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The Clowny Clown Clown Issue

Both Sides Now

I work in a diner. I came to New York after I had a little problem in my hometown.

There is an amusement park in Alberto Town, in the Mexican state of Hidalgo. It is run by Hñahñu Indians. There, instead of the usual merry-go-round or Ferris wheel, amusement takes a different turn: One can pretend for a couple of hours to be an illegal immigrant trying to get across the Mexico-US border. You will be chased for 11 miles; there will be gunshots, barbed-wire fences, cacti, sirens, shouting, running for cover, and even a theatrical death or two. And it only costs 25 bucks a head. It is a simulacrum of the “torturous travails of a

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crossing the border, with educational objectives,” as the park organizers explain it. Notwithstanding its educational and entertainment value “for the whole family (sometimes people even bring babies, like in real life),” the amusement park has been criticized by some as a training ground for people who are truly planning to get across the border. Others attack the place for treating lightly the terrifying ordeal that real immigrants go through in search of something a lot more basic than the American dream: just plain old food on the table and a roof over their families’ heads.

The theme park—even if it is in central Mexico, far from the real border—was inspired by real life. Alberto Town’s population has dwindled to a little over 200 (compared to an average of 2,000 in previous years) because its people started immigrating to the US en masse. A town council was formed and they decided on the strategy of gathering stories from people who have

been there

and

done that

, all while reviving an ecological park and guaranteeing steady income for their townsmen so they would no longer feel the need to cross the border for real. Almost 80 townspeople work there at the park, where they don their police uniforms or become masked coyotes for the tourists as soon as the sun goes down.

And the real thing? Quite a different experience. Each person lining up to go under the fence or squeeze inside the trunk of a car knows that it is all a catch-22 because even if you do make it, well, that means you will not see the family you are leaving behind in Mexico for the next 15 years or so. But even though you won’t be seeing them once you set up shop in New York, you sure will be paying them. Companies like Western Union (which charge high commissions for wiring money) know this and can confirm it as a cold fact. Latin American family loyalty is a $20-billion industry for wire services and in most Latin American countries it is one of the most important—if not THE most important—imports. Imagine that. Illegal immigrants in America earning minimum wage are sending back more money than their home countries are getting from tourism or local industry. Entire towns are being transformed from the money that is sent back monthly—and entire generations are missing from them, gone to America.

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You can be for or against all of this. You can go on and on about the browning of America. But come on—you can’t deny that it takes a whole lot of

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to run through the night in the only pair of jeans you were able to bring with you while you hope you don’t get shot only to end up in Brooklyn asking the next guy in line if he wants extra-crispy fries with his order.

Vice

recently talked to members of families that are on both sides of the border. Photographer Dulcé Pinzón shot the émigrés here in New York and then flew down to Mexico to see the people they left behind.

Toño, 35

New York

I work in a diner. I came to New York after I had a little problem in my hometown. Basically, I was put in jail when I was 20 years old because my 15-year-old girlfriend got pregnant, and her parents got really angry. They were so angry that they managed to throw me in jail even though we had already been living together for almost a year. I spent nine years locked up for this until I broke out. One night I heard a group of seven prisoners planning their escape. Among them was a doctor—he used to pay me to wash his dishes in prison. He was locked up because he had poisoned six women. They decided to include me in their group because I had overheard their plans. They also threatened to kill my family if I didn’t keep silent and go along with them. So we broke out. One of us got killed escaping, but the rest of us made it. I went to kiss my mother goodbye and then took off for the US. I paid a coyote $2,000 to get me over the border. I have been here for eight years now. It’s hard being away from my family but I’m happy and it is easier to make a decent living here if you are willing to work hard. And I do work hard. My parents spent all their money trying to get me out of jail, and I decided I would make it up to them. In the years since I have been here, I’ve sent them more than $40,000 so they could build a nice house—the one they had before was really ugly. It was made out of adobe. But now they have a really nice one, with real floors instead of dirt. It’s kind of strange I guess—I paid for a house that I have never been inside. In fact, I had never even seen the house until yesterday, when Dulcé showed me the pictures she took of my mother in Mexico. It had also been over ten years since I had seen a picture of my mother. I was so happy, so proud that I could finally pay my parents back and that my mother now lives in a really nice place. You should see the bathroom, it’s pretty sweet.

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My dad died already, and that’s sad because I never got to be in our new house with him. Hopefully I will be able to visit my mother in a few months. If I find a girlfriend maybe I will even stay in Mexico and live with her and my mother in this house. Fortunately the lawyers my parents hired have cleared up my legal problem back there, and now I can visit without worrying. It’s funny, thinking back about how we were and how we are now, knowing we have all made mistakes and will try to do better next time.

Doña Anerina, 74

Mexico

Most people in my town have relatives living in New York. Our families send us money every month. The town has really changed because of this. Before, we all used to live in badly constructed houses made out of adobe and wood; all the family lived in one room most of the time, and the bathrooms were just holes in the ground outside. But now it is different. All of my sons live in New York now. My son Toño sends me money, and so does my grandson Vicente. He is about 22 years old, and he is also like a son to me—especially because his mother left him with me when he was young, when she went to work across the border. So he grew up with me. He worries about me and sends me money to go see the doctor. I live with my grandson Lucas. He is 20 and he helps me with the crops.

It has been about eight years since I last saw Vicente, Toño, or my other sons. Toño lives in a little apartment with only one room and now I live in a big house. I have a white room where I keep my crops—beans and corn. I really like my new kitchen with my new stove. And the bathroom!

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Before we used to have to fill a metal tub with water we would warm with coal. But now we even have a bathroom for visitors. Life is much easier, you see, thanks to Toño and Vicente. I wish I could have visited them in their homes over there, but now it’s too late. I am 74 years old, and I couldn’t go to New York, even if I wanted to. I have worked very hard, and I bought the land I live on. That is another reason I wouldn’t go to New York—I think that I would cry every day if I couldn’t see my land and my town.

Mari, 62

New York

In Mexico we had a hard time earning enough to feed the family, so we came to see what life was like here. I really wanted to see New York—the tall buildings, the Twin Towers… though now the Twin Towers are gone. I was here when that happened. It was terrible. Everybody stayed really frightened for a long time and there were so many rumors about bombs in schools and on the subway. We started imagining bombs everywhere. It is all a bit calmer now, though underneath I think people still feel the danger.

I have been here for eight years, and we have managed to cross most of my family over the border. I clean houses and my husband works at a car wash. We both work six days a week. We live in a three-bedroom apartment in Brooklyn with all of our family—eight people in total. The only ones left in Mexico are my daughter Elizabeth and her three children. She also came for a while but went back because she had left the kids with her

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. We send her about $200 each week to help out with her living expenses since her husband is something of a bum. It has been about four long years since I visited Mexico. I don’t think we will be going back soon. Not even for a visit. Because the last time we went, when we were trying to return, we spent a month in Tijuana trying to cross. We got caught and deported three times before we made it back in, and on one occasion the coyote even lost one of our sons. We couldn’t find him for three days and we were really worried and sad until we managed to locate him. Since then we are frightened to go back for a visit. It was terrible when we couldn’t get back to our home in New York; our whole life is there now. Though when I am here I really miss the avocados, the Mexican mangos, and the nuts. I would like to return to Mexico someday, though that might not happen very soon because my youngest daughter is about to start college.

Elizabeth, 29

Mexico

I went to New York with my husband. We left our three children behind with his mother. It was really sad, really hard. I had never been away from them for more than a few hours, and there we were, leaving and not knowing when we were going to see them again. But it was also because of them that we left in the first place: to be able to give them a good life.

Crossing the border, we were in a group with 12 other people. I was scared. Images from movies kept popping into my head, full of bad possibilities. The coyote gathered us all around and explained the rules: We had to walk in a single line, if he said “Run” we had to run as fast as we could without stopping, if he said “Duck” we all had to duck and not show our heads until he told us it was safe to do so. He explained that one little mistake from one single person could get us all in trouble, so we had to do exactly what he said. When we got to the fence and started passing underneath it, I felt like I was dreaming the whole thing. It was so strange. We started at 11 PM and we walked for eight hours. At one time we saw a patrol car from afar but we hid and he didn’t catch us. Luckily there were big bushes around. When we got to our first destination the coyote made a call from his cell phone. An hour later we heard whistles and two cars drove up and we were packed into them. My husband had to ride in the trunk with three other men. They took us to San Diego, and from there we flew to New York.

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Once there I couldn’t find a job. I admit that I was scared to even leave the apartment. I felt I would get lost in the streets or changing trains on the subways. I didn’t speak English—I only knew the names of colors and could only count up to a certain number, which didn’t help much, of course. I finally got a job at a record store, but I left quickly because the boss took advantage of our illegal status and wouldn’t pay us. Then I got a job at a tortillería owned by Mexicans. But I was not good at all when it came to arranging the tortillas the way they have to be and so I quit. Then I got a job at a factory, ironing figures onto t-shirts and jackets. The people there were quite mean, always shouting at us, and I couldn’t stand it so I left there as well. After that I got a job at a restaurant. I almost quit on the first day because it went really badly. But I decided that I would not let it beat me. I stuck it out. It was a turning point in my life. I ended up being the manager of the place a few years later. I wasn’t beat that time.

Then, after almost two years we came back to Mexico to get our kids, but we were unable to cross the border again. We tried several times until we decided to turn back and stay at home. I miss my family in New York a lot. They send us money to help with our living expenses. We are all very close.

Bernabé, 35

New York

I have been in New York for 15 years. I have three kids that were born here, so they are American citizens. I hope to soon have my papers too. I have been cleaning windows for eight years now. I strap myself to a harness and swing from window to window. The highest window I have ever cleaned was on the 35th floor. I was a little bit frightened but you get accustomed quickly. New York looks really beautiful from above, more so than from the streets.

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I live in the Bronx with my children, wife, a cousin, and two friends. I talk to my family in Mexico once a week. I send them pictures when I can, and I send them money every month. They send us videos of Mexico so our children can grow up knowing what it is like there. The last time I saw my parents was eight years ago. The thing is, it takes a lot of money to go down there. Getting out of the country is easy: You pay for your plane ticket and that is that. But to get back in? Well, that’s another story. Last time we went, to get back to our home in New York, my wife and I crossed through the desert and we also paid a woman to fly into the US with our children, since they have papers. In total we spent more than $7,000 for the trip, which is a lot of money. So no, we don’t go often. It is expensive and risky. But I do miss the tranquility of Mexico. Life is too fast here. And you can only get good Mexican food in Mexico.

Minerva, 32

Mexico

My older brother was the first to leave for the US. He was only 15. And now he comes and goes as he likes; he doesn’t even pay the coyote anymore because he already knows the roads like the palm of his hand. I, on the other hand, will never go back to the US unless I can do it legally. Maybe it’s my age, but it frightens me to death to think I would have to do that kind of thing again—running through the desert at night, avoiding police… No, no. Not anymore. The first time I crossed the border I was 19 years old. It was difficult even then. I was really cold and scared. I lost a shoe in the middle of nowhere and at one point I got so desperate that the guide had to lead me by the arm so I would have the courage to go on. I crossed over with two of my cousins—the oldest one was 25. And then, days later, I finally made it to New York. I didn’t like it at all so I only stayed a few months. The second time I crossed I was 24. A friend of mine had a Chicano boyfriend and he convinced us to cross over together. My parents’ economic situation was really difficult so I decided to go to New York again to find a job and give them a hand. My dream was to buy my father a car, right out of the agency, smelling like new. I also wanted to build them a house because ugly houses depress me. So I told my friend I would go with her. Supposedly the boyfriend was going to help us but he had no idea about anything. The guide he hired crossed us over a river in Matamoros and then demanded his money and just left us there. It turned out that there were still two security checkpoints we had to go past. It was quite an ordeal, right out of a movie, but we were lucky. That time I spent seven years in New York. It went very well, though it was also an intense experience. I worked seven days a week and held several jobs: babysitting, cleaning houses and offices, jobs here and there… And after the first two years I became really homesick and I decided that I needed to return to Mexico. The people I was babysitting for—really nice people—told me they would hold my job for me if I decided to return to New York, which in the end I did after only two months because when I got to Mexico I realized the situation was truly awful. My family had big debts, the house I was helping build with the money I was sending was still under construction, I had to finish paying for the car I had bought for my father, and I couldn’t get a decent job to do so. That time I got back into the US squeezed in with three other girls in the trunk of a limo. Since I was the skinnier one I laid on top of the other women for hours, hot and nervous and uncomfortable.

One year and two months ago, I finally came back to Mexico for good. I came back because I got sick; I was so overworked. I was in the hospital for several days and I had no visitors. I felt really lonely and started asking myself if all my sacrifices were worth the price. I decided I had to take better care of myself, to have some time off. I had left with the goal of helping my family, and I had. But there I was, 30 already, and without a husband or a boyfriend.

So here I am. Back in Mexico. I thought I would be really happy when I finally returned, but it has also been really hard. Yes, I had a three-story house that was built with the money I sent. My dad has his car, the pickup truck he always wanted. But since I got back I haven’t been able to get a decent job. What they pay for a week’s work I could have gotten for a few hours babysitting in New York. I have been living off my savings but now it’s almost gone. It is tough. I also realized that after being independent for so many years I was back to living with my parents. And my brothers and sisters got accustomed to me being the one who helped my parents most since they have families of their own and are barely able to cover their own costs. My two brothers who are in the US are helping out now, as much as they can. I am tired of being Super-Mimi, of taking care of everybody except myself. What I would really like to do is be a kindergarten teacher with normal working hours. I really like kids. But you need a degree to do that. So I am not sure what I will be doing in the next months, when my money finally runs out.