Analysis Critics say families, legal rights abused by immigration
laws
By ROSEMARY JOHNSTON
Special to National Catholic Reporter San
Diego
Louis Alvarado lies in a hospital bed at home, a ventilator hose
inserted through an incision in his throat to provide oxygen to his inert
body.
A shooting 11 years ago left him a quadriplegic. Now 31, he
depends on care provided by his parents and six brothers and sisters, which
enables him to stay in the family home in Encanto, a low-income San Diego
neighborhood inhabited by the working poor.
Theres my dads bed, he says, his
conversation punctuated by the steady pulse of the ventilator and frequent
gasps for air. There is the corner of the familys converted
garage, now Louis bedroom. The bed has been empty for almost five months
now, ever since INS agents came to the house Dec. 1 and took Benjamin Alvarado
to the detention center in Descanso, Calif.
Five years ago, his wife, Maria, explained, Benjamin was convicted
and sentenced to 90 days in jail for drug possession. It was his first
and only arrest. He hasnt even had a traffic ticket since then, the
San Diego hotel worker explained. Now when I go to see him, they pat me
down.
Benjamin is among the thousands of legal permanent residents
nationwide facing the prospect of deportation as a result of changes in the
Anti-Terrorism and Effective Death Penalty Act and the Illegal Immigrant Reform
and Immigrant Responsibility Act enacted by Congress in 1996.
In February, Bishop Nicholas DeMarzio, Newark auxiliary and U.S.
Catholic Conference chair on migration, testified against the new regulations
before the House Judiciary Committees Subcommittee on Immigration and
Claims (NCR, March 12).
According to DeMarzio, the new rules undermine basic human
dignity and human rights, unnecessarily separate and divide families, violate
fundamental notions of fairness and equal protection under the law ... and
create an artificial crisis in [the ability of the INS to detain]
truly violent or dangerous individuals.
Under terms of this legislation, any crime committed by a legal
permanent resident that earns a sentence of one year or more has been
classified as an aggravated felony, making the permanent resident eligible for
deportation. Previously, the term aggravated felony referred to crimes
that earned a sentence of five years or more.
The legislation is also retroactive, affecting any legal permanent
resident convicted of a crime that fits the new definition of aggravated
felony, even if the resident has completed time in detention and probation.
Thus, even though Benjamin Alvarado already served his time in jail, completed
probation and stayed out of trouble, he and thousands of others with similar
records are being picked up by the INS and sent to detention centers. They
leave their jobs and their families behind.
Unlike previous offenders, they are not permitted to post bond and
file a relief waiver, regardless of whether or not they are considered
dangerous or pose a flight risk.
Maria and her seven children are U.S. citizens. Benjamin is the
only family member who is not. He wanted to be able to own land in Mexico, his
17-year-old daughter Brenda explained.
Benjamin was employed full-time as a truck driver at a local linen
supply company prior to his arrest.
Louis requires 24-hour care, his mother, Maria,
explained. We had two [licensed vocational nurses] working eight hour
shifts from 7 a.m. to 3 p.m., then 3 p.m. to 11 p.m. Benjamin would take the
night shift, sleeping on the bed in the corner of the garage and then getting
up to go to work in the morning.
Now, Maria struggles on her hotel workers salary to pay the
mortgage. Benjamins namesake, Ben Jr., 23, has completed training as a
licensed vocational nurse, and now fills in for his dad at his brothers
bedside.
Benjamins attorney, Jan Bejar, is handling half a dozen
similar cases in his San Diego office. Its unconstitutional. These
people are being denied due process and are being placed in double jeopardy for
offenses that they have already done restitution for. The INS doesnt see
the anguish these families are going through, Bejar said.
In another San Diego case, an Iranian refugee, Fatima (she asked
that her last name not be used) advocates for the release of her son, Ray, 22.
He was taken into custody in October, two days before his sisters wedding
in New York. Rays family came to the United States as political refugees
in 1978 after Islamic fundamentalists overthrew the government of the late Shah
of Iran.
Rays father was a high officer in the Shahs
government. He and his family fled Iran when Ray was 6 months old and came to
the United States. In 1997, Ray was convicted of possessing drugs for sale and
fraudulent use of a telephone. He was put on three years probation after
serving six months in a work-release program.
At the time of his October arrest, he was working at a car rental
agency and going to night school. During a routine visit to his house, county
probation officers found a pager and a cellular phone in his room, possession
of which constituted violation of his probation. Fatima claims he had bought
her a car phone after her car broke down on the freeway and she was stranded
for several hours, and that the pager belonged to an uncle. But to no avail.
Ray was returned to jail one day, long enough for the INS to pick him up.
He doesnt even speak Farsi, his mother lamented.
Yes, he made a mistake, but does he have to pay for it with his life --
thats what will happen if he goes back to Iran. His family is here, his
life is here.
Ellie Fanugao, a nurse at Mercy Hospital, knows firsthand the
anguish and uncertainty shared by Fatima and the Alvarado family. She carries
around a portfolio filled with papers relating to a case involving her
brother-in-law Raymond.
In December of 1995, he was convicted of a lewd act with a child.
He was drunk at the time, Fanugao said. The family of the
girl has already forgiven him. Now we are worried that his wife, my sister, and
my 10-year-old nephew may have to get along without him.
Raymonds wife, Norma, has been diagnosed with a premature
form of Parkinsons Disease and is eligible for SSI -- Supplemental
Security Income. She shares an apartment in Imperial Beach, Calif., with the
couples son, Rommel, and her mother, Cecelia Abraham. Hes
already paid his dues, Fanugao said. Hes a good Dad,
hes gone to counseling, completed a sobriety program, complied with
probation guidelines. Our family came here from the Philippines more than 20
years ago. Now were being torn apart.
Last month, these families shared their heartache and anguish with
San Diego congressman Bob Filner, a Democrat, at a meeting organized by
Citizens and Immigrants for Equal Justice, a support group for families with
relatives now in detention centers as a result of the 1996 legislation.
Luz Marie Gonzalez is the San Diego coordinator of the group.
There are chapters in Texas, Louisiana and New York. Earlier this month, a
group of them, accompanied by attorneys, lobbied legislators on Capitol Hill,
asking that the law be revised, eliminating its retroactive clause and allowing
for bonds and appeals on a case-by-case basis.
At a Saturday afternoon meeting with the families at the Sherman
Heights Community Center, Filner listened attentively as family members
explained the situations their loved ones face. Some of them could only stand
in front of him and sob, their children clinging to them.
Several local immigration attorneys who are representing the
family members spoke, pointing out the inequities of the law and offering the
small consolation that it could be years before all appeals are exhausted.
Very few people in power know your stories, Filner
told the crowd. Many of us opposed this law from the beginning. We need
to change that law. The problem is that the majority of Congress doesnt
want to change it. Maria, Ellie and Fatima listened intently as Filner
urged the group to move beyond their individual stories to collective political
action.
Back home in Encanto, Marias eldest son, Louis, lay resting,
the pulse of the ventilator punctuating the silence, an empty bed in the corner
of the room a reminder of the power of the law and the power of stories.
National Catholic Reporter, April 23,
1999
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