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Wednesday, March 19, 2008 - The Michigan Daily
VOICes from the The hope, fear and isolation of
CA , gthe city'simmigrant workers
baci i ntehRo ise Dail StfWie
B Mara Gay
ucked into a booth at Amer's
Deli on State Street, a 22-
year-old man pours over
notes for a coming English
exam. Armed with a black
iPod and a good dose of
caffeine, he fits right in with the students
studying around him.
But for Emigdio, study sessions are dif-
ferent from those of the other students' in
the caf6. They're wedged between long
shifts at a local restaurant and weighted
down by a question - given his status as an
illegal immigrant - of how much they will
even matter.
Since illegally immigrating to the United
States from Mexico two years ago, Emigdio
- who agreed to be interviewed only if just
his middle name was used - has come to
wear many hats, from illegal alien, to cook,
to college student.
For Emigdio, Ann Arbor is a lesson in
contradictions. There is great opportu-
nity, but also constant fear and instability,
simple facts of life for an immigrant "with-
out papers." And, largely because he works
almost constantly - nine hours a day, six
days a week - there is loneliness too.
It's a fascinating story, but not a very
unique one, according to immigrant advo-
cates, English-as-a-second-language
instructors and immigrants themselves.
Ann Arbor draws scores of immigrants
from Central and Latin America. While
even a rough estimate of the number of
immigrants - legal and otherwise - is hard
to come by, the area's robust service indus-
try and wealth of colleges and universities
has become known as an attractive destina-
tion for immigrants looking for jobs.
Despite working at almost every restau-
rant near campus, the city's large number
of immigrant workers are rarely noticed by
the University students they serve. Their
presence is known only through snippets of
Spanish heard from a kitchen or in a recog-
nizable face behind the counter at a South
University Avenue restaurant.
"For some (University) students, it is
difficult to consider that there are illegal
immigrants here," LSA sophomore Tiernan
Seaver said. "They think, 'We're in Michi-
gan. How would they have gotten all the
way here?'"
Seaver, who teaches English to Spanish-
speaking immigrants at The Washtenaw
County Workers' Center, an organization
that works for fair treatment of immigrant
workers, said her students have taught her
about the challenges they face in moving to
Ann Arbor. These workers come here for
the same reason University students do - to
make a better future for themselves, but on
their own dime and with no support from
the government.
Emigdio embodies that parallel struggle.
For the young student, Ann Arbor is a place
where he can work and study at the same
time, albeit not easily. He had planned to
go to college at home in Mexico, but his par-
ents, farmers from the small town of Atlix-
co, had other ideas.
"They didn't think education was that
important," Emigdio said.
Of his parents' six children, he is the only
one who completed high school. The oth-
ers have just third-grade educations. When
Emigdio told his family he wanted to con-
tinue with school, his father said he would
not provide anything for Emigdio's univer-
sity tuition. "No more education for you,"
Emigdio recalled his father telling him.
lyn restaurant, he washed dishes six days a
week, seventeen hours a day to earn $300 a
week in cash.
Emigdio knew he was being exploited,
but said he had little choice in the matter at
the time.
"I told my friend at work,'I don'tlike this
job.' But he said, 'We're Mexican. We have
to work,' " Emigdio said. "I said, 'Yes, I'm
Mexican. But that doesn't mean I'm going to
work like an animal.' So I just quit."
Residential College Prof Ian Robinson,
who is the interim chair of the Workers
Center, said that the kind of abuse experi-
enced by immigrant workers is similar to
the abuse of low-wage workers, in general.
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Emigdio's cousin in Brooklyn suggested
he come to the United States, where more
jobs are available and he could go to school.
So Emigdio left. He crossed the border to
a small Texas town and made his way to
Brooklyn, where he worked before arriving
in Ann Arbor last year.
The trip across the border, shrouded
in mystery even for Emigdio, who did not,
know what town in Texas he first entered,
took three weeks and cost Emigdio $3,000
dollars in cash upfront. First, Emigdio said
the people trying to cross were broken up
into small groups. They walked for three
hours through the desert. Just as he was
about to cross the border he was stopped
by thieves and robbed. "They threw us up
against the fence and looked for anything
we had on us," he said.
When the group made it across the bor-
der, they waited an hour until a van came
and drove them to a safe house. Another van
arrived to take them to Phoenix, and then
Las Vegas. Finally, they flew to New York
where family members met him.
Emigdio's journey is exhausting by any
standard, but it takes some people a couple
of tries before they can immigrate success-
fully. Gonzales, a Mexican immigrant work-
er in Ann Arbor who asked to be known by
only his middle name because of his illegal
status, was twice caught and sent back to
Mexico while trying to immigrate.
"I walked across the border with eight
guys from my town," Gonzales said. "There
are helicopters, cars, lights everywhere.
You had to hide all day long without enough
water or food."
For Emigdio though, crossing the border
was the easy part. For the better part of a
year, he worked one dismally paid job after
another in New York City. In one Brook-
"In some cases, employers decide that a
population of workers without documenta-
tion is easier to manipulate," Robinson said.
"But there are also minorities - non-immi-
grant students - who are being manipu-
lated as well."
Robinson said that white University stu-
dents often get hired to work in the "front of
the house," the area in the restaurant where
workers interact with customers. Thesejobs
are better paid than those in the kitchen, or
"the back of the house," which restaurants
often staff with undocumented immigrants
and minority students.
Still, because they often live under the
constant fear of deportation, illegal immi-
grants are especially vulnerable to work-
place mistreatment. Gonzales, for example,
said his boss practically laughed at him
when he asked for a raise.
"I asked for more money and he said,
'How can you ask for more money? You
don't have papers,"' Gonzales said.
Gonzales said that once when he was
working in the kitchen of Miki, an Ann
Arbor Japanese restaurant, he dropped a
sharp sushi knife and sliced his leg open.
Though he was bleeding so profusely that
his shoe pooled with blood, he was not
offered medical attention or even allowed to
leave work until he fainted from blood loss.
Gonzales said when he awoke, he called
Laura Sanders, his girlfriend of three years
and a lecturer in the School of Social Work,
to take him to the hospital. When she saw
the extent of the injury, Sanders said she
was shocked and angry.
"You would rush your dog to the hospi-
tal," she said.
Kevin Choi, Miki's manager, says that no
such event happened at the restaurant, and
that when workers get hurt at Miki they are
sent to the hospital right away.
"We even cover the hospital cost," Choi
said. He also described the restaurant's
workers' compensation policy, which he
said covers hospital in the event of an on-
the-job injury.
Juan, who would only give his first
name, is an immigrant worker trying to get
through college like Emigdio. He said he
has also endured unfair treatment in the
work place.
"They make you do things nobody else
would do in a restaurant," he said. "They
know you're scared and that you're not sup-
posed to work."
Simply having legal status, however, does
not make the challenges of being a cash-
strapped immigrant - or student - disap-
pear.
Although Juan came to Ann Arbor legally
with a student visa to attend Eastern Michi-
gan University, his legal status still came
with red tape that hindered his ability to
work his way through school. After arriv-
ing in Ann Arbor with just $150 dollars in
his pocket, Juan knew that he would have to
work more than the hours his visa allowed
him to in order to make ends meet and pay
for school.
Juan and a couple of friends went door-
to-door looking for jobs. A pizza place in
town hired the three men and gave them
alternating shifts. But soon, Juan said, he
realized he wasn't getting enough shifts to
pay for his classes.
"I needed to find another job so I learned
the word 'job' and 'I need a job.' That was
the only English I knew then, but you figure
things out - your instincts work," he said.
Juan, who already had a bachelor's
degree from a university in Venezuela, did
find a better job in the same restaurant
Emigdio works.
"In (the restaurant), customers are
great," Juan said. "Sometimes you don't feel
like you're waiting on them."
Today, Juan speaks fluent English and
plans to graduate this spring from East-
ern Michigan University with a bachelor's
degree in electronic media and film.
The University has no official policy
regarding the enrollment of undocumented
immigrants. And while students must pro-
vide a Social Security number in order to
enroll, one administrator said the Univer-
sity would have no way of verifying that
information. Still, attending the University
- or any four-year institution - is expen-
sive, and little or no financial aid is available
to non-citizens.
Back in New York last year, a college
education seemed farther away than ever
for Emigdio. Following a tip from a friend,
Emigdio moved to Ann Arbor to pursue the
first step: learning English.
A little over a year ago Emigdio moved in
with his friend in an apartment on Pauline
Boulevard. He landed a job washing dishes
for $7.80 an hour in a local restaurant and
began taking English classes at Washt-
enaw Community College. Although he
earns about $800 dollars a month - bare-
ly enough, Emigdio said, to pay for living
expenses and one college class - he said he
is treated well where he works.
His first year in Ann Arbor was not an
easy one. When his friend and roommate
returned home to Mexico, Emigdio had
to move into in a two-bedroom apartment
with seven other men.
Seaver, who teaches English to immi-
grants at the Workers' Center, said such
living arrangements are common among
recent immigrants. She said some Ann
Arbor restaurants house their workers in
a single home where they pay cheaper rent
than they otherwise would be able to find
on their own. Such situations, however, can
be exploitative, because restaurants will
sometimes offer discounted housing rates
in exchange for even cheaper labor.
But Emigdio said that he is willing to
endure such challenges for the quality of
life he's already made substantial strides
toward attaining.
"Sometimes you have to sacrifice things
to make a life," he said.
He is ambitious. Soon, he expects to be a
server, a job that will bring in more money
and make it easier for him to pay for college
classes.
"I said to myself, 'I want to be a cook,'"
he said. "Then, nine months later, I was a
cook. Then I said,'I wantto be a server.' So I
bused tables for seven months and now I'm
going to be a server. Next, I'm going to be a
teacher."
Butseveral obstacles, many ofthem legal,
hamper Emigdio's day-to-day and long-
term pursuit of his goal. He had hoped to
get a car and a driver's license so he could
save time commuting between school and
work. But a new interpretation of a state law
last year has made it nearly impossible for
illegal immigrants to get a driver's license
by making applicants prove Michigan citi-
zenship or present a temporary visa.
"Most important right now is that I buy a
car and get a driver's license," Emigdio said.
"Once I heard the new about restrictions for
illegal immigrants though, I thought, 'Now
I won't be able to buy a car.' Everything
changed."
For illegal immigrants, simply applying
for a drivers' license, driving a car to work
or opening a bank account can be risky
behavior.
Seaver said illegal immigrants often live
in a state of perpetual fear.
"There's this constant stress of, 'I'm ille-
gal. Something could happen to me at any
minute,' "she said. "It's a stressful life."
The impact on their daily lives of the
nation's current debate over immigration
policy is not lost on Emigdio and other
immigrants.
"All my hopes are there in the election,"
Emigdio said.
Both he and Juan said they have been
watching this year's presidential election
closely, hoping that Sen. Barack Obama -
who supports a path to legal status for most
of the nation's illegal immigrants - takes
the show.
"I follow the elections every day," Juan
said. "I read every newspaper, every day,
even though it's not my country. I like every
little thing (Obama) says."
While Emigdio's main concerns are fund-
ing his education and getting around legal
obstacles, the most constantly straining
aspect of his life might be an overwhelming
sense of loneliness.
Becoming friends with other workers is
difficult, Emigdio said, because few of them
are trying to learn English, go to school or
make a life here like he is. Most Ann Arbor
immigrants from Central and Latin Amer-
ica, he said, plan to work and eventually
return home.
"It's really hard to find a best friend or
Latino friend," he said. "They just care
about making money."
When he's not at work, Emigdio said he
can often be found reading in the down-
town Borders. Pulling out his new iPod, he
showed off his latest read: Mitch Albom's
"For One More Day."
Gonzales said his first restaurant job was
incredibly isolating.
"Home and work, home and work," he
said. "I didn't even have a car, so on my
day off I just looked out the window and
watched the cars go by. I was bored."
But Gonzales said Ann Arbor, with the
University and the restaurants' colorful
student clientele, often provides an engag-
ing atmosphere.
"I had a lot of customers who are stu-
dents," he said. "They were always tryingto
get me to sake bomb with them, but I don't
drink."
Robinson, the Worker's Center director,
said he thinks students - especially minori-
ties - could accomplish a lot for immigrant
and minority workers' interests inthe work-
place if they organized together.
"Really, if we're going to make any head-
way, it's going to require students working
with non-students, people of color work-
ing with white people, and women working
with men," he said.
Seaver also encourages students to think
about the way Ann Arbor's restaurants treat
their employees,offeringasimplesuggestionfor
improving the experiences of immigrantwork-
ers: "Be friendly to the people who are giving
you pizza,"she said."Have a conversation."