appointed lawyer for the first time. She asked him about his case. Given the fact that the case was going to trial in the next few minutes, Caleb decided he would rather represent himself. He told his side of the story, but the jury found that he had left the scene, which is grounds for resisting arrest without violence. The jury found him guilty, and the judge sentenced him to nine months in jail.
From there, Caleb had to go to court for the violation of probation. The judge sentenced him to forty-six months in prison for the violation of probation. After doing his time, Caleb was deported to Jamaica, the land he had left twenty years before.
Back in Jamaica, despite his college education and years of experience, Caleb has not been able to find work. In Jamaica, the stigma of “deportee” is hard to beat, and makes it difficult for Caleb to find employment.
September 23, 2009
With endless appeal process, father of 12 children signs deportation order
Elias grew up in St. Thomas, Jamaica. When he was about five, his mother traveled to the US to seek a better life for her and her family, leaving Elias with his stepfather and his grandmother. Elias’s mother sent him money and toys from America. When he was 13, she finally sent for him and his stepfather.
Elias arrived in Brooklyn, New York in the early 1980s. Like many Jamaicans who arrived in Brooklyn, it was not as nice as he expected – the streets were dirty and there was a lot of crime. Elias went into the eighth grade, and did fairly well in school. While in high school, he got a job in a restaurant, and worked there until he graduated.
Not too long after graduation, Elias got his girlfriend pregnant. It was around 1985, and opportunities to sell marijuana for extra cash were plentiful in Brooklyn. Two months after he started selling dime bags, however, Elias was arrested. That was in 1986. He sold a dime bag to an undercover officer. He did not go to jail, but had to pay a fine of $50. Elias avoided getting in trouble with the law for the next twenty years.
Elias worked in construction when he could find work. But, he was disabled and not always able to find steady work. In 1988, Elias was shot seventeen times in the Bronx. It is amazing he survived. He told me that another Jamaican thought that he had robbed him, and had him shot in revenge. A few weeks later, they found out he was innocent and didn’t bother him any more. Elias still walks with a limp to this day.
One day in 2006, Elias was walking past a barber shop in Brooklyn when a friend asked him to take a bag of baby wipes and diapers to his baby’s mother across town. Elias agreed to do it and hopped into a cab. Shortly thereafter, a police car turned on its siren and pulled the cab over. Elias looked into the bag and saw that the bag didn’t have baby wipes in it – it had fourteen rocks of crack cocaine. Elias was arrested and sentenced to eighteen months in prison. The owner of the bag and the baby mother both testified in court that it was not Elias’s bag. Nevertheless, after several court dates and appeals, Elias was found guilty.
After serving his eighteen months, he was ordered deported. Elias spent eleven months in detention trying to get his charge overturned, until he finally gave up while the appeal was still underway. He had been in the US since he was thirteen years old, and had no ties to Jamaica. He didn’t want his twelve children to grow up without a father present. But, he was tired of being locked up and agreed to be deported.
Elias had twelve children in the US, aged from eleven to twenty-four years old. He was living with three of them when he got locked up, but saw all of them on a regular basis. On weekends, they would go to the park and the movies.
Elias’s mobility is limited. He has a shattered hip bone from the shooting. He is only able to do light work. In 2004, he filed for disability, and was awarded disability payments. With the back payments, he was owed $5,000 at the time he got locked up. The disability payments were cut off. When you get locked up, your payments are stopped. And, when you are deported, they are permanently cut.
Elias’s youngest sons took it quite badly when he was locked up, and even more so when he was deported. His baby mother married someone else and got on with her life.
Elias was deported while he was still appealing his conviction for the 14 grams of crack. He was actually deported on the basis of his 1986 case. Because it was before 1996, he was eligible for 212 (c) relief for that deportation order – meaning he could appeal it. However, he had to be detained while fighting that deportation order. Inside a detention facility, the only resources Elias had were those at the law library of the detention center. With a lawyer, Elias may have been able to avoid his deportation. But, he didn’t have the funds to pay for a lawyer. In addition, he was tired of being locked up. It had been two and a half years, for a crime for which he considered himself innocent.
Elias did not want to spend another year in detention waiting for his appeals to run their courses. He did not contest his deportation, and was sent to Jamaica, where he has few ties and fewer opportunities. His twelve children will have to carry on with their lives without their father present.
Elias arrived in Brooklyn, New York in the early 1980s. Like many Jamaicans who arrived in Brooklyn, it was not as nice as he expected – the streets were dirty and there was a lot of crime. Elias went into the eighth grade, and did fairly well in school. While in high school, he got a job in a restaurant, and worked there until he graduated.
Not too long after graduation, Elias got his girlfriend pregnant. It was around 1985, and opportunities to sell marijuana for extra cash were plentiful in Brooklyn. Two months after he started selling dime bags, however, Elias was arrested. That was in 1986. He sold a dime bag to an undercover officer. He did not go to jail, but had to pay a fine of $50. Elias avoided getting in trouble with the law for the next twenty years.
Elias worked in construction when he could find work. But, he was disabled and not always able to find steady work. In 1988, Elias was shot seventeen times in the Bronx. It is amazing he survived. He told me that another Jamaican thought that he had robbed him, and had him shot in revenge. A few weeks later, they found out he was innocent and didn’t bother him any more. Elias still walks with a limp to this day.
One day in 2006, Elias was walking past a barber shop in Brooklyn when a friend asked him to take a bag of baby wipes and diapers to his baby’s mother across town. Elias agreed to do it and hopped into a cab. Shortly thereafter, a police car turned on its siren and pulled the cab over. Elias looked into the bag and saw that the bag didn’t have baby wipes in it – it had fourteen rocks of crack cocaine. Elias was arrested and sentenced to eighteen months in prison. The owner of the bag and the baby mother both testified in court that it was not Elias’s bag. Nevertheless, after several court dates and appeals, Elias was found guilty.
After serving his eighteen months, he was ordered deported. Elias spent eleven months in detention trying to get his charge overturned, until he finally gave up while the appeal was still underway. He had been in the US since he was thirteen years old, and had no ties to Jamaica. He didn’t want his twelve children to grow up without a father present. But, he was tired of being locked up and agreed to be deported.
Elias had twelve children in the US, aged from eleven to twenty-four years old. He was living with three of them when he got locked up, but saw all of them on a regular basis. On weekends, they would go to the park and the movies.
Elias’s mobility is limited. He has a shattered hip bone from the shooting. He is only able to do light work. In 2004, he filed for disability, and was awarded disability payments. With the back payments, he was owed $5,000 at the time he got locked up. The disability payments were cut off. When you get locked up, your payments are stopped. And, when you are deported, they are permanently cut.
Elias’s youngest sons took it quite badly when he was locked up, and even more so when he was deported. His baby mother married someone else and got on with her life.
Elias was deported while he was still appealing his conviction for the 14 grams of crack. He was actually deported on the basis of his 1986 case. Because it was before 1996, he was eligible for 212 (c) relief for that deportation order – meaning he could appeal it. However, he had to be detained while fighting that deportation order. Inside a detention facility, the only resources Elias had were those at the law library of the detention center. With a lawyer, Elias may have been able to avoid his deportation. But, he didn’t have the funds to pay for a lawyer. In addition, he was tired of being locked up. It had been two and a half years, for a crime for which he considered himself innocent.
Elias did not want to spend another year in detention waiting for his appeals to run their courses. He did not contest his deportation, and was sent to Jamaica, where he has few ties and fewer opportunities. His twelve children will have to carry on with their lives without their father present.
September 22, 2009
Deported to Jamaica: No job, no money, little hope
“I don’t believe in luck; you do things right, you get good results. You do things wrong, you get bad results” Delvin, a deportee living in St. Ann’s, Jamaica
At 42 years old, Delvin is having a difficult time re-incorporating himself into Jamaica, even though he was quite well-established before migrating to the US.
Delvin is from Spanish Town, Jamaica. He went to the US when he was 33 years old. When he migrated, he had a stable job in a sugar factory as a chemist. He had been in the sugar factory for fourteen years, and had worked his way up the ladder, slowly but surely.
Although his job was stable, it paid just enough to get by, not enough to get ahead in life. Delvin thought that, in the US, he would be able to make more money, to do better for himself. In addition, his wife was already in the US, and he wanted to re-unite with her. Delvin secured a tourist visa to go to the US in 1999, and resigned his job at the sugar factory.
When Delvin went to the US, his wife had already been there for four years. He bought his two children tickets to go to Disney World, and was able to get a tourist visa for him and the children. When he arrived in the US, he found that his wife was already with someone else. She had divorced him, married a US citizen, and was now a legal permanent resident. She had done all of this without telling him. Delvin left the two children with her and her new husband in Miami, and went to North Carolina not too long after that.
In North Carolina, Delvin worked a series of temporary jobs. I asked him if he had ever been able to get his papers straight. He had tried, but was unsuccessful. Delvin had married US citizen women, twice. But, he was never able to get his papers in order.
The first time, he married a woman in Miami. By the time his interview with immigration came up, he was already in North Carolina. Thinking he wouldn’t be eligible for legalization, he didn’t go to the interview. The law, however, says that, so long as he entered the marriage in good faith, he would have been able to legalize. Not knowing that, he simply didn’t go.
Instead, he divorced the woman, and married someone else in North Carolina. By the time their interview came around, they had separated. Again, he didn’t go to the interview. By not showing up twice at the interview for his petition for legalization on the basis of his marriage, Delvin likely triggered a deportation order. He went from being simply an undocumented immigrant to a “deportable alien” – someone with a deportation order. This status makes him more likely to be found by immigration agents. It was just a matter of time before he would be deported. With 287 (g) in force, any interaction with the police would lead to him being deported.
One evening in 2006, Delvin had a party at his house, and the police showed up. When the police entered his house, they found drugs and a gun on the premises. Delvin told me they weren’t his. But, since it was his house, he was charged, and sentenced to one year of probation. When he was nearly finished with his probation, ICE sent a list of people with deportation orders to his probation officer. Delvin’s name was on the list. His probation officer turned him over to ICE, and Delvin was taken into immigration custody. Two months later, he was deported.
Back in Jamaica, Delvin went to his aging mother’s house, in St. Ann’s, where she lives with his 22-year old son. They had been dependent on Delvin’s remittances to eat and pay the bills. Now that he is back, it is very hard for them to get by. None of them have been able to find work. Their electricity has been cut off, and they are living with the bare minimum.
One of Delvin’s baby mothers in the US came to visit him, with their infant, who Delvin met for the first time. She was shocked to see the poverty in which he lives, and wants to help Delvin get back to the US. She told him she would marry him, and see if he could return to the US. Delvin is ineligible for re-entry to the US for ten years, but may be able to seek a waiver. With no resources in Jamaica, he is dependent on his baby mother to process and pay for the paperwork.
When Delvin lived in the US, he was able to attain a comfortable standard of living. He provided for his three children and their mothers. He had a car, several televisions, and nice clothes. When he was deported, his girlfriend packed up some of his valuables and sent it to him in Jamaica in a barrel. Unfortunately, he did not have the money to pay to get his items through customs. He has to pay import taxes on the three televisions another other items, and did not have the money. He is not sure if he ever will be able to get the items out of customs.
While Delvin was living in America, he sent money to Jamaica to build an addition on to his mother’s house in St. Ann’s, near Ocho Rios. He had never lived there himself, but now has to live there, as he has no where else to go. In St. Ann’s, he has no connections, other than his mother and his son.
Delvin also is leery of using public transportation. In the US, he drove around in cars, and, is not accustomed to the packed, deteriorr.ating buses that Jamaicans use to travel around. So, he hasn’t gone back to Spanish Town, where he is from, to find out if his friends are still there, or if there is any way he could get a job back at the factory he used to work at.
For now, he is dependent on his brother, who is a police officer in Montego Bay, to provide his mother, his son and himself with the bare necessities.
Delvin has five children in the US – two are with his Jamaican ex-wife. The other three are children he had with other women after they separated. Those five children will likely grow up never knowing their father.
At 42 years old, Delvin is having a difficult time re-incorporating himself into Jamaica, even though he was quite well-established before migrating to the US.
Delvin is from Spanish Town, Jamaica. He went to the US when he was 33 years old. When he migrated, he had a stable job in a sugar factory as a chemist. He had been in the sugar factory for fourteen years, and had worked his way up the ladder, slowly but surely.
Although his job was stable, it paid just enough to get by, not enough to get ahead in life. Delvin thought that, in the US, he would be able to make more money, to do better for himself. In addition, his wife was already in the US, and he wanted to re-unite with her. Delvin secured a tourist visa to go to the US in 1999, and resigned his job at the sugar factory.
When Delvin went to the US, his wife had already been there for four years. He bought his two children tickets to go to Disney World, and was able to get a tourist visa for him and the children. When he arrived in the US, he found that his wife was already with someone else. She had divorced him, married a US citizen, and was now a legal permanent resident. She had done all of this without telling him. Delvin left the two children with her and her new husband in Miami, and went to North Carolina not too long after that.
In North Carolina, Delvin worked a series of temporary jobs. I asked him if he had ever been able to get his papers straight. He had tried, but was unsuccessful. Delvin had married US citizen women, twice. But, he was never able to get his papers in order.
The first time, he married a woman in Miami. By the time his interview with immigration came up, he was already in North Carolina. Thinking he wouldn’t be eligible for legalization, he didn’t go to the interview. The law, however, says that, so long as he entered the marriage in good faith, he would have been able to legalize. Not knowing that, he simply didn’t go.
Instead, he divorced the woman, and married someone else in North Carolina. By the time their interview came around, they had separated. Again, he didn’t go to the interview. By not showing up twice at the interview for his petition for legalization on the basis of his marriage, Delvin likely triggered a deportation order. He went from being simply an undocumented immigrant to a “deportable alien” – someone with a deportation order. This status makes him more likely to be found by immigration agents. It was just a matter of time before he would be deported. With 287 (g) in force, any interaction with the police would lead to him being deported.
One evening in 2006, Delvin had a party at his house, and the police showed up. When the police entered his house, they found drugs and a gun on the premises. Delvin told me they weren’t his. But, since it was his house, he was charged, and sentenced to one year of probation. When he was nearly finished with his probation, ICE sent a list of people with deportation orders to his probation officer. Delvin’s name was on the list. His probation officer turned him over to ICE, and Delvin was taken into immigration custody. Two months later, he was deported.
Back in Jamaica, Delvin went to his aging mother’s house, in St. Ann’s, where she lives with his 22-year old son. They had been dependent on Delvin’s remittances to eat and pay the bills. Now that he is back, it is very hard for them to get by. None of them have been able to find work. Their electricity has been cut off, and they are living with the bare minimum.
One of Delvin’s baby mothers in the US came to visit him, with their infant, who Delvin met for the first time. She was shocked to see the poverty in which he lives, and wants to help Delvin get back to the US. She told him she would marry him, and see if he could return to the US. Delvin is ineligible for re-entry to the US for ten years, but may be able to seek a waiver. With no resources in Jamaica, he is dependent on his baby mother to process and pay for the paperwork.
When Delvin lived in the US, he was able to attain a comfortable standard of living. He provided for his three children and their mothers. He had a car, several televisions, and nice clothes. When he was deported, his girlfriend packed up some of his valuables and sent it to him in Jamaica in a barrel. Unfortunately, he did not have the money to pay to get his items through customs. He has to pay import taxes on the three televisions another other items, and did not have the money. He is not sure if he ever will be able to get the items out of customs.
While Delvin was living in America, he sent money to Jamaica to build an addition on to his mother’s house in St. Ann’s, near Ocho Rios. He had never lived there himself, but now has to live there, as he has no where else to go. In St. Ann’s, he has no connections, other than his mother and his son.
Delvin also is leery of using public transportation. In the US, he drove around in cars, and, is not accustomed to the packed, deteriorr.ating buses that Jamaicans use to travel around. So, he hasn’t gone back to Spanish Town, where he is from, to find out if his friends are still there, or if there is any way he could get a job back at the factory he used to work at.
For now, he is dependent on his brother, who is a police officer in Montego Bay, to provide his mother, his son and himself with the bare necessities.
Delvin has five children in the US – two are with his Jamaican ex-wife. The other three are children he had with other women after they separated. Those five children will likely grow up never knowing their father.
September 17, 2009
Father of Three U.S. Citizen Children Deported to Jamaica after 38 Years in the US
I met Chris, a wiry man with an unusual accent, in downtown Kingston for our interview. I couldn’t quite place his accent. He told me he was married to a Honduran woman, so maybe that has something to do with the way he speaks.
Chris grew up in inner-city Kingston in the 1950s, in Hannah Town. He described his neighborhood as calm and co-operative, the kind of place where you could leave the doors open all night long. He told me it is no longer like that; he barely recognized the neighborhood when he was deported two years ago.
Growing up, Chris lived with his aunt, as his mother traveled constantly back and forth to the countryside to buy fruits to sell in Kingston’s market. His aunt eventually decided to migrate to the US, and he followed her a couple of years later. Chris moved to the United States in 1969, when he was 16 years old. Eventually, his grandparents moved to the States as well.
Chris went to high school in Brooklyn. He spoke well of the high school, saying he got along well with the other students. He went there for three years, and graduated with a high school diploma. During high school, Chris had worked in a series of odd jobs, and he continued working in similar jobs after graduation.
Barely out of high school, Chris got married and began to have children. He and his wife had three children who are all grown up now – the youngest was over thirty when we spoke. Chris’s wife worked nights at an insurance company when the children were small; so, he was responsible for the kids during the days.
Chris was still living with his wife in Brooklyn when he got into trouble with the law in 2006. One of his neighbors, a crack addict, stole some goods from his apartment. Chris confronted him about the theft, and they got into an altercation. The addict pulled out a knife. Chris wrestled the knife from him, and stabbed him. Chris was convicted of assault, and was sentenced to one year in jail. Since Chris had been convicted of a violent crime that carried a sentence of one year, he faced deportation; had he been sentenced to 364 days, he wouldn’t have been deported. He served eight months of his sentence, and was released from Riker’s Island, only to be taken directly to immigration detention. He spent five months in a detention facility in Texas and was deported.
This was Chris’s first time in jail. He had been charged with marijuana possession before, and had been on probation for that, but he was not on probation at the time of the fight. Chris had arrived in the US at age 16, had gone to high school in New York City, and had worked a series of low-skill jobs since finishing high school. When he was deported, Chris had been in the United States for 38 years, was married to a US citizen, and had three US-born children.
Chris had not been back to visit Jamaica the entire time he was in the US. He did not maintain ties with anyone. His mother lives in Jamaica, but Chris had been raised by his aunt and grandparents who live in the US, and had rarely been in touch with his mother.
Chris’s mother lives in the countryside in Jamaica, and he went there when he first came back. Used to working every day, and living in New York City, it was hard for him to adjust to life in a small village, with no work and nothing to do. He recently moved back to Kingston, where he found a room to share with an old friend in the inner-city neighborhood where he grew up. At 57-years old, with few job skills, Chris has not been able to find work, and depends on the benevolence of others for his survival.
Back in the US, his wife has to struggle to pay the bills with the loss of her husband’s income. Chris was a legal permanent resident in the U.S., and had been eligible for citizenship for decades. Had he sought citizenship, he would not have been deported. Had his sentence been one day shorter, he would not have been deported. Were the laws less stringent, his wife would have her husband by her side, and his children would have their father close by.
Chris grew up in inner-city Kingston in the 1950s, in Hannah Town. He described his neighborhood as calm and co-operative, the kind of place where you could leave the doors open all night long. He told me it is no longer like that; he barely recognized the neighborhood when he was deported two years ago.
Growing up, Chris lived with his aunt, as his mother traveled constantly back and forth to the countryside to buy fruits to sell in Kingston’s market. His aunt eventually decided to migrate to the US, and he followed her a couple of years later. Chris moved to the United States in 1969, when he was 16 years old. Eventually, his grandparents moved to the States as well.
Chris went to high school in Brooklyn. He spoke well of the high school, saying he got along well with the other students. He went there for three years, and graduated with a high school diploma. During high school, Chris had worked in a series of odd jobs, and he continued working in similar jobs after graduation.
Barely out of high school, Chris got married and began to have children. He and his wife had three children who are all grown up now – the youngest was over thirty when we spoke. Chris’s wife worked nights at an insurance company when the children were small; so, he was responsible for the kids during the days.
Chris was still living with his wife in Brooklyn when he got into trouble with the law in 2006. One of his neighbors, a crack addict, stole some goods from his apartment. Chris confronted him about the theft, and they got into an altercation. The addict pulled out a knife. Chris wrestled the knife from him, and stabbed him. Chris was convicted of assault, and was sentenced to one year in jail. Since Chris had been convicted of a violent crime that carried a sentence of one year, he faced deportation; had he been sentenced to 364 days, he wouldn’t have been deported. He served eight months of his sentence, and was released from Riker’s Island, only to be taken directly to immigration detention. He spent five months in a detention facility in Texas and was deported.
This was Chris’s first time in jail. He had been charged with marijuana possession before, and had been on probation for that, but he was not on probation at the time of the fight. Chris had arrived in the US at age 16, had gone to high school in New York City, and had worked a series of low-skill jobs since finishing high school. When he was deported, Chris had been in the United States for 38 years, was married to a US citizen, and had three US-born children.
Chris had not been back to visit Jamaica the entire time he was in the US. He did not maintain ties with anyone. His mother lives in Jamaica, but Chris had been raised by his aunt and grandparents who live in the US, and had rarely been in touch with his mother.
Chris’s mother lives in the countryside in Jamaica, and he went there when he first came back. Used to working every day, and living in New York City, it was hard for him to adjust to life in a small village, with no work and nothing to do. He recently moved back to Kingston, where he found a room to share with an old friend in the inner-city neighborhood where he grew up. At 57-years old, with few job skills, Chris has not been able to find work, and depends on the benevolence of others for his survival.
Back in the US, his wife has to struggle to pay the bills with the loss of her husband’s income. Chris was a legal permanent resident in the U.S., and had been eligible for citizenship for decades. Had he sought citizenship, he would not have been deported. Had his sentence been one day shorter, he would not have been deported. Were the laws less stringent, his wife would have her husband by her side, and his children would have their father close by.
September 16, 2009
Father of 12 US Citizen Children Deported after Forty Years in the US
Alberto grew up in a fairly well-off family in Uptown, Kingston. He earned a full merit-based scholarship to attend Kingston College – a prestigious high school in Kingston. He had to give up his full scholarship, however, when he was 15, as his parents decided to migrate to the US in 1969. His mother went first, as a legal permanent resident, and he, his father, and his brother followed soon afterwards.
Alberto’s plane descended into New York City at night in October of 1969, and he was impressed by all of the lights that shone from the city. They arrived in Brooklyn at night, and he couldn’t wait until the morning to see what the city looked like. When he awoke to dirty streets, full of trash, with people drinking on the corner, he was a bit disillusioned. His neighborhood in Kingston had looked better.
School was also different – the kids dressed funny and the courses were less rigorous. Alberto wore wool pants and a button up shirt, as he did in Jamaica. The other kids had on bell-bottoms and platform shoes. He said they laughed at him, and he laughed at them. The schoolwork was also quite a bit easier than what he had been accustomed to in Kingston.
Although school was easy, and Alberto was doing well, he decided to drop out. He was growing dreadlocks, and his mother disapproved. Unwilling to compromise, he moved out of her house and had to find work. He worked a brief stint in a lab at NYU, yet decided to learn a trade instead. He tried his hand at a few trades, and finished a welding program.
Soon after moving out on his own, Alberto moved in with a woman who had a nine-month old baby. He took her child as his own, and they eventually had three more children together. He also had eight more children with other women, for a total of 12 children under his care. He didn’t live with all of them, but told me he supported his kids when he was in the US. Today, most of his children are grown. But, he has two that are still quite young. He confided to me that, when he was deported, his girlfriend began to have problems, and his two youngest kids are now in foster care. He regrets deeply that he cannot do anything to help his children from Jamaica. He doesn’t want to return to the US illegally and live like a fugitive. He also doesn’t want his kids in that precarious situation.
In the US, Alberto worked for a few years as a welder, and then got involved in the music industry. He is a bass player, and played with a reggae band in New York. This meant that he was often around people who smoked and sold marijuana. He told me he was arrested and charged with marijuana distribution, yet was not guilty of the charge. Nevertheless, he was convicted and sentenced to prison. After serving his sentence, he was a free man, and forgot about his past troubles.
In 2007, Alberto was awakened at 5am in the morning to the sound of loud knocking at the door. Alberto opened the door and saw police agents. They asked Alberto if he had called to report a robbery. He said he hadn’t; he was sleeping. As they were talking in the doorway, and Alberto was barely dressed, he invited them to come in, so he wouldn’t feel the cold. Once the officer stepped inside, a dozen or so officers showed up and began to search the place. Alberto saw they were ICE agents and told them that searching the house was not necessary; if they wanted to deport him, he was ready to go. The ICE agents arrested Alberto and took him to a detention center, where he spent five weeks before being deported to Jamaica.
Alberto had been in the US for nearly 40 years. He told me when he got off the plane, he took out his American chip and put in his Jamaican chip, and that is how he has been able to get by in Jamaica. Alberto is relatively fortunate for two reasons. First, his parents built a house in Jamaica, so he had somewhere to go. Secondly, he had about $4,000 in savings that he has been drawing on slowly for the past two years to get by in Jamaica.
Alberto regrets what has happened to his children and his family in the US, but sees himself as fortunate that he has a roof over his head in Jamaica, and that most of his children are grown up. He is a bit worried, however, as his savings are nearly depleted, and he has not been able to find work.
He has met up with a few other musicians and they are working on getting a band together. He has high hopes for the band, and thinks he will be able to make it in Jamaica. After forty years abroad, he accepts that he is Jamaican, and this is his land. “Jamaica is somewhere,” he told me, “Jamaica is not nowhere.”
(Please ignore this last line .... I am claiming this blog on Technorati and have to include this code: w3iq69fu7n )
Alberto’s plane descended into New York City at night in October of 1969, and he was impressed by all of the lights that shone from the city. They arrived in Brooklyn at night, and he couldn’t wait until the morning to see what the city looked like. When he awoke to dirty streets, full of trash, with people drinking on the corner, he was a bit disillusioned. His neighborhood in Kingston had looked better.
School was also different – the kids dressed funny and the courses were less rigorous. Alberto wore wool pants and a button up shirt, as he did in Jamaica. The other kids had on bell-bottoms and platform shoes. He said they laughed at him, and he laughed at them. The schoolwork was also quite a bit easier than what he had been accustomed to in Kingston.
Although school was easy, and Alberto was doing well, he decided to drop out. He was growing dreadlocks, and his mother disapproved. Unwilling to compromise, he moved out of her house and had to find work. He worked a brief stint in a lab at NYU, yet decided to learn a trade instead. He tried his hand at a few trades, and finished a welding program.
Soon after moving out on his own, Alberto moved in with a woman who had a nine-month old baby. He took her child as his own, and they eventually had three more children together. He also had eight more children with other women, for a total of 12 children under his care. He didn’t live with all of them, but told me he supported his kids when he was in the US. Today, most of his children are grown. But, he has two that are still quite young. He confided to me that, when he was deported, his girlfriend began to have problems, and his two youngest kids are now in foster care. He regrets deeply that he cannot do anything to help his children from Jamaica. He doesn’t want to return to the US illegally and live like a fugitive. He also doesn’t want his kids in that precarious situation.
In the US, Alberto worked for a few years as a welder, and then got involved in the music industry. He is a bass player, and played with a reggae band in New York. This meant that he was often around people who smoked and sold marijuana. He told me he was arrested and charged with marijuana distribution, yet was not guilty of the charge. Nevertheless, he was convicted and sentenced to prison. After serving his sentence, he was a free man, and forgot about his past troubles.
In 2007, Alberto was awakened at 5am in the morning to the sound of loud knocking at the door. Alberto opened the door and saw police agents. They asked Alberto if he had called to report a robbery. He said he hadn’t; he was sleeping. As they were talking in the doorway, and Alberto was barely dressed, he invited them to come in, so he wouldn’t feel the cold. Once the officer stepped inside, a dozen or so officers showed up and began to search the place. Alberto saw they were ICE agents and told them that searching the house was not necessary; if they wanted to deport him, he was ready to go. The ICE agents arrested Alberto and took him to a detention center, where he spent five weeks before being deported to Jamaica.
Alberto had been in the US for nearly 40 years. He told me when he got off the plane, he took out his American chip and put in his Jamaican chip, and that is how he has been able to get by in Jamaica. Alberto is relatively fortunate for two reasons. First, his parents built a house in Jamaica, so he had somewhere to go. Secondly, he had about $4,000 in savings that he has been drawing on slowly for the past two years to get by in Jamaica.
Alberto regrets what has happened to his children and his family in the US, but sees himself as fortunate that he has a roof over his head in Jamaica, and that most of his children are grown up. He is a bit worried, however, as his savings are nearly depleted, and he has not been able to find work.
He has met up with a few other musicians and they are working on getting a band together. He has high hopes for the band, and thinks he will be able to make it in Jamaica. After forty years abroad, he accepts that he is Jamaican, and this is his land. “Jamaica is somewhere,” he told me, “Jamaica is not nowhere.”
(Please ignore this last line .... I am claiming this blog on Technorati and have to include this code: w3iq69fu7n )
July 2, 2009
American children with Jamaican passports: Should we hold minors responsible when their parents don’t apply for their citizenship?
We live just four blocks from the Devon House, where they have splendid gardens and sell fabulous ice cream. This afternoon, Nando and I walked with the kids over to the Devon House to get some fresh air and ice cream. I had no idea I would meet a deportee with an interesting story on the way back.
Walking back from the Devon House, Raymi decided she wanted to take a break. She sat down at the bus stop while Tatiana, Soraya, their friend MJ, and I kept on walking toward the house. When Raymi decided she had rested enough, Nando and Raymi began walking again. They stopped at the corner to let a motorcyclist pass. Instead of passing, the driver stopped to ask Nando if he was lost or looking for something. Nando told him that he lived nearby. The driver commented that the place looked expensive. Nando responded that we are visiting from the US.
They got to chatting, and it turns out the young man is a deportee named Dwayne. Nando told Dwayne that his wife (me) is writing a book on deportees, and offered to introduce him to me. Nando and Raymi got a lift on the motorcycle home.
When they arrived, I was outside with my twin daughters, as Nando had the key. Nando introduced us, and Dwayne began to tell me his story. One of the first things he mentioned was that he is looking for a better job. I noticed he had a nice motor scooter. He said that his mother helps him out in Jamaica, but that he wishes he could be more independent. Here, he has no hope for things getting much better.
Dwayne moved to the US when he was six years old with his mother. He went to school in Cleveland, Ohio. After graduating from high school, he got mixed up in dealing drugs. He was arrested on a drug charge, convicted, and spent time in prison. Upon release from prison, Dwayne was deported to a country he barely remembered.
Dwayne told me, “I’m no angel, but I never killed anybody.” He said the only criminal activity he had engaged in was selling drugs. He had never killed, robbed, or done any other violent crimes. Nevertheless, here in Jamaica, he faces a severe stigma for being a deportee. Other Jamaicans see that he has been abroad, and still hasn’t made much of himself. So, they look down on him.
Back in Jamaica, Dwayne is just barely getting by. He says that in the US, he had hopes and dreams. Here he has nothing. He told me he stays out of trouble. He has heard about how awful, filthy, and hot the prisons are in Jamaica. Even if he wanted to sell drugs, he doesn’t have the connections to get involved in the extensive criminal enterprise in Jamaica. In the US, Dwayne’s crime was selling illegal substances.
In the United States, over 40 percent of people over the age of twelve have used drugs (http://www.whitehousedrugpolicy.gov/publications/factsht/druguse/ ). I am not denying that drug use is a social problem in the US. However, it does not seem as though deporting people like Dwayne to Jamaica does anything to ameliorate the situation. There is no evidence that deporting drug offenders alleviates any of the social problems associated with drug use.
There is, however, evidence that deportation leads to other social problems both in the US and abroad. Dwayne, for example, left two children in the US. His eldest daughter was six when he was deported. She has grown up without a father present. They chat on the phone, and she occasionally visits, but it is not the same as having a father providing constant material and emotional support. Dwayne’s mother, a hospital nurse, has to wrack her nerves about whether or not her son is surviving in Jamaica. She also must blame herself for never naturalizing him, even though he qualified for citizenship when he was eleven. Had she taken her son to be naturalized, he would not have been deported.
It seems wrong to deport people who qualified for citizenship when they were minors. How can we hold children responsible for not seeking citizenship? The deportees I have met all said that if they knew then what they know now, they would have become naturalized citizens. Why should they suffer the consequences for what their parents did not know – that if they did not naturalize them, they could be deported?
Walking back from the Devon House, Raymi decided she wanted to take a break. She sat down at the bus stop while Tatiana, Soraya, their friend MJ, and I kept on walking toward the house. When Raymi decided she had rested enough, Nando and Raymi began walking again. They stopped at the corner to let a motorcyclist pass. Instead of passing, the driver stopped to ask Nando if he was lost or looking for something. Nando told him that he lived nearby. The driver commented that the place looked expensive. Nando responded that we are visiting from the US.
They got to chatting, and it turns out the young man is a deportee named Dwayne. Nando told Dwayne that his wife (me) is writing a book on deportees, and offered to introduce him to me. Nando and Raymi got a lift on the motorcycle home.
When they arrived, I was outside with my twin daughters, as Nando had the key. Nando introduced us, and Dwayne began to tell me his story. One of the first things he mentioned was that he is looking for a better job. I noticed he had a nice motor scooter. He said that his mother helps him out in Jamaica, but that he wishes he could be more independent. Here, he has no hope for things getting much better.
Dwayne moved to the US when he was six years old with his mother. He went to school in Cleveland, Ohio. After graduating from high school, he got mixed up in dealing drugs. He was arrested on a drug charge, convicted, and spent time in prison. Upon release from prison, Dwayne was deported to a country he barely remembered.
Dwayne told me, “I’m no angel, but I never killed anybody.” He said the only criminal activity he had engaged in was selling drugs. He had never killed, robbed, or done any other violent crimes. Nevertheless, here in Jamaica, he faces a severe stigma for being a deportee. Other Jamaicans see that he has been abroad, and still hasn’t made much of himself. So, they look down on him.
Back in Jamaica, Dwayne is just barely getting by. He says that in the US, he had hopes and dreams. Here he has nothing. He told me he stays out of trouble. He has heard about how awful, filthy, and hot the prisons are in Jamaica. Even if he wanted to sell drugs, he doesn’t have the connections to get involved in the extensive criminal enterprise in Jamaica. In the US, Dwayne’s crime was selling illegal substances.
In the United States, over 40 percent of people over the age of twelve have used drugs (http://www.whitehousedrugpolicy.gov/publications/factsht/druguse/ ). I am not denying that drug use is a social problem in the US. However, it does not seem as though deporting people like Dwayne to Jamaica does anything to ameliorate the situation. There is no evidence that deporting drug offenders alleviates any of the social problems associated with drug use.
There is, however, evidence that deportation leads to other social problems both in the US and abroad. Dwayne, for example, left two children in the US. His eldest daughter was six when he was deported. She has grown up without a father present. They chat on the phone, and she occasionally visits, but it is not the same as having a father providing constant material and emotional support. Dwayne’s mother, a hospital nurse, has to wrack her nerves about whether or not her son is surviving in Jamaica. She also must blame herself for never naturalizing him, even though he qualified for citizenship when he was eleven. Had she taken her son to be naturalized, he would not have been deported.
It seems wrong to deport people who qualified for citizenship when they were minors. How can we hold children responsible for not seeking citizenship? The deportees I have met all said that if they knew then what they know now, they would have become naturalized citizens. Why should they suffer the consequences for what their parents did not know – that if they did not naturalize them, they could be deported?
Characteristics of Deportees in Jamaica
Having completed my interviews, I continue to strategize about the best use of my time here in Jamaica. Last night, I spent a few hours online, setting things up for my next destination – Guatemala. It looks as though things will go very well there also. I emailed a professor there and asked if he had any leads in terms of housing and an R.A.
I couldn’t believe my luck when he told me about a woman who is currently carrying out a statistical analysis of deportees in Guatemala. For this project, she needed to locate 200 deportees and write up a report. If she agrees to work with me, it should be easy for her to find thirty deportees for me to interview. I am hoping she will agree as her contract for the current project expires just a couple of weeks before I arrive in Guatemala! Perfect timing.
Having begun this project in Jamaica, I have learned a few things that I will implement once I am in Guatemala. First, I will decide on the characteristics of a representative sample beforehand. Secondly, I will have a limit of three interviews a day, and try to do just one on most days. Thirdly, I will ask my R.A. to write up a summary of each interview and give it to me the day after the interview. This should allow things to proceed more smoothly in Guatemala. At any rate, I will keep in contact with the professor in Guatemala to ensure that all is set up and ready to go when I arrive in mid-August.
This morning, I was able to complete a manuscript review for a journal. That was the seventh one I have done this year. I have resolved to decline all future requests for those until I return to the USA. I think I have done my “quota” for the year, and then some.
After spending the morning doing my review, I had a dip in the pool with my daughters. That was fun, and relaxing. Not too long after, Evelyn, my research assistant dropped by. She had good news – she’s been hired to work as staff at a summer camp for inner city children. That starts next week. She asked me if I could help her find information on sexuality to give a class to her students. I said we could look online. She had hoped that I would prepare some documents for her, but I told her I’d be happy to help her do an online search, but that I didn’t think it was a good idea for me to prepare a lecture outline for her. I’m not sure what the motive behind that request was. But, once she realized I don’t have a printer, she switched topics.
In the afternoon, I was able to turn my attention to my deportation project. As I am still waiting for my transcriptions to come back, I decided to begin to write up the methodology section for my interviewee sample in Jamaica. The first step was to figure out the characteristics of Jamaican deportees are, and then to compare my sample to the overall deportee population. This will also allow me to see if I need to do more interviews while I am here. I had two sources of information for deportees. The first is the Department of Homeland Security (DHS) data. The second is a study done by criminology professor Bernard Headley (2005): Deported. Using these two sources, I was able to come up with an overall description of Jamaican deportees.
In 2007, 1,490 people were deported from the United States to Jamaica. Of these, 1,160 (78%) were deported on criminal grounds, and 330 (22%) were deported for not having the proper documentation to remain in the US. This was down substantially from 2,541 deportees in 2004. The percentage of criminal deportees, however, was higher than in previous years – the average over the previous decade being about 71 percent (DHS data – Table 37d).
Most deportees sent back to Jamaica are men – between 1997 and 2003, 96.5 percent were men. Some of these men came to the US as small children, but the majority did not. Less than three percent of people deported for criminal activity came to the US before the age of five. The average age of first entry was 23 years. Overall, one-fifth came to the US between the ages 16 and 20. The average stay in the US for this group was nearly 12 years. Among the convicted deportees, the average stay in prison was about four years (Headley et al 2005).
For nearly all of these deportees, the conviction which led to their deportation was their first conviction. And, the most common offense was drug-related – 42.9 percent of people deported on criminal grounds between 1997 and 2003 were deported for cocaine or marijuana possession or distribution.
I suppose now I should make a table that shows how well my sample maps onto this sample. Of course, I didn’t take notes on exactly these variables as I was interviewing, so I will have to listen to the recordings. As such, I think it is best to wait to do that until I have my transcriptions back!
I couldn’t believe my luck when he told me about a woman who is currently carrying out a statistical analysis of deportees in Guatemala. For this project, she needed to locate 200 deportees and write up a report. If she agrees to work with me, it should be easy for her to find thirty deportees for me to interview. I am hoping she will agree as her contract for the current project expires just a couple of weeks before I arrive in Guatemala! Perfect timing.
Having begun this project in Jamaica, I have learned a few things that I will implement once I am in Guatemala. First, I will decide on the characteristics of a representative sample beforehand. Secondly, I will have a limit of three interviews a day, and try to do just one on most days. Thirdly, I will ask my R.A. to write up a summary of each interview and give it to me the day after the interview. This should allow things to proceed more smoothly in Guatemala. At any rate, I will keep in contact with the professor in Guatemala to ensure that all is set up and ready to go when I arrive in mid-August.
This morning, I was able to complete a manuscript review for a journal. That was the seventh one I have done this year. I have resolved to decline all future requests for those until I return to the USA. I think I have done my “quota” for the year, and then some.
After spending the morning doing my review, I had a dip in the pool with my daughters. That was fun, and relaxing. Not too long after, Evelyn, my research assistant dropped by. She had good news – she’s been hired to work as staff at a summer camp for inner city children. That starts next week. She asked me if I could help her find information on sexuality to give a class to her students. I said we could look online. She had hoped that I would prepare some documents for her, but I told her I’d be happy to help her do an online search, but that I didn’t think it was a good idea for me to prepare a lecture outline for her. I’m not sure what the motive behind that request was. But, once she realized I don’t have a printer, she switched topics.
In the afternoon, I was able to turn my attention to my deportation project. As I am still waiting for my transcriptions to come back, I decided to begin to write up the methodology section for my interviewee sample in Jamaica. The first step was to figure out the characteristics of Jamaican deportees are, and then to compare my sample to the overall deportee population. This will also allow me to see if I need to do more interviews while I am here. I had two sources of information for deportees. The first is the Department of Homeland Security (DHS) data. The second is a study done by criminology professor Bernard Headley (2005): Deported. Using these two sources, I was able to come up with an overall description of Jamaican deportees.
In 2007, 1,490 people were deported from the United States to Jamaica. Of these, 1,160 (78%) were deported on criminal grounds, and 330 (22%) were deported for not having the proper documentation to remain in the US. This was down substantially from 2,541 deportees in 2004. The percentage of criminal deportees, however, was higher than in previous years – the average over the previous decade being about 71 percent (DHS data – Table 37d).
Most deportees sent back to Jamaica are men – between 1997 and 2003, 96.5 percent were men. Some of these men came to the US as small children, but the majority did not. Less than three percent of people deported for criminal activity came to the US before the age of five. The average age of first entry was 23 years. Overall, one-fifth came to the US between the ages 16 and 20. The average stay in the US for this group was nearly 12 years. Among the convicted deportees, the average stay in prison was about four years (Headley et al 2005).
For nearly all of these deportees, the conviction which led to their deportation was their first conviction. And, the most common offense was drug-related – 42.9 percent of people deported on criminal grounds between 1997 and 2003 were deported for cocaine or marijuana possession or distribution.
I suppose now I should make a table that shows how well my sample maps onto this sample. Of course, I didn’t take notes on exactly these variables as I was interviewing, so I will have to listen to the recordings. As such, I think it is best to wait to do that until I have my transcriptions back!
June 25, 2009
Deported without a trial
June 25, 2009
I met Peter on his lunch break. He has been working for the past few months at a construction site at a local college. He’s hoping this temporary job turns permanent. Things haven’t been easy for Peter since he was deported three years ago. In a good week, he makes US $75. Other weeks, he makes less, or nothing at all.
Peter never thought he would be deported. He didn’t have any trouble with the law. He didn’t hang around criminal elements. He worked in landscaping, the restaurant business, a steel factory, and did house painting. His favorite job, though, was helping out a friend with his sound system, as he got to travel and see music shows throughout the South.
Peter’s mother moved to the US when he was in his teens, and he was able to get his green card and move to the US when he was 20. He arrived in Nashville, Tennessee, and quickly found a job landscaping. That was in 1989. Everything was going well for Peter in Nashville. He never married, but he had a daughter in 1995.
In 1997, he ran into problems. He got into an argument with his girlfriend. She was mad, and called the police and said he stole things from her apartment. Peter says she had lent him some money and had asked him to clean her gold jewelry. The total value of the items was $1800. She said he stole the money and jewelry. When his court date came up, she didn’t show up for court, but the state pressed charges. Peter was sentenced to eleven months in jail. He served part of his sentence, and was let out on parole. But, he missed an appointment, and had to serve the rest of his sentence. All together, he spent nine months in the country jail.
Once he was released, he thought all of that was behind him. It took a while for him to get back on his feet, but, eventually, he was able to get painting jobs and was doing fairly well for himself.
One evening in 2005, the Nashville police had a report of a robbery. Turns out Peter looked like the perpetrator, and the police picked him up. They quickly established that it was not him. Instead of letting him go, the police officer asked Peter if he was Jamaican. When Peter told him he was, the officer asked, “Do you mind if I call immigration?” Peter said he didn’t mind. He was a permanent legal resident, and didn’t think he had anything to hide.
The officer called immigration, and they said that Peter had a Notice to Appear in immigration court, and had not gone. Peter had never received the Notice. It turns out that his 1997 charge had set off an immigration warning. Peter was taken to the county jail, where he waited three weeks for immigration agents to pick him up.
From there, he was taken to a Corrections Corporation of America private immigration detention center in Memphis, where he stayed for six weeks, and then to Louisiana, where he spent three months. Overall, he spent seven months detained by immigration agents before he was deported to Jamaica.
I asked Peter if he was sure his sentence was only eleven months. He said he was sure. I told him that people can be deported for theft, but only when the sentence is one year or more. He said that maybe it was because of his failure to appear. I asked him if he had an immigration lawyer. He said he didn’t; he couldn’t afford one.
Peter may have been wrongfully deported. In immigration proceedings, people don’t have the same rights as in criminal proceedings. That’s why he was held at the county jail for 21 days without seeing a judge. That’s why he was never given a lawyer. Peter wasn’t even given a trial. He was simply detained, then sent back to Jamaica, the country he had left nearly two decades before.
Back in Jamaica, Peter had nowhere to go. His whole family is in the US. He hadn’t kept in contact with school friends. When he left, his friends didn’t have telephones, so he couldn’t call. Back in Jamaica, people in his neighborhood scorn him for never sending anything back when he lived in America. They look down on him because he was in America for so long and came back empty handed.
When Peter arrived in Jamaica, he had ten dollars in his pocket. He changed it into Jamaican dollars, and took a taxi to the neighborhood he grew up in. He found an old school friend, and they let him spend the night on the porch. He set out to look for work so he could eat, but found it difficult to find employment.
Now that he’s been back for three years, things are a bit easier. A friend of his is away and has let Peter stay in his place for now. He has a temporary job. But, the roughnecks in the neighborhood haven’t stopped hassling him. His place has been broken into several times. He said that whenever he gets a job, people ask him for money, but he barely makes enough to eat, much less to hand out to others.
Peter was a productive member of US society. He is a skilled worker and was consistently employed. He had a car and a place to live. Back in Jamaica, he is on the verge of homelessness and unemployment. Everyone who cares about him is in the United States, where Peter is not allowed to return.
I met Peter on his lunch break. He has been working for the past few months at a construction site at a local college. He’s hoping this temporary job turns permanent. Things haven’t been easy for Peter since he was deported three years ago. In a good week, he makes US $75. Other weeks, he makes less, or nothing at all.
Peter never thought he would be deported. He didn’t have any trouble with the law. He didn’t hang around criminal elements. He worked in landscaping, the restaurant business, a steel factory, and did house painting. His favorite job, though, was helping out a friend with his sound system, as he got to travel and see music shows throughout the South.
Peter’s mother moved to the US when he was in his teens, and he was able to get his green card and move to the US when he was 20. He arrived in Nashville, Tennessee, and quickly found a job landscaping. That was in 1989. Everything was going well for Peter in Nashville. He never married, but he had a daughter in 1995.
In 1997, he ran into problems. He got into an argument with his girlfriend. She was mad, and called the police and said he stole things from her apartment. Peter says she had lent him some money and had asked him to clean her gold jewelry. The total value of the items was $1800. She said he stole the money and jewelry. When his court date came up, she didn’t show up for court, but the state pressed charges. Peter was sentenced to eleven months in jail. He served part of his sentence, and was let out on parole. But, he missed an appointment, and had to serve the rest of his sentence. All together, he spent nine months in the country jail.
Once he was released, he thought all of that was behind him. It took a while for him to get back on his feet, but, eventually, he was able to get painting jobs and was doing fairly well for himself.
One evening in 2005, the Nashville police had a report of a robbery. Turns out Peter looked like the perpetrator, and the police picked him up. They quickly established that it was not him. Instead of letting him go, the police officer asked Peter if he was Jamaican. When Peter told him he was, the officer asked, “Do you mind if I call immigration?” Peter said he didn’t mind. He was a permanent legal resident, and didn’t think he had anything to hide.
The officer called immigration, and they said that Peter had a Notice to Appear in immigration court, and had not gone. Peter had never received the Notice. It turns out that his 1997 charge had set off an immigration warning. Peter was taken to the county jail, where he waited three weeks for immigration agents to pick him up.
From there, he was taken to a Corrections Corporation of America private immigration detention center in Memphis, where he stayed for six weeks, and then to Louisiana, where he spent three months. Overall, he spent seven months detained by immigration agents before he was deported to Jamaica.
I asked Peter if he was sure his sentence was only eleven months. He said he was sure. I told him that people can be deported for theft, but only when the sentence is one year or more. He said that maybe it was because of his failure to appear. I asked him if he had an immigration lawyer. He said he didn’t; he couldn’t afford one.
Peter may have been wrongfully deported. In immigration proceedings, people don’t have the same rights as in criminal proceedings. That’s why he was held at the county jail for 21 days without seeing a judge. That’s why he was never given a lawyer. Peter wasn’t even given a trial. He was simply detained, then sent back to Jamaica, the country he had left nearly two decades before.
Back in Jamaica, Peter had nowhere to go. His whole family is in the US. He hadn’t kept in contact with school friends. When he left, his friends didn’t have telephones, so he couldn’t call. Back in Jamaica, people in his neighborhood scorn him for never sending anything back when he lived in America. They look down on him because he was in America for so long and came back empty handed.
When Peter arrived in Jamaica, he had ten dollars in his pocket. He changed it into Jamaican dollars, and took a taxi to the neighborhood he grew up in. He found an old school friend, and they let him spend the night on the porch. He set out to look for work so he could eat, but found it difficult to find employment.
Now that he’s been back for three years, things are a bit easier. A friend of his is away and has let Peter stay in his place for now. He has a temporary job. But, the roughnecks in the neighborhood haven’t stopped hassling him. His place has been broken into several times. He said that whenever he gets a job, people ask him for money, but he barely makes enough to eat, much less to hand out to others.
Peter was a productive member of US society. He is a skilled worker and was consistently employed. He had a car and a place to live. Back in Jamaica, he is on the verge of homelessness and unemployment. Everyone who cares about him is in the United States, where Peter is not allowed to return.
A Brooklyn Story
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Victor’s mother took him to Brooklyn when he was four years old. She obtained her legal permanent residency in the US, and brought her children to the States to live with her. When Victor first arrived in Brooklyn, other children teased him because of his accent, calling him a “coconut,” taunting him about the “banana boats.” By high school, no one teased Victor anymore, as he had become indistinguishable from the other black youth in Brooklyn. Growing up in Brooklyn, he learned to stand up for himself. He graduated from Wingate High School in 1991.
Upon graduation, Victor got a job as a messenger. He worked there for a couple of years, but the pay wasn’t enough for him to move out on his own and become independent. His mother had separated from her husband because of domestic abuse, and was barely able to make ends meet with housekeeping and babysitting jobs. Victor saw his friends making money selling marijuana, and decided to get in on the game.
As a street level seller, he quickly was caught. His first charge was possession of marijuana, and he was given three years probation. Victor managed to stay out of trouble for a while. However, in 1996, he was caught with 50 pounds of marijuana, and was sentenced to four years in prison. He served two and a half years, and, in 1999, was deported to Jamaica. Victor was 27 years old. He had visited Jamaica once when he was about 15, but had no close ties to the country.
Victor's mother found a cousin who was willing to pick him up from the airport and put him up for a while. But, this was a relative they barely knew. Plus, he had been to America. He had been given the opportunity of a lifetime, and he screwed up. Victor’s relatives barely had enough to get by themselves. So, he quickly wore out his welcome.
Victor can’t find a job in Jamaica. He doesn’t have any skills. He walks, talks, and acts like a Yankee. He has no connections – no one to help him find a job.
I asked him what he does to survive – he told me he sells whatever he can find. He burns CDs and sells them; he sells used clothes; he sells whatever he can. His mother in the US barely is scraping by herself, and can’t afford to support him. I asked Victor where he sleeps. He said “here and there.”
Transplanted from Brooklyn to Brownstown, a rough inner city neighborhood in Kingston, I am amazed he has survived this long. As I am talking to him, all I can see is a New Yorker. There is nothing Jamaican about him. I ask Victor if he can speak patois. He says, “Yeah, me can speak patwa.” He can, more or less, but he has an accent. Anyone can see he’s a Yankee.
Victor has been in Kingston for ten years. He is surviving, just barely.
Victor broke the law. He was a guest of the United States. But, does it really make sense to deport him to Jamaica? As the 1953 Presidential Commission charged with reviewing deportation orders from the US pointed out, “Each of the aliens is a product of our society. Their formative years were spent in the United States, which is the only home they have ever known. The countries of origin which they left … certainly are not responsible for their criminal ways” (quoted in Morawetz 2000: 1961).
Victor grew up in poverty in Brooklyn. His path into hustling was his own choice. Yet, it is also the path of many, many poor youth from Brooklyn. Many youth make the choice to sell drugs because it is a way to make money while maintaining their dignity. Selling drugs in Brooklyn, they don’t have to travel to Manhattan to clean up after rich folks. Victor saw what life held for the working poor when he looked at his mother, and he didn’t feel inclined to follow that path.
Had Victor been a citizen of the United States, he would have served his time, been released, and been able to make his choices about how to better his life in America. Instead, he was deported to a land he barely knows. Victor was eligible for citizenship. At age nine, his mother could have taken him to the INS and naturalized him. She probably didn’t have the extra time and money to do so. Victor could have become a citizen himself at age 18, but he didn’t do it. Like many American teenagers, he had other things on his mind. Now, he is paying dearly for his failure to apply for citizenship.
It’s hard to see who is winning in this situation, yet it’s crystal clear who the losers are – Victor, whose main wish is to return to America, his mother, who longs for her son, and Victor’s daughter, who has grown up without her father.
Victor’s mother took him to Brooklyn when he was four years old. She obtained her legal permanent residency in the US, and brought her children to the States to live with her. When Victor first arrived in Brooklyn, other children teased him because of his accent, calling him a “coconut,” taunting him about the “banana boats.” By high school, no one teased Victor anymore, as he had become indistinguishable from the other black youth in Brooklyn. Growing up in Brooklyn, he learned to stand up for himself. He graduated from Wingate High School in 1991.
Upon graduation, Victor got a job as a messenger. He worked there for a couple of years, but the pay wasn’t enough for him to move out on his own and become independent. His mother had separated from her husband because of domestic abuse, and was barely able to make ends meet with housekeeping and babysitting jobs. Victor saw his friends making money selling marijuana, and decided to get in on the game.
As a street level seller, he quickly was caught. His first charge was possession of marijuana, and he was given three years probation. Victor managed to stay out of trouble for a while. However, in 1996, he was caught with 50 pounds of marijuana, and was sentenced to four years in prison. He served two and a half years, and, in 1999, was deported to Jamaica. Victor was 27 years old. He had visited Jamaica once when he was about 15, but had no close ties to the country.
Victor's mother found a cousin who was willing to pick him up from the airport and put him up for a while. But, this was a relative they barely knew. Plus, he had been to America. He had been given the opportunity of a lifetime, and he screwed up. Victor’s relatives barely had enough to get by themselves. So, he quickly wore out his welcome.
Victor can’t find a job in Jamaica. He doesn’t have any skills. He walks, talks, and acts like a Yankee. He has no connections – no one to help him find a job.
I asked him what he does to survive – he told me he sells whatever he can find. He burns CDs and sells them; he sells used clothes; he sells whatever he can. His mother in the US barely is scraping by herself, and can’t afford to support him. I asked Victor where he sleeps. He said “here and there.”
Transplanted from Brooklyn to Brownstown, a rough inner city neighborhood in Kingston, I am amazed he has survived this long. As I am talking to him, all I can see is a New Yorker. There is nothing Jamaican about him. I ask Victor if he can speak patois. He says, “Yeah, me can speak patwa.” He can, more or less, but he has an accent. Anyone can see he’s a Yankee.
Victor has been in Kingston for ten years. He is surviving, just barely.
Victor broke the law. He was a guest of the United States. But, does it really make sense to deport him to Jamaica? As the 1953 Presidential Commission charged with reviewing deportation orders from the US pointed out, “Each of the aliens is a product of our society. Their formative years were spent in the United States, which is the only home they have ever known. The countries of origin which they left … certainly are not responsible for their criminal ways” (quoted in Morawetz 2000: 1961).
Victor grew up in poverty in Brooklyn. His path into hustling was his own choice. Yet, it is also the path of many, many poor youth from Brooklyn. Many youth make the choice to sell drugs because it is a way to make money while maintaining their dignity. Selling drugs in Brooklyn, they don’t have to travel to Manhattan to clean up after rich folks. Victor saw what life held for the working poor when he looked at his mother, and he didn’t feel inclined to follow that path.
Had Victor been a citizen of the United States, he would have served his time, been released, and been able to make his choices about how to better his life in America. Instead, he was deported to a land he barely knows. Victor was eligible for citizenship. At age nine, his mother could have taken him to the INS and naturalized him. She probably didn’t have the extra time and money to do so. Victor could have become a citizen himself at age 18, but he didn’t do it. Like many American teenagers, he had other things on his mind. Now, he is paying dearly for his failure to apply for citizenship.
It’s hard to see who is winning in this situation, yet it’s crystal clear who the losers are – Victor, whose main wish is to return to America, his mother, who longs for her son, and Victor’s daughter, who has grown up without her father.
June 24, 2009
“If only I could cook my children a plate of food”
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
I had my first rejection yesterday. Evelyn picked me up at 10:30am and took me to Patty’s house in Vineyard Town, a middle class neighborhood in mid-town Kingston. On the way over there, Evelyn told me that Patty was deported from the US twice.
Evelyn said she had warned Patty not to try and go back to the US after she had been deported. But, Patty was desperate to see her children. She couldn’t bear the thought of them growing up without her. Patty has several children born in the US, and lived there for decades. Evelyn told me Patty got herself into an incident where a weapon was involved, was convicted of a gun charge, spent some time in prison, and was sent back to Jamaica.
Evelyn said she told Patty that, as a Christian woman, she shouldn’t do illegal things. Plus, she would have to live in fear if she went back illegally. But, Patty was determined to see her children. She obtained a false passport and made it to the Virgin Islands. However, when she tried to go to the mainland, she was detained, and sentenced to 30 months in prison for using false documents.
When we first arrived at Patty’s house, it was evident Patty didn’t really want to talk to us. Nevertheless, she invited us inside, and we sat down on the couch. Patty explained that this wasn’t her house. She was staying with a woman who is a teacher, and would be moving out as soon as she found a place.
Patty is a tall, heavy, brown-skinned woman. She had her short hair in small braids all over her head. When we began chatting, Patty told me “I hate America. I am so bitter.” I just nodded. Patty kept talking, explaining that she was upset, that she missed her children. Evelyn suggested we begin the interview. I gave Patty the Project Information Sheet that explains my research to interviewees and began to go over it with her.
When I got to the part where I explain that I give interviewees JA$800, Patty exclaimed, “What? Do you know that is only ten dollars?” She stood up and walked to the other side of the room. I told her that I know it is not a lot of money; it is not meant to be. I am not paying for her story; I am just giving her a minor compensation for her time, some lunch money, as a token of my appreciation. I explained that the money was not meant to convince her. I told her that I don’t want to pay a hundred dollars, because I only want her to tell me her story if she wants to. I don’t want her to do it for the money, that I only want her to tell me her story if she wants to.
Patty sat back down, and began to calm down. She began to rub her hands over her face and said she wasn’t sure she wanted to do an interview. I told her that was fine, no problem, that she should only tell me her story if she really wants to.
Patty began to talk to Evelyn about people they knew when they were in prison together. Patty said that when she was in prison in Puerto Rico on the re-entry charge, there was a three-generation family in prison – a grandmother, a mother, and a daughter. That reminded her of a three-generation family that Evelyn and her knew in prison. The women exchanged details about people they knew in prison, about where they were now.
Patty told us that when she was in prison this last time, her children came to visit her. They paid $3000 for a three day package to Puerto Rico, and were only able to see her for 45 minutes – the length of her visitation time. Patty said she wishes she could cook a plate of food for her children, because when she last talked to them, one of them said he yearned for her cooking. I could see Patty was fighting back tears the whole time we were talking. I tried not to ask any questions, and just listened to what she had to say.
Patty finally told us that she couldn’t do the interview. She apologized for telling me earlier that she hated America. She said she couldn’t hate America; that is where her children were born, where her children are from. She just can’t get the bitterness out of her heart. Patty had come back from prison in Puerto Rico only two weeks before. She still needed time to process her feelings.
Patty let us know that she would eventually do the interview, but that she wants to do it when she has the bitterness out of her heart. She told us she was glad we came over, because it allowed her to see the anger she was holding inside. Evelyn told her that she does need to talk about it, to let it out. Evelyn explained that the day before we had interviewed other women who cried their hearts out after the interview, because they were letting out feelings that were bottled up inside. Patty agreed, and said that she would like to do the interview, but that it was still too early. I told her that I appreciated her honesty, and that there was no problem with that.
When it came time for us to leave, Evelyn, Patty and I held hands and Evelyn said a prayer for Patty. Evelyn prayed for Patty, her children, and the lady who let Patty stay with her. When we finished, tears were streaming down Patty’s face.
I had my first rejection yesterday. Evelyn picked me up at 10:30am and took me to Patty’s house in Vineyard Town, a middle class neighborhood in mid-town Kingston. On the way over there, Evelyn told me that Patty was deported from the US twice.
Evelyn said she had warned Patty not to try and go back to the US after she had been deported. But, Patty was desperate to see her children. She couldn’t bear the thought of them growing up without her. Patty has several children born in the US, and lived there for decades. Evelyn told me Patty got herself into an incident where a weapon was involved, was convicted of a gun charge, spent some time in prison, and was sent back to Jamaica.
Evelyn said she told Patty that, as a Christian woman, she shouldn’t do illegal things. Plus, she would have to live in fear if she went back illegally. But, Patty was determined to see her children. She obtained a false passport and made it to the Virgin Islands. However, when she tried to go to the mainland, she was detained, and sentenced to 30 months in prison for using false documents.
When we first arrived at Patty’s house, it was evident Patty didn’t really want to talk to us. Nevertheless, she invited us inside, and we sat down on the couch. Patty explained that this wasn’t her house. She was staying with a woman who is a teacher, and would be moving out as soon as she found a place.
Patty is a tall, heavy, brown-skinned woman. She had her short hair in small braids all over her head. When we began chatting, Patty told me “I hate America. I am so bitter.” I just nodded. Patty kept talking, explaining that she was upset, that she missed her children. Evelyn suggested we begin the interview. I gave Patty the Project Information Sheet that explains my research to interviewees and began to go over it with her.
When I got to the part where I explain that I give interviewees JA$800, Patty exclaimed, “What? Do you know that is only ten dollars?” She stood up and walked to the other side of the room. I told her that I know it is not a lot of money; it is not meant to be. I am not paying for her story; I am just giving her a minor compensation for her time, some lunch money, as a token of my appreciation. I explained that the money was not meant to convince her. I told her that I don’t want to pay a hundred dollars, because I only want her to tell me her story if she wants to. I don’t want her to do it for the money, that I only want her to tell me her story if she wants to.
Patty sat back down, and began to calm down. She began to rub her hands over her face and said she wasn’t sure she wanted to do an interview. I told her that was fine, no problem, that she should only tell me her story if she really wants to.
Patty began to talk to Evelyn about people they knew when they were in prison together. Patty said that when she was in prison in Puerto Rico on the re-entry charge, there was a three-generation family in prison – a grandmother, a mother, and a daughter. That reminded her of a three-generation family that Evelyn and her knew in prison. The women exchanged details about people they knew in prison, about where they were now.
Patty told us that when she was in prison this last time, her children came to visit her. They paid $3000 for a three day package to Puerto Rico, and were only able to see her for 45 minutes – the length of her visitation time. Patty said she wishes she could cook a plate of food for her children, because when she last talked to them, one of them said he yearned for her cooking. I could see Patty was fighting back tears the whole time we were talking. I tried not to ask any questions, and just listened to what she had to say.
Patty finally told us that she couldn’t do the interview. She apologized for telling me earlier that she hated America. She said she couldn’t hate America; that is where her children were born, where her children are from. She just can’t get the bitterness out of her heart. Patty had come back from prison in Puerto Rico only two weeks before. She still needed time to process her feelings.
Patty let us know that she would eventually do the interview, but that she wants to do it when she has the bitterness out of her heart. She told us she was glad we came over, because it allowed her to see the anger she was holding inside. Evelyn told her that she does need to talk about it, to let it out. Evelyn explained that the day before we had interviewed other women who cried their hearts out after the interview, because they were letting out feelings that were bottled up inside. Patty agreed, and said that she would like to do the interview, but that it was still too early. I told her that I appreciated her honesty, and that there was no problem with that.
When it came time for us to leave, Evelyn, Patty and I held hands and Evelyn said a prayer for Patty. Evelyn prayed for Patty, her children, and the lady who let Patty stay with her. When we finished, tears were streaming down Patty’s face.
A minor incident in Brownstown
6/24/2009
I am very glad Evelyn has been taking me around Kingston, instead of me going on my own. This became apparent to me on Tuesday, as I was sitting outside in an inner-city neighborhood in Kingston called Brownstown. I was conducting interviews on the patio outside a shoe shop, as it was cooler outside than inside, and the cobbler had the radio blasting inside. A white lady sitting in plain view, however, soon attracted quite a bit of attention.
I was preparing to interview Bobby, a man in his late fifties who had lived a long time in the United States, working on farms, when a roughneck-looking young man approached us. He had his dreads pulled back in a pony tail, and was wearing urban gear. He was accompanied by a smaller man with cornrows. He asked me what I was doing. Bobby said I was interviewing deportees. Perhaps my eyes began to widen, as he looked at me and told me not to be scared.
I smiled and said I wasn’t scared and that he should ask me any questions he wanted. He again asked what I was doing there. I looked him in the eye and told him I teach at the university and am collecting stories from deportees for a book I am writing. He asked me if I had everything I need. I said I do, but I am still looking for people who have spent a long time in the US and have been sent back.
At that point, Evelyn came outside and explained what we were doing. I heard them talking about this not being “a political thing.” I am still learning about Jamaican politics, but I do know that there can be all-out wars in neighborhoods between Jamaican Labour Party (JLP) and People's National Party (PNP) supporters. I also know that, despite “Labour” being in the title of JLP, they are actually the more conservative of the two parties. So, the mention of “political things” did not sound good to me.
Things cooled down quickly and the young men left, and I was able to continue my interviews. When we left, I asked Evelyn what had happened with those two young men. It turns out they thought I was providing something to the community – like agricultural jobs in the US – and that I was doing that along political lines. They just wanted to see what I was giving out, so they could get a piece of the action. Having Evelyn with me both made it easier to cool down the situation and she was able to explain to me what happened afterwards.
I am very glad Evelyn has been taking me around Kingston, instead of me going on my own. This became apparent to me on Tuesday, as I was sitting outside in an inner-city neighborhood in Kingston called Brownstown. I was conducting interviews on the patio outside a shoe shop, as it was cooler outside than inside, and the cobbler had the radio blasting inside. A white lady sitting in plain view, however, soon attracted quite a bit of attention.
I was preparing to interview Bobby, a man in his late fifties who had lived a long time in the United States, working on farms, when a roughneck-looking young man approached us. He had his dreads pulled back in a pony tail, and was wearing urban gear. He was accompanied by a smaller man with cornrows. He asked me what I was doing. Bobby said I was interviewing deportees. Perhaps my eyes began to widen, as he looked at me and told me not to be scared.
I smiled and said I wasn’t scared and that he should ask me any questions he wanted. He again asked what I was doing there. I looked him in the eye and told him I teach at the university and am collecting stories from deportees for a book I am writing. He asked me if I had everything I need. I said I do, but I am still looking for people who have spent a long time in the US and have been sent back.
At that point, Evelyn came outside and explained what we were doing. I heard them talking about this not being “a political thing.” I am still learning about Jamaican politics, but I do know that there can be all-out wars in neighborhoods between Jamaican Labour Party (JLP) and People's National Party (PNP) supporters. I also know that, despite “Labour” being in the title of JLP, they are actually the more conservative of the two parties. So, the mention of “political things” did not sound good to me.
Things cooled down quickly and the young men left, and I was able to continue my interviews. When we left, I asked Evelyn what had happened with those two young men. It turns out they thought I was providing something to the community – like agricultural jobs in the US – and that I was doing that along political lines. They just wanted to see what I was giving out, so they could get a piece of the action. Having Evelyn with me both made it easier to cool down the situation and she was able to explain to me what happened afterwards.
June 22, 2009
From Jamaica to DC and back again
Leroy was born in 1971, making him just a couple of years older than me. He was born in Kingston, Jamaica, but barely remembers his neighborhood. He moved to the United States when he was seven years old. Leroy arrived in Langley Park in 1978, a neighborhood I am very familiar with, as it is just outside of Washington, DC, where I grew up.
He attended Northwestern High School, so I am sure we have friends in common. Too bad he’s not on Facebook, then I’d know for sure. Like many of the young men I knew growing up in DC, Leroy was drawn to the allure of fast money, and began selling drugs in high school. This was in the early 1990s, when there was a lot of fast money for young men, and Leroy soon was driving a BMW, then a Benz, then a Corvette.
In 1994, Leroy got set up. He sold a half an ounce of cocaine to an undercover agent in the parking lot by Toy’s R US, and was arrested. He posted bail, and went back home to his wife and newborn son. His wife was studying at the University of Maryland at the time. Leroy was on the run for a while, but the police kept asking his mother and his wife where he was. So, he turned himself in. Leroy was sentenced to three years in prison for selling cocaine.
At the time, this was not a deportable offense, so Leroy thought he would be released after serving his time. However, by the time he was released, a new law had been passed – one that made deportation laws retroactive. In other words, even though a three year drug sentence did not render Leroy eligible for deportation in early 1996 when he was convicted, he faced deportation when he was released in 1999.
When Leroy finished serving his time, he was transferred to immigration detention, and deported to Jamaica, a country he had not been to or even thought of for over twenty years. Having moved to the US at the age of seven, he looked, talked, and walked like an American.
Once in Jamaica, Leroy could only think of going back to the States. He tried three times, buying false passports. Each time, the passports were done badly and he wasn’t even allowed on the plane. For now, he has resigned himself to staying in Jamaica.
Young and intelligent, Leroy is one of the few deportees I have talked to who is able to fend for himself. He got a job building water tanks for a Caribbean company, and earns a decent wage when he can find work.
He attended Northwestern High School, so I am sure we have friends in common. Too bad he’s not on Facebook, then I’d know for sure. Like many of the young men I knew growing up in DC, Leroy was drawn to the allure of fast money, and began selling drugs in high school. This was in the early 1990s, when there was a lot of fast money for young men, and Leroy soon was driving a BMW, then a Benz, then a Corvette.
In 1994, Leroy got set up. He sold a half an ounce of cocaine to an undercover agent in the parking lot by Toy’s R US, and was arrested. He posted bail, and went back home to his wife and newborn son. His wife was studying at the University of Maryland at the time. Leroy was on the run for a while, but the police kept asking his mother and his wife where he was. So, he turned himself in. Leroy was sentenced to three years in prison for selling cocaine.
At the time, this was not a deportable offense, so Leroy thought he would be released after serving his time. However, by the time he was released, a new law had been passed – one that made deportation laws retroactive. In other words, even though a three year drug sentence did not render Leroy eligible for deportation in early 1996 when he was convicted, he faced deportation when he was released in 1999.
When Leroy finished serving his time, he was transferred to immigration detention, and deported to Jamaica, a country he had not been to or even thought of for over twenty years. Having moved to the US at the age of seven, he looked, talked, and walked like an American.
Once in Jamaica, Leroy could only think of going back to the States. He tried three times, buying false passports. Each time, the passports were done badly and he wasn’t even allowed on the plane. For now, he has resigned himself to staying in Jamaica.
Young and intelligent, Leroy is one of the few deportees I have talked to who is able to fend for himself. He got a job building water tanks for a Caribbean company, and earns a decent wage when he can find work.
Mothers, Higglers, and Mules
Monday, June 22, 2009 – 6:26pm – 7pm
Today, Evelyn introduced me to four women who had been deported from the US for smuggling drugs. These women are often referred to as “mules,” as their primary job is transporting goods. Some of these women transported the drugs in their luggage, others on their person, and one inside her body. At the end of the interview, one of the woman told me a friend of hers recently died when drugs she had swallowed exploded inside her body.
All four of these women grew up in the inner city in Kingston, had children by the age of 16, and were single mothers. Faced with the economic pressures of child rearing, they each decided to take a chance in order to provide more for their children.
Two of the women had been higglers, women who sell goods in the downtown market. At the market, they learned that many other women were making extra money by transporting drugs to the US, and they succumbed to the temptation to earn extra money. Wanda grew up in downtown Kingston. Like many of the girls in her neighborhood, she got pregnant at the age of 14, and dropped out of high school. At that point, she joined her mother at the downtown market. Eventually, Wanda was able to start a buying and selling business of her own, importing goods from the US.
Wanda secured a visa to go to the United States in 1987. She traveled back and forth, bringing goods from New York to Kingston to sell at the market. Sometime in 1998, a friend of Wanda’s told her of a way she could earn a bit of extra money - $1,000 in a single trip to the US. This was twice what she normally earned in a month, and it was a tempting offer. Wanda became a drug trafficker, and continued occasionally carrying cocaine in her luggage until 2001, when she was caught at the airport in the United States.
Wanda was charged with drug trafficking and sentenced to 36 months in prison. She left four children in Jamaica, aged from 7 to 22. When she came back to the US, nearly three years later, she wasn’t able to get back on her feet very easily. No longer able to travel back and forth to the US, she couldn’t start back up her importing business. She had to resort to domestic work. She occasionally finds temporary work ironing or doing laundry for other women. When she works a full week, she earns about US$50 a week, barely enough to feed the family. Wanda says she doesn’t look back, although regrets what she put her children through when she was locked up in the States. She can’t take her children out to eat as she used to, but at least they are together now.
Pamela, another deportee, was also born in the inner city. She was able to finish high school, and attend Teacher’s College in Kingston, where she completed the three years of school, even though she also had a child while she was in high school. Pamela taught primary school for a little while in Kingston, but found the pay too low and the stress too high, so she got a job as an accountant. She worked there for a few years, and eventually decided to travel to the US. She wanted to provide more for her children. She didn’t find the local public school suitable, and had the children in private school. Her pay barely allowed her to make ends meet.
Pamela was able to get a temporary visa, and traveled to the US in 1987, when she was thirty years old. She enrolled in Bronx Community College, where she completed an Associate’s Degree in Sociology. She also worked as a housekeeper, a babysitter, and cared for elderly people, while she lived in the US. For several years, Pamela traveled frequently back and forth from Jamaica to the United States. In the US, she worked, and in Jamaica, she visited her children she had left behind. At some point, she decided to carry drugs with her on those frequent trips back and forth to the United States. When she was caught, she had her two oldest children in America, and the youngest three back in Jamaica.
When Pamela was convicted and sentenced to jail, her oldest daughter went to Jamaica to pick up her youngest three children, and took them to America. They remain there today. Only one of her five children has been able to obtain legalization, as she is married to a US citizen. The other four are undocumented. Their father is a US citizen, but he has not stepped forward to help them legalize. With them undocumented in America, and Pamela deported in Jamaica, she hasn’t seen her children in over a decade.
All of these women did something many people would view as dishonorable – they trafficked drugs into the US. They also did something many would view as honorable – they took a big risk to put their children through school. Each of them was caught and punished for their crimes. While in prison, their children suffered a great deal.
Today, Evelyn introduced me to four women who had been deported from the US for smuggling drugs. These women are often referred to as “mules,” as their primary job is transporting goods. Some of these women transported the drugs in their luggage, others on their person, and one inside her body. At the end of the interview, one of the woman told me a friend of hers recently died when drugs she had swallowed exploded inside her body.
All four of these women grew up in the inner city in Kingston, had children by the age of 16, and were single mothers. Faced with the economic pressures of child rearing, they each decided to take a chance in order to provide more for their children.
Two of the women had been higglers, women who sell goods in the downtown market. At the market, they learned that many other women were making extra money by transporting drugs to the US, and they succumbed to the temptation to earn extra money. Wanda grew up in downtown Kingston. Like many of the girls in her neighborhood, she got pregnant at the age of 14, and dropped out of high school. At that point, she joined her mother at the downtown market. Eventually, Wanda was able to start a buying and selling business of her own, importing goods from the US.
Wanda secured a visa to go to the United States in 1987. She traveled back and forth, bringing goods from New York to Kingston to sell at the market. Sometime in 1998, a friend of Wanda’s told her of a way she could earn a bit of extra money - $1,000 in a single trip to the US. This was twice what she normally earned in a month, and it was a tempting offer. Wanda became a drug trafficker, and continued occasionally carrying cocaine in her luggage until 2001, when she was caught at the airport in the United States.
Wanda was charged with drug trafficking and sentenced to 36 months in prison. She left four children in Jamaica, aged from 7 to 22. When she came back to the US, nearly three years later, she wasn’t able to get back on her feet very easily. No longer able to travel back and forth to the US, she couldn’t start back up her importing business. She had to resort to domestic work. She occasionally finds temporary work ironing or doing laundry for other women. When she works a full week, she earns about US$50 a week, barely enough to feed the family. Wanda says she doesn’t look back, although regrets what she put her children through when she was locked up in the States. She can’t take her children out to eat as she used to, but at least they are together now.
Pamela, another deportee, was also born in the inner city. She was able to finish high school, and attend Teacher’s College in Kingston, where she completed the three years of school, even though she also had a child while she was in high school. Pamela taught primary school for a little while in Kingston, but found the pay too low and the stress too high, so she got a job as an accountant. She worked there for a few years, and eventually decided to travel to the US. She wanted to provide more for her children. She didn’t find the local public school suitable, and had the children in private school. Her pay barely allowed her to make ends meet.
Pamela was able to get a temporary visa, and traveled to the US in 1987, when she was thirty years old. She enrolled in Bronx Community College, where she completed an Associate’s Degree in Sociology. She also worked as a housekeeper, a babysitter, and cared for elderly people, while she lived in the US. For several years, Pamela traveled frequently back and forth from Jamaica to the United States. In the US, she worked, and in Jamaica, she visited her children she had left behind. At some point, she decided to carry drugs with her on those frequent trips back and forth to the United States. When she was caught, she had her two oldest children in America, and the youngest three back in Jamaica.
When Pamela was convicted and sentenced to jail, her oldest daughter went to Jamaica to pick up her youngest three children, and took them to America. They remain there today. Only one of her five children has been able to obtain legalization, as she is married to a US citizen. The other four are undocumented. Their father is a US citizen, but he has not stepped forward to help them legalize. With them undocumented in America, and Pamela deported in Jamaica, she hasn’t seen her children in over a decade.
All of these women did something many people would view as dishonorable – they trafficked drugs into the US. They also did something many would view as honorable – they took a big risk to put their children through school. Each of them was caught and punished for their crimes. While in prison, their children suffered a great deal.
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