Three times, Fani Gonzalez packed a suitcase, clutched her daughters
in a tearful goodbye and begged the Virgin of Guadalupe for a miracle -
anything, just anything, that could keep her from being deported back to
her violent home city in Mexico.
And three times, she traveled back from the Immigration and Customs
Enforcement office in Nashville to her home in Smyrna, an emotional
return to her all-American life as wife, mom and top Mary Kay cosmetics
sales director.
Gonzalez was coloring signs for a rally to stop her deportation in a
room packed with other immigrant women doing the same when her cellphone
rang. The call came from ICE headquarters in Washington. Using the
director's prosecutorial discretion, the agency would allow her to stay
in the country indefinitely.
Sometimes, when the Virgin answers a prayer, it's with a flair for the dramatic.
Gonzalez's goal was to stay in the United States long enough for
immigration reform to catch up with her status. She came here in 2009,
slipping across the Rio Grande with no immigration paperwork, determined
to improve life for her four children. Now, for the first time in four
years, she believes real reform is on the way for the nation's estimated
11.7 million undocumented immigrants - 6 million of those from Mexico,
according to the Pew Research Hispanic Trends Project.
Last week, President Barack Obama urged the House of Representatives
to take up a reform bill that passed the Senate in June. It would
strengthen security along the nation's borders while providing a lengthy
legal path to citizenship for some undocumented immigrants already
here.
Both of Tennessee's Republican senators voted in favor of it. Rep.
Jim Cooper, a Nashville Democrat, said he will support reform in the
House. But it faces a tough road there.
The Senate bill goes for it all, said Brookings Institution analyst
Jill Wilson. It has suffered by being compared to the Affordable Care
Act, which is off to a troubled start and was nearly derailed by the
Republicans' tea party wing. The bill is huge, Wilson said, because
voices on all sides were heard for the first time.
"The number and different types of coalitions that support it this
time around is the difference, as well as the lack of strong and
numerous voices against it," she said.
"It will not go away. Worst-case scenario, immigrants just keep waiting."
The push is empowering undocumented immigrants nationwide to announce
their status in an effort to draw public support. In the past, even a
name was hard to come by - most hid from public view and, if they were
caught, slipped out of the country without drawing attention.
Gonzalez did just the opposite, bringing fellow immigrant women and sometimes a television camera to her meetings with ICE.
But in the quiet hours with family, when her home city of Monterrey is just a setting in the soap opera on the flat screen - "Porque El Amor Manda," Because Love Rules - damage from Gonzalez's yearlong fight is evident on the face of her youngest daughter, Ingrid Aimee, 12.
For a split second, it looks like she can answer a question about the
constant threat of losing her mother. Instead, she collapses into
tears.
Stopped for speeding
The Gonzalez children are protected under Deferred Action for
Childhood Arrivals. A presidential order signed by Obama last year, it
allows children who had no say in being brought to the U.S. illegally to
stay here.
They left Monterrey, Fani Gonzalez says, because it wasn't realistic
to believe one could safely raise children there. She'd been in the U.S.
before but went home voluntarily to be closer to family.
"We drove back in a truck, and when we got there, people told me,
'Don't drive that truck,'" she said. "I was wondering why that would be.
They said, 'You don't know what the situation is. How the violence is.
They will rob you and kill you.' "
Her brother was kidnapped. Gangs robbed busloads of people, then lit
the buses on fire. Murders on a corner near her house weren't rare.
It became clear to Gonzalez that to make a better life for the kids,
they'd have to be in America - in American schools, with American
opportunities.
Her husband picked Tennessee because jobs seemed plentiful here. And
so they settled in Smyrna, but then it all unraveled in a December
traffic stop.
Driving home one day, Gonzalez was caught speeding. Her Mexican
driver's license had expired, said Smyrna Police Chief Kevin Arnold, and
she was turned over to the Rutherford County Sheriff's Office.
Gonzalez sat for four days in the Rutherford County jail on an
immigration hold, frantic about who was caring for her children. She had
to wait that long for ICE officials to show up and say what to do with
her. When they arrived, it was with a document to sign.
"I was thinking I would have to talk to a lawyer and all that, but
when the officer told me I was going to be able to see my family, I just
had to sign this document," she said. "I thought it was something that
said I had been there and I was being released."
Instead, they told her she had a month to buy her own bus ticket back
to Monterrey. She consulted with the Nashville-based Immigrant Women's
Committee at the Tennessee Immigrant and Refugee Rights Coalition, who
told her to go back and say she couldn't afford a ticket right now.
ICE gave her 30 more days, but instead of bringing a ticket, she came
back with a stack of letters of recommendation from people at her
church - St. Ignatius of Antioch Catholic Community - and a request for
prosecutorial discretion. They gave her 30 more days. She asked for an
appeal. They gave her six months.
Asking for help
The women's group never stopped helping.
Forced to keep opinions to herself in her job as a professional
interpreter, Mayra Yu, the women's committee's co-founder, was darned if
she'd sit by and watch someone get deported if she could do something
to stop it. Too many times, she said, she watched friends separated from
their children by deportation. Too many times she saw women become
victims of domestic violence or sexual harassment, only to be asked by
authorities, "What did you do?" Too many times, she wanted to yell,
"Don't sign that!" but couldn't.
"It's hard when you see how they suffer," Yu said.
So she celebrated with Gonzalez when the miracle phone call came from Washington.
ICE issued a statement about it last week, couching its reasoning in
official language. A thorough review of Gonzalez's case led to the
prosecutorial discretion, it said. The agency is most interested in
deporting criminals, recent arrivals and those who have final
deportation orders but slipped away from authorities.
Gonzalez's daughters have a simpler but more heartfelt explanation.
"When my mom was gone, I missed her a lot," Jaqueline, 14, said. "I
love her a lot. I'm happy they stopped the deportation so she can stay
with us."
Fani Gonzalez said she told her story to get people to unite behind the cause of immigration reform.
"If it's just one person, nobody notices," she said. "If it's 10, a
few will notice. If it's a large group, people will notice we are
productive members of society. We are working here, united."
Ingrid wants toteach math when she grows up. Jaqueline wants to teach
English to those who struggle with it. Their mother wants to be here
long enough to see a change in the law that would allow the whole family
to achieve its American dreams.
In the western state of Jalisco, three police officers and four suspected drug gang members died in a shootout in the town of Tepatitlan, state prosecutors said.
The attorney general’s office said the gang involved in
Tuesday’s firefight had nine guns, including a .50-caliber rifle. Four
officers were recovering from wounds suffered in the shootout in the
town near the city of Guadalajara. Two others were released after
treatment and two were in stable condition at a hospital.
The region has been hit by bloody drug cartel turf battles, often involving the Jalisco New Generation gang.
In the border city of Matamoros, across from Brownsville, Texas, soldiers fatally shot four gunmen who attacked them, authorities said. Hours later, marines faced off with a group a group of assailants, killing three, the Tamaulipas state government said in a statement.
Matamoros is the long-time headquarters of the Gulf Cartel. Since early 2010, the cartel has been engaged in a bloody struggle with its former security guards, the Zetas, over lucrative drug routes along the eastern end of the Texas-Mexico border.
Also Wednesday, authorities in Michoacan state said the police chief of the town of Puruandiro was found shot to death by unidentified assailants on a roadway.
The chief, Jose Alfredo Magana Herrera, was driving his own sport utility vehicle when the attack occurred. Police did not see the assailants, but found 44 shell casings around the shot-up vehicle, mostly of the caliber used for assault rifles.
The dominant drug cartel in Michoacan, the Knights Templar cartel, has been involved in a running dispute with Jalisco New Generation. But the Knights Templar are also believed to have been involved in the killings of a number of police chiefs and other officials in Michoacan.
