Media pundits, politicians, public officials, ordinary citizens. I have heard people from each of these groups talk about “illegal” immigrants. Disappointment and anger are what I usually feel upon hearing people being described as “illegal.” I’m disappointed that members in our society are actively working to keep groups of people down. I’m angry at the dismissive nature of the word when these individuals deserve so much more of our respect.
Immigrants who live in this country without proper documentation should be called undocumented immigrants. Describing somebody as “illegal” calls into question their entire existence. It automatically labels them as people who are “less than,” undeserving of the rights and dignity afforded to any human being.
Although the actions of undocumented immigrants in crossing the border are against the law, they, as human beings, should not be labeled as “illegal” immigrants. One of my uncles described his “illegality” as being representative of the limited freedom he had in this country. He couldn’t travel or work without fear of being caught and deported back to his country where death could await.
For many undocumented immigrants, the reality of the situations in their home countries far exceeded the darkest imaginations of your average American.
Try to imagine living each day of under the following conditions in El Salvador in the 1980s: If you were a male between the ages of 15 and 30, you had to spend every waking second watching your back. At any given moment, you could be picked up by the military or guerillas either to fight for their cause or die. Pursuing an education was not an option because every school was monitored and forget about finding a job. That left you facing extreme poverty since the economy was in shambles and possible death due to a war (which you did not believe in) that was terrorizing every area of your country. You had to choose a side and would have been killed by either side if you chose to stay out completely.
What would you do if a soldier came up to you and asked you to join their fight (knowing that you had friends who had died after accepting the offer and others after declining it)? What would you do if you had younger siblings who could not go to school because there was no money? While these situations might be too unbelievable for many people in this country to envision as their own, it is important to understand that this was a constant reality for my family from 1980-1992.
Many of my family members did not plan on migrating to the United States, but dreamt of becoming successful professionals within their own countries. Their lives had been full of hope as children, with aspirations of becoming lawyers, seamstresses, or hacienda owners.
My father, for example, has always fondly recounted tales of his childhood, though he admits it was not a lavish one. From as far back as he could remember, he lived in his grandparents’ house away from his parents and siblings (although he still interacted and worked with them). His parents and grandparents were both poor, but my father is also sure to add that they were never at a loss for food or shelter. They were a hardworking family who worked in agriculture. His father, for instance, worked in the field from dawn to dusk. After graduating from high school, my father began attending an agricultural college but was forced to give up his studies once the war broke out. As my father expressed to me, he was faced with a choice: Stay there and confront death at the hands of either the military or the guerillas or leave. He and the thousands of Salvadorans that left due to the war were being proactive and trying to make their lives better. Unfortunately, my father, like the rest of my family members, were victims of their circumstances, forced to face trial after trial from the moment they were born.
The experiences that undocumented immigrants have lived through should not be taken lightly. Some have suffered through poverty-stricken existences in their home countries and then on their perilous journeys over land to the United States. After all that they have been through, there are still those with anti-immigration sentiments who just want to send them back. What they do not seem to understand, however, is that there is much more to their stories than what is easily apparent. Immigrants, including my own family members, have never wanted to hurt this country. They only wished to improve their own situations. In particular, my family members were asylum seekers who knew that they could not prosper in El Salvador. They came to this country in search of opportunities to work and to lead lives free from the terror that defined their existences in El Salvador. As my mom told me, they tried to lead their lives as law-abiding citizens, but were constantly being treated like criminals. The last thing they should be called is illegal, when they have spent their entire lives trying to do right by their families and the communities they were a part of.
