She sighs, obviously relieved, when she sees Oscar, standing in front of a small brick duplex surrounded by scrubby desert shrubs, pebbles, and red dust. Tall and lean, her husband is dressed casually in a loose-fitting black sweatshirt, blue jeans, and dusty, brown leather boots. A broad smile lights his face when he recognizes the car, smoothing out worry lines that make him seem older than his 23 years.
This will be the first time he has seen his daughter in nearly two months. He picks her up, planting a kiss on her soft crown of fluffy, black hair, and she begins to cry. Oscar calls for his wife. Karla comes quickly and scoops up the toddler.
Michael Ratcliff
Central High School graduate Teresa with her daughter, Adrianna.
Malia Politzer
Vasquez's wife, Karla, with their daughter Samy.
Details
This is the first article this year of
New Times' occasional series
"Are Your Papers in Order?" in which we examine the treatment of undocumented aliens, brown-skinned U.S. citizens, and legal residents at the hands of local and U.S. law enforcement.
Related Content
More About
"She'll warm up," she assures no one in particular, avoiding her husband's eyes.
It is a difficult time for the young couple. For four years, Karla and Oscar Vasquez lived happily together in South Phoenix. Now, they are a family divided by the border between two countries.
Karla is a U.S. citizen who fell in love with an undocumented man. But Oscar is not your typical illegal immigrant — he grew up in the United States, entering the country with his parents at 12. He and Karla grew up together. Now, they are attempting to do exactly what critics of illegal immigration advocate: Oscar returned to Mexico to go through the process of applying to get back into the United States legally. As it turns out for people who grew up undocumented in the United States, though, legalizing their status is nearly impossible.
You may remember Oscar. If you do not, you will recall the Carl Hayden High School robotics team that thrashed the Massachusetts Institute of Technology's team in an underwater robotics competition in 2004. It was the classic American underdog story — four poor high school kids (all illegal immigrants) beat the most prestigious technical university in the nation with nothing but grit, brainpower, and determination.
Wired published a cover story about them, and the story of the team's triumph over MIT spread rapidly. They were in the Arizona Republic. Reader's Digest translated their tale into Spanish and Italian. George Stephanopoulos interviewed the kids on Nightline. Warner Brothers recently bought the movie rights to their story. Former Arizona Governor Janet Napolitano personally invited the four to her office to congratulate them. And, at 17, the undocumented Vasquez shook the hand of the future Secretary of Homeland Security.
If this were a Hollywood film, the story would have ended there. And for three of the four members of robotics team, it pretty much did.
Oscar was the only one to make it all the way through college, thanks to a scholarship funded by people around the world who had read about the team and wanted to help. He married Karla, his childhood sweetheart. They had a baby and bought a nice four-bedroom home in South Phoenix. Last May, Oscar graduated from ASU with honors and a degree in mechanical engineering. He was one of three students graduating from ASU that year to be specifically honored by President Barack Obama for his academic achievements. The students, Obama said, were "fine examples of what this country stands for."
On that day, dressed in a burgundy-and-gold graduation robe, he was close enough to the stage to see beads of sweat run down the president's face as he gave their commencement speech.
"I was in awe," recalls Oscar. "My dad only finished third grade. My mom had her middle-school certificate. My brothers and sisters went to middle school, and that's it. Most of my cousins haven't even gone to high school. Somehow I'd made it through."
It did not take long for his excitement to fade.
Though two companies promptly offered him engineering jobs, he was forced to turn them down. Without a Social Security number, he was unable to legally work. Because he had been living in the United States illegally, they were unable to sponsor him to stay. His degree collected dust on a shelf in their new home. He had two options: Lie low and hope that immigration laws change or return to Mexico and begin the uncertain process of applying for U.S. citizenship. He and Karla opted for the latter.
"I was tired of living in the shadows," he says, shrugging. "It's not in my character."
Oscar and Karla soon found out what dire circumstances they were in.
"Is there any way for undocumented kids to legalize their status?" Phoenix immigration attorney Delia Salvatierra asks rhetorically. "The very straightforward answer is: no."
Here is the problem: Once you have stayed in the country illegally a year beyond your 18th birthday, regardless of how you initially arrived, you are no longer eligible to apply to enter as a "typical" immigrant. Nor is there any way to apply for citizenship from within the country — joining the military is an option only for legal residents, and companies are prohibited from sponsoring illegal immigrants so that they can get the visas needed to work here legally. Once an immigrant has been living illegally as an adult in the United States, essentially the only way to legitimize his or her status is to return to their country of origin and apply from there.
