Econ of Immigration Spring 2020

When I applied to this course back in November, I wrote:

"I believe that taking part in the economics of immigration course and participating in the spring break immersion would ... re-introduce the human element to my study of economics."

I was right. This course and our trip to Mexico have given me academic and personal justifications for policy decisions I have advocated for since 2016. In other words, they have taken the things I knew to be true on a human level and given them more validity.

I come from Mason, Ohio, a suburban area within a landlocked state. We don't have as large an immigrant population as many coastal states and states on borders. However, in my city, there are several technology firms that recruit employees from across Asia, so many of my neighbors are immigrants.

Push and Pull factors are some of the first concepts I've learned every time my classes study immigration and this course was no exception. Push factors are the things which drive an individual to move from their origin and pull factors are the things which attract individuals to their destination. Some common push factors are political instability, low wages, high unemployment rates, poor educational systems and unsafe living conditions. Common pull factors are often the exact opposite: solid political systems, high wages, low unemployment, high-quality (and easily-accessible) education and affordable housing. These factors have always seemed obvious and unsurprising on paper, but meeting and learning from real-life people during our trip who experienced them gave the theory behind push and pull much more relevance.

On Monday, March 9th, we visited a shelter run by Padre Gustavo and some local women. The shelter hosted several individuals who were traveling through Mexico, on their way to the United States. We spoke to these individuals, who were nearly the same age as my peers and I, and learned why they chose to leave their family members and homes behind. From their stories, it sounded like the 'choice' wasn't much of a choice at all. A young man from Honduras described a corrupt government which allowed for the rise of organized criminal groups. He explained that he would either need to leave the country or pay these groups large fines to secure his own protection. As the wages he would be making were not high enough to justify such fines, he decided it would be best to leave Honduras with the hopes of making it to the US.

The man's partner was a young woman from Guatemala, who was living at the shelter with her baby daughter. She explained that she made the decision to leave Guatemala to escape from an abusive relationship. In a country with poor economic conditions and a corrupted legal system, it would have been difficult for her to escape the relationship within the country. So, she made the difficult decision to leave behind her mother and her other child, with the hopes of making it to the US and being able to send them remittances so they could eventually join her.

The next day, we visited the Red Cross shelter nearest to 'La Bestia,' otherwise known as The Death Train. We spoke to three individuals from Honduras (two men and one woman) who lost limbs during their treacherous journeys to Mexico on the train. They, like the man from Padre Gustavo's shelter, decided to move because organized crime was too pervasive, the minimum wage was too low and they lacked the economic and health security they desired. So, they weighed their options and decided that the dangerous journey on La Bestia would lead them to a better life.

The train was not made to carry human passengers, but instead to carry cargo. People hop onto the train as it stops in their origin countries and climb to the top, where they sit for days until it drops off goods at their destination. During the journey, the train makes many stops and people will jump off to try and find food and water. Other danger on the train poses itself in the form of other passengers, who may attempt to steal the money migrants are bringing for smugglers or the supplies migrants have saved for survival, and locals who may attack and rob migrants when they get off at train stops.

Constantly hopping on and off the train (sometimes while it is in motion) puts migrants in precarious positions, as they must decide whether to risk the jump or face starvation. The people we spoke with at the Red Cross shelter risked the jump, but now they suffer physical impairments that Red Cross staff said would make it impossible for them to continue on to the US, even though each person said that the US was their ultimate goal.

After visiting the Red Cross shelter, we went to the place where La Bestia stops. We joined a Red Cross ambulance and arrived at the station right as the train was coming in. What we experienced next proved to be the most emotionally taxing part of our trip for me. We stood to the side as several migrants made the jump off the train to come to our makeshift care station. They dug through boxes of clothing, searching for pairs of pants and shirts that might fit, and waited in line to drink 8 oz. of water and a small cup of ramen noodles. It was the first food and water many of them said they had consumed in nearly three days.

With the help of Kyersten as translator, I was able to hear the story of one man who was traveling on La Bestia. He said he was 25 years old and had been in the United States since he was 15. He was originally from Honduras and, the first time he came to the US, he was granted asylum. He had been living in Texas with several members of his family, but unbeknownst to him, someone made a mistake when processing his paperwork 10 years prior. So, when he went to get a job early this year, he was deported. As soon as he made it back to Honduras, he began the journey back to the US. When we saw him, he had been traveling for 20 days. His story was upsetting to hear for several reasons, one of the most prominent being that he legally should be allowed to stay in the US, but someone else's mistake cost him the chance to remain with his loved ones. Now, he must risk his life, only to be certainly turned back around when he arrives at the border.

The next day, after an educational walk through the woods, we visited a man named Javier in the room where he makes the bread for his bakery. Javier told us about his migration story. Many years ago, he illegally immigrated to the United States with the intention of returning to his family once he had made enough money (he planned to out-migrate). But, he overestimated the wage he would receive in the US and ended up staying for eight years and working in a butcher shop before he could return to Mexico. Since he arrived back in Mexico, he has been returning to the US every year on a temporary visa. He works with a migration agency to find seasonal work, so he can go to the US for a few months and work until the visa expires. Then, he runs his bakery until another opportunity in the US opens up.

Javier's migration is circular, because he goes back-and-forth between the US and Mexico within such brief periods of time. In other words, he engages in repeat return-migration. He can also offer an example of the swinging door effect. When Javier first came to the US illegally, he knew others who provided him with work and a place to stay. Their migration process, which was likely more difficult than his own, made it easier for him to 'pass through the door'. Now, Javier is a swinging door to his own son, who just joined him in the US on temporary visa for the first time. The first time Javier went to the US, he did not know what to expect. But now, he can provide his son with advice and resources to assist with the migration process. Even though Javier's dreams of the US did not turn out as he originally planned, maybe he will be able to give his son the life he hoped for himself.

The in-depth examples I have provided so far focused mostly on the migration stories of men. Every passenger we saw on La Bestia was a man and the people who provided longer stories of their migration experience were often men too. But, I would be telling an incomplete narrative of migration and of my own experience in Mexico if I left out the women.

We were in Mexico on March 8th, International Women's Day, and on March 9th, a nation-wide women's stike to protest the unjust treatment of women in Mexico. Culturally, the country is known for its machismo and, on average, 10 women a day are killed there as a result of gender-based violence. Although we did not come across any Mexican women who intended to migrate to the US, I can imagine these numbers would factor into their decision.

As I painted and danced with young girls at The Little Spanish-English school on our last day in Mexico, I remembered again how truly lucky I am to be able to live in a country where, although I will face discrimination on account of my sex, I am less likely to be killed because of it. I remembered how privileged I am to have a family that supports my education and male friends who are not afraid to see me become successful. As we visited these girls (and boys), I hoped that they would be the generation which, because of their education and the loving support of adults around them, began to respect the deep power of women. After all, we had just seen the day before how much respect Mary (Our Lady of Guadalupe) received.

I entered this course unsure what a proper immigration policy response might look like and I leave spring break still not entirely sure. With that being said, my initial conviction that all people deserve the opportunity to live a whole, happy, healthy life leaves this trip stronger than ever. As I saw how high of costs (implicit and explicit) people were willing to incur for the chance to immigrate to the US, I saw more clearly the grave necessity of an easier path to America.

People should not have to sit on top of train cars for nearly a month. People should not have to sleep with one eye open for fear their smuggling money will be stolen. They should not need smuggling money in the first place. They should not have to choose between jumping from a moving train car and risking injury (or death) and receiving their daily sustenance. They should not have to live without stability, moving every few months to find work. They should not have to skip work to prove that they are invaluable to their country's economy and should no longer be killed.

Yet, all these things and more happen every day. As we live now in the most uncertain time I've been alive for, the first people I thought of when I understood that COVID-19 was more serious than any of us ever imagined as we stood on top of that mountain were the men who sat on top of La Bestia, hoping to make it to America. They will arrive at an entirely shut down border and will be sent back the thousands of miles they traveled, to countries where they may not survive.

I would love to live in a world where it's feasible for everyone to live wherever they want and for every person to have an equal chance at the opportunities I've been afforded by Jus Soli. Maybe, someday someone will come up with a policy solution that helps replace xenophobia with a realization of how much immigrants can boost economy. Maybe, someday we'll come out of our isolation and realize that the world is better when we work together and support one another.

But, for now, after everything I learned and saw last week, I have the most hope in people like John (founder of the Little Spanish-English school) who are working to build up communities where no one would ever need to leave because they have been given an education and the skills to stay exactly where they are. As we stood in a circle hand-in-hand with a pink sun glowing down around us, I believed every word when he said "We can do hard things together." And I hope, once this virus is done running its course, we will join together and pick up the broken pieces of our nation and our immigration system. I hope we will find the strength to join our (properly sanitized) hands and do hard things together.