Embed Size (px)
Citation preview
he young woman climbed into a van with a man shehad paid $6,500 to take her out of El Salvador and
smuggle her into the United States.Destination? Columbus, where her brothers settled a
few years ago to work.Maria’s journey began just after immigration reform
imploded in Congress.She crossed undetected in July 2007 and quickly learned that
her new way of life is full of contradictions.She and others working here illegally can pay into Social Se-
curity but can’t collect benefits if they are disabled, retire or die.They can collect workers’ compensation benefits if they are
injured on the job but can’t legally work.They can play the lottery but can’t collect jackpots.They can open a bank account but can’t take out a home
mortgage without valid identification.They can buy a car and register it but can’t have a driver’s
Tougher enforcement turns up heat on illegal immigrants
DIVIDEAMERICAN
THE IMMIGRATIONCRACKDOWN
By Jill Riepenhoff and Stephanie CzekalinskiTHE COLUMBUS DISPATCH
18 MILLIONForeign-born Hispanic residentsof the United States — roughlythe population of California
9 MILLIONHispanic immigrants living illegal-ly in the country — an estimateclose to the population of Ohio
1,267 State and local immigration laws introducednationally this year
300,000Babies — automatic U.S.citizens — born annually tomothers living here illegally
Sources: Pew Hispanic Center, National Conference of State Legislatures
BACKLASH IN THE HEARTLAND
TODAY: Federal inactionprompts local action.MONDAY: Federal agen-cies unable to identifyundocumented workers.TUESDAY: Free medicalcare fuels debate.WEDNESDAY: Someviolent immigrants staywhile others are deported.
09-07-08 PAGE G1
GINSIGHT�
SUNDAYSEPTEMBER 7, 2008
Dispatch.com/web
Online
FEWER MOVE TO ISRAELGovernor deserves credit | G4
Our opinion
MISTAKE AVERTEDComing Monday at Dispatch.com/web
Russia resurges
You asked; we’ll answer: Catherine Burns of Columbus
wrote: “I have wondered why thecolor photos are sometimes so‘smeary,’ like the page slippedwhen they are printing all the
different colors.This has beengoing on too longfor it to be just afluke. If my pic-ture came outlike that, I wouldbe really un-happy.”
This is a fre-quent question,and one we wishdidn’t have to beasked. Our goalis to provide
tack-sharp images on every page. “In the course of a nightly press
run, producing anywhere from80,000 to 120,000 papers per hour,there are many complex and chal-lenging things that happen at avery fast pace,” said Steve Hoff-man, our printing director.
“To meet the objective of gettingas much timely news as possibleand delivery to our customers asearly as possible, production isoften squeezed in the middle.”
The most frequent problemoccurs immediately after two rollsof newsprint are spliced together(we use 70 to 80 rolls every week-night). The tension in the paperchanges at that moment, creatinga slight “jump” and causing somepapers to be out of register.
For quality control, the pressesautomatically trash the first 10papers after a splice. Sometimes,though, the pressroom must adjustthe plates to get them back intoregister. If we stopped the pressesevery time the plates shifted a hairout of register, our papers wouldn’tarrive at your door until muchlater.
Other times, Hoffman said, theplates used to print the paper (fourseparate plates for each full-colorpage) shift slightly as they rotate25,000 to 30,000 times an hour.The slightest shift will make for ablurry photo. As soon as it is dis-covered, the presses are stoppedand a new plate is made.
Kim McNeely of Pickeringtontook issue with the details con-tained in an Aug. 23 story aboutthe death of an infant left in asweltering van.
“The death of an infant is verysad, and I think we would all agreethat the manner in which thisinfant died was absolutely hor-rible. I personally did not need toknow the gut-wrenching details ofhow her mother found her ‘red andblistered,’ how ‘her tiny handswere clenched into fists,’ ... or how‘unfortunately, we know she didsuffer.’
“It absolutely sickens me tothink that people would actuallywant to read this kind of ‘news,’”McNeely wrote, adding that sensa-tionalism is too common today.
The story, written by a reporterat The Cincinnati Enquirer, wasgraphic. It was disturbing.
We didn’t tone it down, becausethe problem persists. As parents,we need to understand what hap-pens when a child is left in a car.It’s not a peaceful death. It’s likebeing left in an oven.
We didn’t give the story promi-nence (it ran on page 3 of Metro &State) because we wanted to besensitive and not sensationalizethe tragedy. Sometimes, however,the truth is disturbing. We try tostrike a balance between goodtaste and plain truth.
Former copy editor Ed Safranekof Albany wrote: “Your recentheadline, ‘GOP back on track’ inthe Sept. 3 issue … was opinion ona news story that did not supportthe headline. It is true that partymembers believe the GOP is backon track, but to state that as a factis terrible headline writing.”
Had that been the only headlinetext with that story, I’d agree com-pletely with Safranek. But the restof the headline explained that theRepublican National Conventionwas back on schedule after beingsidetracked by Hurricane Gustav.
Benjamin J. Marrison is editor ofThe Dispatch. You can read hisblog at dispatch.com/blogs.
THE INSIDE STORY
Sometimes,press speedblurs photos
B E N J A M I N J .M A R R I S O N
TULSA, Okla. — Even thoseused to powerful gusts here intornado alley weren’t preparedfor what happened when therhetoric swirling around im-migration touched down as law.
Some were swept up in un-expected consequences, hassledwith more paperwork and longerlines to receive an identificationcard or bounced from statemedical rolls.
Many others were blown outof town, even out of state.
Estimates indicate that up to25,000 Latinos have fled TulsaCounty, and an unknown num-ber have left the state sinceDemocratic Gov. Brad Henrysigned one of the nation’s tough-
est immigration laws in May2007. (Mississippi, South Car-olina and other states haveenacted similar laws.)
“That was the purpose,” saidstate Rep. Randy Terrill, a Re-publican from Moore who wrotethe law, which took effect Nov. 1.“It’s attrition through an en-forcement approach to solvingillegal immigration.”
Latino advocates, however,describe a subsequent climateof fear and racism that’s as pal-pable as the relentless wind thatsweeps across this heartlandstate.
“You don’t have to be un-documented to feel as if you’retargeted by this law,” said theRev. Julian Rodriguez, a U.S.
Latinos flee Oklahoma; new law hits others, tooBy Todd JonesTHE COLUMBUS DISPATCH
LEONARDO CARRIZO FOR THE DISPATCH
Leticia, whose husband is undocumented, works inTulsa as a nurse at a health service. The number ofits Hispanic clients has declined.
Taking the leadAs Oklahoma goes, sogoes Ohio? Last year,states enacted 240state immigration laws— nearly triple thetotal of 2006. Thenation’s toughest lawtook effect in Oklaho-ma, and Ohio nowhas a bill pending thatwould mimic thatcrackdown. The Dis-patch sent a reporterand photographer toOklahoma for a lookat the consequencesfor illegal immigrantsand U.S. citizens.
See OKLAHOMA Page G3
T
Maria, an immigrant from El Salvador, lives, drives and works in the shadows of Columbus. Last year, she entered the United States illegally.
See IMMIGRANTS Page G2
DORAL CHENOWETH III DISPATCH
PubDate: 09-07-08 Page: 1 G Edition: 1 Replate: User: mfisher Color:CMYK
09-07-08 PAGE G3
� G3InsightTHE COLUMBUS DISPATCH SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 7, 2008BREAKING NEWS: DISPATCH.COM
largely presidential politics. It’s awedge issue,” said Escudero, a first-generation American who heads theOhio Latino affairs commission.
But he views the current crop ofget-tough proposals — especiallyCombs’ bill — as “just evil.”
Escudero, 34, now finds himself inan awkward position. As the commis-sion’s leader, he is expected to advisethe governor and lawmakers of thepros and cons of bills affecting Lati-nos, not to advocate for them or rallyagainst them.
But as one of only two high-rank-ing Latino officials in state govern-ment (Public Safety Director HenryGuzman is the other), Escuderostruggles to remain neutral.
His parents emigrated legally fromMexico in 1968 and settled in Mans-field. Escudero moved to Columbus,graduated from Ohio State and pub-lished a bilingual newspaper for threeyears.
Polished and poised, Escudero rosequickly to a position of authority instate government. He is the mostinfluential Latino in legislative cir-cles.
He couches his comments aboutthe crackdown bills with phrasessuch as “in my opinion” or “this isjust me talking,” but he can’t help butinch away from that middle groundon Combs’ bill.
“This isn’t just about attacking aminority of a minority,” he said. “It’sabout racist overtones.”
Take, for example, the provisionthat would cut access to college foranyone living here illegally.
“Do we really want a bunch ofhigh-school dropouts living in ourcountry?” Escudero said. “Whathappened to the Judeo-Christian
tradition that you don’t hold thechildren accountable for the sins oftheir fathers? It wasn’t the child’s faulthe was brought here.”
The immigrantFrom El Salvador, Maria slipped
through Guatemala and into Mexico.Her smuggler zigzagged across
Mexico, evading or bribing the au-thorities who could send her home.
Maria and 200 other Latin Amer-icans in her group walked across thehilly scrub land that separates Mex-ico and Arizona. She headed forColumbus.
She came with dreams to finishcollege and launch a career.
By most standards, Maria lived a
comfortable life in Central America,in a middle-class neighborhood. Shetaught children with AIDS. She at-tended college. She worked as a loanofficer.
But the credit crunch that sucker-punched the U.S. economy also hurtEl Salvador. Her income from thebank virtually evaporated, as didprospects for future financial stabil-ity.
Maria decided that she would giveherself six years in Ohio to make it.
“After that time, if my life isn’tchanged, and there isn’t a chancethings will change (politically), may-be I’ll consider” leaving, she said.
For now, she works to erase the$2,000 debt she owes the smuggler.
She works double shifts at a restau-rant earning $3.50 an hour plus tipsbefore taxes are deducted. Customersunwittingly teach her bits of Englishas they talk among themselves.
She’d like to attend college butknows it’s unlikely. Few schools allowsomeone without a Social Securitynumber or a visa to enroll. Somecharge tuition at international-stu-dent rates, which can be triple theamount for an Ohio resident.
Maria’s life in Columbus is typicalof those who steal over the border orstay after their government visasexpire.
She’s rarely at ease. She drives herbrother’s car with insurance butwithout a license. She doesn’t travel
far, though, because she’s afraid ofthe police. She tries not to draw at-tention to herself.
“I’ve seen some people who look atyou like you might not have papers,but what can you do?” Maria said.
Maria doesn’t like flouting U.S.laws.
Twice, she applied for a touristvisa. Twice, the U.S. denied her entry.
“I try to do things the right way,”she said. “But if you don’t give peoplea way to do things without breakingthe law, what do you expect them todo?”
A Quinnipiac University survey lastfall found that 55 percent of Ohioanswant the government to give people achance to live and work legally ifthey’ve been in the country illegallyfor at least two years.
But 38 percent had another mess-age: Go home.
[email protected]@dispatch.com
DORAL CHENOWETH III DISPATCH
Maria, who lives here illegally, works double shifts at a restaurant, earning $3.50 an hour before taxes.
Continued from Page G2
Each installment of American Divide | TheImmigration Crackdown can be found atwww.dispatch.com and in Spanish atwww.dispatchespanol.com, and will bepublished in Spanish during the next fourweeks in the free weekly newspaperFronteras de la Noticia.
ON TVThe staffers who produced this series willdiscuss their findings today on WBNS-10TVand ONN-TV. Both segments will air initial-ly during the stations’ 7 a.m. newscasts.Fronteras editor Stephanie Czekalinskiand 10TV anchor Chuck Strickler discussthe project in Spanish online at 10TV.com,Dispatch.com and DispatchEspanol.com.
citizen who moved from Mexico in1983.
The fallout — intended and unin-tended — gives Ohio lawmakersmuch to consider as they decidewhether to follow Oklahoma’s lead.
The law makes it a felony to trans-port, conceal, harbor or shelter illegalimmigrants.
Strict enforcement of identificationand paperwork requirements hascaused headaches for many citizens.No one predicted longer lines anddelays for obtaining or renewing adriver’s license.
No one anticipated that nearly6,000 people — mostly nonimmi-grants — would be dropped fromSoonerCare, the state Medicaid pro-gram. Of those removed in Decem-ber, 58 percent were white and 62percent were children. They failed toprovide all of the required new paper-work to prove legal residence.
Few foresaw that immigrantswould become easier targets forcriminals, who know they’ll be reluc-tant to contact authorities for fear ofdeportation.
Despite such unintended conse-quences, Oklahoma’s anti-immigra-tion crackdown has been wildly pop-ular in polls since the legislationsailed through the state’s Republican-dominated legislature.
“It’s working great, bud; it really is,”said Dan Howard, founder of Out-raged Patriots, an Oklahoma-basedWeb site focusing on immigration.
Business organizations, however,have joined a legal challenge to thelaw filed by the U.S. Chamber ofCommerce. An Oklahoma federaljudge issued a preliminary injunctionblocking enforcement of job-relatedparts of the new law that were sched-uled to take effect this summer, andsaid it is “substantially likely” the lawis unconstitutional.
The law’s other provisions remainin effect.
Enforcement varies from commu-nity to community. Most agree thatTulsa has become the epicenter of thecrackdown in a state where immi-grants have accounted for nearly 30percent of the population growth inthe past eight years.
Oklahoma’s Latino population hasjumped nearly 45 percent since 2000and is now about 7 percent of the 3.6million residents. The Pew HispanicCenter estimated in 2006 that 75,000were living illegally in the state.
For many Latinos living in Oklaho-ma — legally or illegally — the lawhas caused pain.
“We’ve lost the sense of belonging,”said Sebastian Lantos, a Tulsa Demo-crat seeking to become the first His-panic elected to the state legislature.
If anything, Oklahoma’s contro-versial law has reinforced the wallsbetween its critics and proponents.
“Other than the threat of terrorism,illegal immigration may be the big-gest threat facing this nation,” Terrillsaid. “The future of the republic maydepend on it.”
. . .The gray-haired grandmother was
set to call her meeting to order butfirst wanted to make somethingknown about her nonpartisan lobby-ing group: Immigration Reform forOklahoma Now.
“We don’t get into abortion andgays and all that,” Carol Helm said.
“It’s just the illegal alien invasion andthe cost of that issue.”
She had photocopied articles,papers from Terrill and memorizedstatistics at her disposal, including anestimate by the Federation for Amer-ican Immigration Reform that Okla-homa spends $207 million a year inpublic funds for illegal immigrants.
The nonprofit immigration reformgroup based in Washington, D.C.,came up with its figure by applyingstudies of nine other states to itsestimate of 83,000 illegal immigrantsin Oklahoma.
The state does not have its ownestimated total cost of services forillegal immigrants.
“It’s about the money, money,money, money, money,” said Helm,65, who created her group five yearsago after “an invader” killed a cowbelonging to her relatives. “We citi-zens can’t continue to have our taxesraised to subsidize them.”
No opposing views were heard inthe next 90 minutes at the Tulsa City-County Library as the group held itsmonthly meeting in April. All 17 at-tendees were white senior citizens,most in blue jeans, brought togetherin a small, windowless room.
“We have chaos,” said Bill Kohl, 81,of Tulsa.
The seniors spoke of disaster, trav-esty, threats and a derelict federalgovernment.
“We haven’t talked about nationalsecurity, letting all those unknownscome in,” said Charlene Fholer, 71, ofTulsa.
A woman said that immigrants are“having children, children and chil-dren. We Caucasians are not. Prettysoon, they’re going to outnumber us.That’s what they’re working on.”
The group vented about immi-grants not wanting to assimilate andhow they’re eroding the city’s culture.
“When you tolerate lawlessness,then that breeds more lawlessness,”said Richard “Top” Winters, 80. “It’saccepted in Mexico and other plac-es.”
The Tulsa resident stood up anddeclared that Oklahoma “must keepthese jackasses from having driver’slicenses.”
By meeting’s end, with emotionssurging, members were talking overone another.
. . .The Rev. Julian Rodriguez’s flock of
worshipers, about 20 on this weekdayevening, knelt in prayer inside a ce-ment church near a Tulsa Interna-tional Airport runway.
The pastor of Iglesia Eficaz, anAssembly of God church, stood out-side and sighed as the sun set. “Thisparticular law is an attack on unity,”he said. “It’s easy to scapegoat His-panics and say this is the reason whywe have problems.”
Extreme voices of dissent shoutabout “ethnic cleansing” and “Gesta-po tactics,” but softer words screamlouder about fear.
Pam Herrera, 24, refuses to make aturn in her car if a police officer isbehind her.
“I just go straight so I don’t have touse my signal,” said the health clinicworker. “I feel like they’re followingme around, waiting for me to dosomething wrong.”
And Herrera is a U.S. citizen.Rey Saldierna, too, is a citizen, as
are his wife and daughter, a Marine.The carpenter has lived in the coun-try for 28 years, the past nine in Tulsa.He talked about selling his house andmoving to Texas.
“My wife and I want to be some-where where we feel welcomed,”Saldierna said. “I can feel racism insome places here, and I didn’t be-fore.”
Julio Reiguero knew he wasn’twelcome because he sat in the TulsaCounty jail. After living in Columbusfor six months, the Mexican citizenreturned to Tulsa in December for aconstruction job.
Arrested in March and chargedwith driving under the influence, heawaited deportation from a country
he’s lived in for nine years.“We want to be here on good
terms, but there’s no way you can getyour (documentation) papers,” saidReiguero, one of 1,173 immigrantsdetained at the Tulsa County jail inthe first eight months after the lawtook effect. “If it wasn’t so difficult,everybody would try to get theirpapers.”
Across town, three families fromRodriguez’s congregation fled Okla-homa when the immigration lawpassed. Others have gone under-ground. They used to squeeze in 200people for a typical Sunday ceremo-ny. Now, about 100 attend.
Rodriguez canceled the all-nightFriday prayer meetings because hedidn’t want his congregation out past10 p.m. for fear that some would bepicked up by the police and deported.
He sold the church’s van becausehe feared he’d be arrested for drivingillegal immigrants.
He has five children of his own, butsince the law passed, he has taken onpower of attorney for another 50children from his church, all citizensborn to illegal immigrant parents.
. . .Irony abounded one spring morn-
ing at the Oklahoma Capitol: A crewof Latino workers tended to flowerbeds on the lawn of the Statehouse —a building with a Native Americanstatue on top and lawmaking de-scendants of European immigrantsinside.
And in that building, the Repub-lican who hand-wrote the law target-ing immigrants painted some asthugs and killers as he sat a few milesfrom where home-grown terroristTimothy McVeigh killed 168 people byblowing up the Alfred P. Murrah Fed-eral Building in 1995.
“How do you put a money figure onillegal aliens, not supposed to be herein the first place, when they rape, robor murder one of our citizens?” saidTerrill, who has been called “El Dia-blo” (the devil) by some Latino critics.
His passion poured forth in twohours, with taps on a wooden tablefor emphasis.
Terrill said he was “tickled pink”that his state is the “tip of the spear”for immigration reform. He’s pleasedthat Ohio and other states are usingthe Oklahoma law as a model, eventhough he has been attacked withhate mail and threatening telephonecalls to his home, his likeness hasbeen the target of darts at a Latinofair, and his campaign signs havebeen defaced.
The new law “does not care whatyour skin color is or if you speak withan accent or what your last name is,”Terrill said. “What it cares about is,‘Are you in the country legally?’ Iremind you, being a criminal is not aprotected class.”
A few weeks later, the Oklahomalegislature backed off Terrill’s plans tostrengthen the immigration law, theSenate unexpectedly defeated his billdeclaring English as the state’s officiallanguage, and a federal judge granteda preliminary injunction againstparts of the state law.
About 100 miles northeast of theopulent, dark-wooded Statehousemeeting room where Terrill had de-fended the law, a woman sat exhaust-ed in a concrete-block office.
Social worker Margarita Summers,a U.S. citizen, wondered if any back-lash against Oklahoma’s immigrationlaw would be too little, too late.
The grandmother, a Tulsa residentsince coming from Mexico in 1983,bemoaned how the law has changedher city and state, and how she seesfear in the eyes of all Hispanics.
“I don’t think it’ll ever be normalagain here,” she said. “This law is likea cancer. It can be pacified in someways, but it won’t end. To me, it’s aterminal illness.”
Free-lance photographer LeonardoCarrizo served as interpreter for in-terviews with Spanish-speakingsources.
OKLAHOMAFROM PAGE G1
LEONARDO CARRIZO FOR THE DISPATCHA contract crew of Hispanic landscapers tend to the flowers on the grounds of the Statehouse in Oklahoma City.
PubDate: 09-07-08 Page: 3 G Edition: 1 Replate: User: mfisher Color:CMYK
09-09-08 PAGE A7
� A7AMERICAN DIVIDETHE COLUMBUS DISPATCH TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 9, 2008BREAKING NEWS: DISPATCH.COM
TULSA, Okla. — Hyste-ria spread amongOklahoma’s Latinosas soon as the gover-nor signed a toughimmigration law.
The parents of 2-month-oldEdgar Castorena were caughtin that web of fear, uncertainwhat to do when their babysuffered from 10 days of diar-rhea.
“They were terrified to takethe baby to the emergencyroom because they were afraidthey’d get reported and de-ported,” said Laurie Paul,executive director of the Com-munity Health Connectionclinic in Tulsa.
Even though the law wasn’tin effect yet, the Mexicancouple feared taking their sonto a hospital. Instead, theytook him to Paul’s small, fed-erally funded clinic, wherenearly 70 percent of the pa-tients are Hispanics.
It was too late.The baby died of a ruptured
intestine as an ambulanceraced him to a hospital.
Critics of Oklahoma’s lawpoint to Edgar’s death in July2007 as an extreme example ofhow cracking down on illegalimmigration can have unin-tended consequences.
The law that his parentsfeared so much provides anexception for emergency med-ical care, so they had nothingto fear in taking him to anemergency room.
But they didn’t understand.Health care — who deserves
it, when they can get it andwho pays for it — is an ines-capable issue in the immigra-tion debate.
Oklahoma’s law, which tookeffect last November, haschurch pastors worried aboutbeing arrested for transport-ing illegal immigrants to doc-tor visits. It also has health-care workers concerned aboutthe possible spread of diseaseif patients don’t seek care forfear of deportation.
“Most of us in public healthhave the same mind-set:Health services should not bepolitical,” said Doug Ressler,associate director of the TulsaHealth Department.
Even longtime, legal resi-dents have been hurt by thelaw’s strict paperwork require-ments, which call for thoseapplying for Medicaid or re-newing eligibility to provetheir citizenship.
The Oklahoma Health CareAuthority reported in Decem-ber that nearly 6,000 peoplewere dropped from Sooner-
Care, the state’s medical pro-gram for the poor, becausethey failed to meet the newdocumentation requirements.
Of those dropped, 10 per-cent were Hispanic, 58 per-cent were white and 62 per-cent were children.
The law, however, remainspopular. Its supporters arequick to point to an estimateby the Federation for Amer-ican Immigration Reform thatOklahoma spends about $207million a year in public fundsfor illegal immigrants, a costnot broken down into specificexpenditures such as healthcare.
“We simply can’t afford tobecome the welfare state ofthe world,” said state Rep.Randy Terrill, a Republicanfrom Moore, Okla., who wrotethe new law.
FAIR, a nonprofit immigra-tion-reform group based inWashington, D.C., came upwith its figure by applyingstudies of nine other states toits estimate of 83,000 illegalimmigrants in Oklahoma.
The Oklahoma Senate TaskForce produced a study in2006 that showed the state’semergency rooms treated13,179 illegal immigrants in afour-year period ending in2006 at a total cost of $27.4million.
More than 80 percent ofthat money was spent onlabor and delivery of babies.
Pat Fennell, a member ofthat task force, said the$9.7 million spent in 2006 onemergency medical care fornoncitizens is less than 1 per-cent of the Oklahoma HealthCare Authority’s budget.
“That’s all (noncitizens)qualify for,” Fennell said.“They don’t qualify for welfareor food stamps or child-caresubsidies. People are not in-formed. They hear millions ofdollars are being used to sub-sidize (illegal immigrants), sothey think they get everythingfree, and that’s a fallacy.”
The state spent an estimat-ed $8.5 million for more than2,700 births to illegal im-migrants in 2006.
“When their babies areborn, it’s still a cost, and thetaxpaying citizens are payingfor that,” said Carol Helm,founder of the lobbyist groupImmigration Reform For Okla-homa Now. Numbers, howev-er, don’t tell the entire storyabout the fallout for healthcare.
One provision of the lawmakes it a felony to transport,conceal, harbor or shelter anillegal immigrant in Oklaho-ma. Violators can be impris-oned for a year, fined $1,000 orboth. “The human aspect can’tbe forgotten,” Paul said. “It’sthe moral thing to do, to takecare of someone.”
The man who wrote the lawdoesn’t question its morality.
“In regards to health care,we used compassion, com-mon sense, and carved outreasonable exceptions to meetfederal law,” Terrill said. “Wejust don’t kick people in needof certain services to the curb.We have an obligation, asChristians and as a society, tohelp in certain cases. Not allcases, but in some cases.”
For others, there are linesthey’re willing to cross, nomatter the cost.
“I’m willing to go to jail overthis,” Fennell said. “I’m notgoing to violate my moralprinciples in denying those inneed.”
. . .Lonnie Vaughn doesn’t want
to go to jail but he, too, iswilling.
As pastor of Southern HillsBaptist Church in Tulsa, hisself-assigned duties include
picking up members of hischurch — including severalnoncitizens — each Sundaymorning and driving them toworship services.
Sometimes, he takes themto a health clinic.
“This law has made a felonof me,” said Vaughn, who iswhite. “I’m suddenly a badguy, or the devil himself, be-cause I reach into the Hispan-ic community and try tohelp.”
Is Vaughn breaking Oklaho-ma’s law by transporting im-migrants to a doctor’s office?
“If you’re doing somethingfor solely charitable, educa-tional, humanitarian or reli-gious reasons, it doesn’t trig-ger the statute,” Terrill said.
The law is open to interpre-tation. Terrill says agenciesbreak the law if their assist-ance furthers an illegal im-migrant’s ability to stay in thecountry or if that assistanceinvolves tax funds.
The law’s ambiguity wasintended to soften it but in-stead caused confusionamong immigrants.
“It created the most fearbecause there’s no defini-tions,” said Fennell, executivedirector of the Latino Com-munity Development Agency,a social-service center offering21 programs in Oklahoma City.
The fear caused a drop-offin patients at many clinicsfrequented by Latinos.
“What’s happened is wholefamilies, with children bornhere, facing (medical) emer-gencies are afraid to ask forhelp,” said the Rev. VictorOrta, president of the Amer-ican Dream Coalition, animmigrant-advocacy group inTulsa.
The Community HealthClinic, with Latinos making up67 percent of its clientele lastyear, has a file cabinet withfive drawers full of charts forpatients who haven’t returned.Paul said the average visits forall clients dropped from 2.5annually to 1.9 in that year.
“We had a lot of people
come in and ask for theirmedical records because theyweren’t coming back,” saidLeticia, a nurse at the Tulsaclinic.
Her husband, who is not aU.S. citizen, won’t go to adoctor if he’s sick because he’safraid of being stopped anddeported.
“Unless he thinks he’s dying,he stays home,” Leticia said.“If he thinks he’ll make it, heworks.”
After fear initially kept themaway, some patients beganreturning to the Tulsa HealthDepartment, where undocu-mented Hispanics make up 98 percent of its prenatalclients, 90 percent of its familyclinic patients and 95 percentof its dental cases.
Still, nurse Eliana Quinterosaid some patients haven’treturned for vaccinations, andmany tell her that they won’tgo to the hospital becausethey’re afraid of being turnedin to immigration officials.
“If they have a communi-cable disease, then the wholepublic could be harmed bythat,” Ressler said.
. . .The metro Tulsa phone
book lists 13 pages of churchesin the overwhelmingly Pro-testant city of nearly 400,000,sometimes referred to as “TheBuckle of the Bible Belt.”
Many new churches withLatino congregations openedas Oklahoma’s Hispanic pop-ulation grew nearly 45 percentbetween 2000 and 2007.
“Hispanic pastors providemore services than any main-stream church would everthink of providing,” said theRev. Julian Rodriguez, pastorof Iglesia Eficaz in Tulsa. “If aperson needs to go to a doctorin a regular church, they’re notgoing to call a pastor to takethem and translate. But His-panic pastors have to show upor set up a system to help.”
Such a calling has madesome pastors confront theirmission because of the state’snew immigration law.
“We respect man’s law be-cause the Bible teaches us torespect it,” said the Rev. Mi-guel Rivera, president of theNational Coalition of LatinoClergy and Christian Leaders.“But the problem is, we haveto also identify and serve andbe committed to human be-ings. These are human be-ings.”
Roman Catholic BishopEdward J. Slattery of the TulsaDiocese filed a friend-of-the-court brief, arguing that provi-sions of Oklahoma’s immigra-tion law “discourage and evencriminalize the providing ofthe most basic spiritual, socialand humanitarian services tothose who are most in need ofassistance.”
Terrill, a Baptist, sees mon-ey at the root of such crit-icism.
“I can understand the rea-son why religious organiza-tions say and do the thingsthey are doing,” he said. “Bap-tists use private money. Catholic Charities uses tax-payer money. The reason(Catholics) are upset with (thelaw) is it ends federal funds.They certainly have an eco-nomic interest in their char-itable organization when itdoes outreach work to usefederal funds for a number ofillegal aliens.”
Margarita Summers, a case-worker at Catholic Charities inTulsa, laughed when told ofTerrill’s comments. A CatholicCharities spokesman said2 percent of its budget comesfrom taxpayer money.
“We are criticized that weare breaking the law by help-ing people,” Summers said.“Some of our contributorsmentioned that if the supportthey’re giving us goes to sup-porting illegals, then they’llstop helping us with support.”
Oklahoma’s law has onlystrengthened Summers’ desireto provide help to immigrantsin the Hispanic neighborhoodof Kendall-Whittier.
“I want to contribute andmake a difference in a sit-uation of injustice,” she said.“If I have to fight for what isjust and right, I will do so.”
And Lonnie Vaughn willkeep risking jail by picking upundocumented Hispanics inhis van and taking them tochurch and medical clinics.
“I’m OK until I see a cop,”he said. “I guarantee you that Ihave both hands on my steer-ing wheel and I’m wipingsweat off my forehead when Isee a cop. I can’t help it. I’mnervous. Somehow, I know I’mcommitting a felony.”
Free-lance photographerLeonardo Carrizo served asinterpreter for interviews withSpanish-speaking sources.
LEONARDO CARRIZO PHOTOS FOR THE DISPATCH
Patients wait to be seen by doctors at the Tulsa Health Department, whose clinic gets half its income from county property taxes and the other half from afederal grant. The vast majority of its patients are illegal immigrants.
Tougher Oklahoma law addsrisk to health-care decisions
ABOVE: At the Tulsa clinic, apregnant Latina learnsabout a healthful diet tobenefit her health and thatof the baby she’s carrying.
LEFT: Childhood immuniza-tions are part of the routinecare provided by the clinic.
By Todd JonesTHE COLUMBUS DISPATCH
Taking the leadLast year, states enacted 240immigration laws — nearly triplethe total of 2006. The toughestlaw took effect in Oklahoma,and Ohio now has a bill pend-ing that would mimic thatcrackdown.
PubDate: 09-09-08 Page: 7 A Edition: 1 Replate: User: kmetts Color:CMYK
09-10-08 PAGE A7
� A7AMERICAN DIVIDETHE COLUMBUS DISPATCH WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 10, 2008BREAKING NEWS: DISPATCH.COM
TULSA, Okla. — To see whathappens when a state passesits own immigration law, lookno further than Pod J5 of theTulsa County jail.
Inside, you’ll find an ever-busy waystation, all 94 beds usually full ofdetainees awaiting deportation.Nearly all are Latinos.
“We house them in a separate pod,all by themselves, because of thelanguage barrier, unless they’re fromrival gangs and might cause a prob-lem,” said Sgt. Shannon Clark of theTulsa County sheriff’s department.
How those detainees ended up inthe two-story, medium-securityimmigration pod is a controversialsubject, rife with claims and denialsof racial profiling.
Oklahoma’s attorney general gaveno guidelines to police and sheriff’sdepartments about how to enforcethe new law, which requires them tocheck the immigration status ofanyone arrested for a felony ordrunken driving.
As Ohio lawmakers consider a billmodeled on Oklahoma’s new crack-down — considered the nation’stoughest — they already can see thefallout here.
“Only the federal government canenforce immigration laws,” saidOklahoma City Mayor Mick Cornett.“There’s a misperception in our owncommunity about new discretion ourpolice received in our city. It’s beendifficult to communicate directly toour citizens.”
That’s been especially true in TulsaCounty, where the sheriff’s depart-ment has taken the lead on enforce-ment by partnering with federalimmigration officials.
From September 2007 throughJune, nearly 1,400 people were book-ed into the Tulsa County jail as de-tainees to be deported by U.S. Im-migration and CustomsEnforcement. Of that group, 1,081were deported or put into federalimmigration proceedings.
“Gosh, the Tulsa County sheriff’sdepartment is the model in Oklaho-ma for the way state and local en-forcement agencies ought to becooperatively enforcing immigrationlaw,” said Randy Terrill, the Repub-lican state representative who wrotethe legislation.
Of the 742 detained in the Tulsa jailin the first six months of this year, 677were Mexican citizens.
Such numbers have fueled cries byHispanics, the largest immigrantgroup in Oklahoma, that they’rebeing harassed and racially profiled.
“The Tulsa County sheriff hascommitted ethnic cleansing,” saidthe Rev. Miguel Rivera, president ofthe National Coalition of Latino Cler-gy and Christian Leaders.
Stanley Glanz, in his 20th year as
sheriff, scoffs at the allegation.“We don’t just stop people because
they’re foreign-born,” he said. “Whatpeople don’t understand is, whowe’re seeing shipped off for (im-migration) hearings are a lot of peo-ple who are frequent fliers in our jail.That’s who we’re moving out of ourcommunity.”
His deputies bristle at the attackson their reputation. Last September,28 of them graduated from ICE’sfive-week immigration training pro-gram. Since then, the jail’s popula-tion has decreased 7 percent.
“Someone is running off at themouth to gain some political back-ing,” Deputy Joe Byars said. “I feellike I’m being accused of things. Itsucks. People think we’re just outhere picking on people, and that’sbothersome because it’s not like thatat all.”
Opinions differed in Pod J5.“We’re like prey,” said Julio Reigue-
ro, a former Columbus resident who
sat in the jail this spring, facing de-portation and a marijuana-posses-sion charge.
Outside, even Hispanic U.S. citi-zens feel like they’re behind bars.
“Sometimes when I leave work, apatrol car follows me, sometimesmaybe for half a mile,” said SimonNavarro, a U.S. citizen who owns apharmacy and money-wiring shop inTulsa. “What I feel angry about is,because of my mustache, my appear-ance, they look at me as if I was acriminal.”
. . .Fear of crime contributed to the
climate that produced Oklahoma’snew immigration law.
“Our standard of living was goingdown and our crime was going up,”said Dan Howard, a retired Oklahomastate trooper and founder of Out-raged Patriots, an anti-illegal im-migration Web site based in Beggs,Okla.
Oklahoma’s violent crimes — mur-der, rape, robbery and aggravatedassault — rose from 17,176 in 2000 to18,066 last year, a 5.2 percent increaseat a time when the state’s Hispanicpopulation jumped nearly 45 per-cent.
Oklahoma’s annual crime reportdoes not break down how manyHispanics were arrested, so there’s nodirect way to gauge whether there’s aconnection.
In July, an ICE sting operation —including help from the Tulsa Countysheriff’s office and the Tulsa police —led to the arrest of 45 gang members,gang associates and immigrationviolators.
“Buddy, if we don’t stop illegalimmigration, drugs and crime, ourkids aren’t going to have the sameAmerica, and it’s coming real fast,”said Ron Dampf of Tulsa.
The new law, however, hasn’tchanged how most law-enforcementofficers operate. Only the TulsaCounty sheriff’s department haspartnered with ICE.
“Nobody has really ramped up togo out and be the border patrol,” saidJim Cox, executive director of theOklahoma Association of PoliceChiefs.
“We are struggling with overcrowd-ing in our penal system.”
Tulsa has been the exception,resulting in an estimated 25,000Hispanics’ fleeing the county, andlikely the state.
The Tulsa City Council passed aresolution in May 2007 that requiredpolice to determine the immigrationstatus of “all suspected illegal aliens”they encountered.
A month later, the sheriff’s depart-ment signed a contract with ICE to bea “force multiplier.” Since then, TulsaCounty has been home to rumors,mistrust of the police and a generaluneasiness.“If I see a cop pull upbehind me, my heart starts to race,”said Victor, a U.S. citizen and Tulsaresident whose wife is undocument-ed.
Oklahoma’s immigration lawdoesn’t give state or local police the
authority to arrest someone solely forbeing in the country illegally, becausethat’s still a federal offense.
Likewise, the law doesn’t give stateor local police the authority to pullpeople over and ask them to provetheir citizenship, nor can they followup on a complaint if ethnicity is theonly cause of suspicion.
Sgt. Clark said the Tulsa sheriff’sdepartment budget didn’t increasebecause of its partnership with ICE,and no one was added to the staff,because the immigration trainingwas considered a secondary assign-ment.
“It’s actually a money-makingproject for us,” Clark said.
ICE pays the county jail $54.13 perday for each detainee not facing alocal charge.
While the jail’s budget didn’t in-crease, turmoil in Tulsa’s Hispaniccommunity went up. Last fall, rumorswere flying about Latinos beingstopped for minor reasons so officerscould check their immigration status.
With deputies completing ICEtraining, the Tulsa County jail con-ducted nearly 1,000 status checks inthe four months before the new lawtook effect. The checks led to 760immigrants’ detention.
“It was a witch hunt,” said the Rev.Jose Alfonso, pastor of Iglesia PiedraAngular (Cornerstone HispanicChurch).
Alfonso said his phone rang non-stop during the fall of 2007 with callsfrom parishioners upset that a friendor relative had been detained.
The Rev. Julian Rodriguez, pastorof Iglesia Eficaz in Tulsa, said he has a3-inch notebook full of descriptionshe took from families calling aboutpolice stops.
Blanca Thames, secretary for theAmerican Dream Coalition, an im-migrant-advocacy group in Tulsa,said the sheriff’s department hadcheckpoints for detainment andconducted sweeps of illegal immi-grants.
“We don’t do racial profiling in myoffice,” countered the sheriff. “Noneof that has occurred.
“We’ll set up roadblocks period-ically for drunk drivers, and I normal-ly ask (the deputies) if they found anyillegals,” said Glanz, running un-opposed for re-election this year.“We’ve arrested drunks on thoseblockades, but no illegals.”
Replied Alfonso: “Come on. Some-one is lying.”
. . .A black four-door Dodge turned off
S. Garnett Road in East Tulsa and intothe parking lot of Plaza Santa Cecilia,a mall considered the nerve center ofthe surrounding Hispanic district.
Deputy Sheriff Marlin Warren,behind the wheel of his undercovercar, described the plaza as “shady,shady, shady.”
The deputy was waiting for aninformant to call so they could meetat a house where they suspected aHispanic man was dealing drugs.
Warren and his partner, Byars,graduated from the federal immigra-tion training program last fall —“another tool on our gun belt,” War-ren said — and work with ICE officerswhile probing gang and drug activity.
“When we first started, and it was ahot-button issue, so many peoplethought we were out knocking ondoors and throwing families out ofthe country,” Byars said. “That’s so farfrom the truth. We don’t even go to ahome until there’s a crime.”
Both deputies angrily deny allega-tions of racial profiling.
“I don’t know who I’m pulling overin a vehicle,” Warren said. “In Okla-homa, we have a lot of Native Amer-icans. We have a lot of people whospent a lot of time in tanning beds.”
If motorists lack a license, they’llbe taken to jail, where their status willbe checked, he said. “They weren’tpulled over for status. They werepulled over for their taillight notworking. They were pulled over forbreaking the law.”
Warren said sheriff’s deputies are“righteous” in their duty and that“The people being deported arecriminals nine times out of 10.”
Of the nearly 1,400 immigrationdetainees booked in the Tulsa Countyjail from September 2007 throughJune 2008, more than 1,200 had trafficviolations (people may face morethan one charge).
None of those detainees werebooked for murder or robbery. Fivewere accused of breaking and enter-ing, 12 of sex crimes and 122 of drugcrimes.
Inside Pod J5, the detainees inorange jumpsuits — nearly all His-panic and none eligible for bond —watched another day pass whilewaiting to face an immigration judge.
There was little hint of danger,though one prisoner had allegedlyattacked a Tulsa man with a machete.
“Many are in here for minor of-fenses,” said detainee Lucio Salgado-Toribio. “It’s very tranquil and peace-ful.”
Outside his cell, the bright roomwas quiet.
“On average, we have very littletrouble with them,” Sheriff’s Capt.Tom Fike said. “Some of the peopleare real criminals. Some of them arenot.”
Free-lance photographer LeonardoCarrizo served as interpreter for in-terviews with Spanish-speakingsources.
LEONARDO CARRIZO FOR THE DISPATCH
Illegal immigrants finish lunch in the Tulsa County, Okla., jail, where they are held for weeks awaiting deportation to their home country. Most of themended up in jail for violating traffic laws, driving drunk or being caught in raids at construction sites.
Tulsa deputies say they’renot picking on anyone
Jose Molina, right, and a cellmate pass the time in jail while waiting for their deportation hearings. Illegal im-migrants in Tulsa County no longer are eligible to leave jail by posting bail.
Deputy SheriffMarlin Warrenangrily deniedallegations ofracial profiling.“In Oklahoma,we have alot of NativeAmericans.We have a lotof people whospent a lot oftime in tanningbeds.”
By Todd JonesTHE COLUMBUS DISPATCH
Taking the leadLast year, states enacted 240immigration laws — nearly triple thetotal of 2006. The toughest law tookeffect in Oklahoma, and Ohio nowhas a bill pending that would mimicthat crackdown.
PubDate: 09-10-08 Page: 7 A Edition: 1 Replate: User: dclark Color:CMYK
09-08-08 PAGE A7
� A7AMERICAN DIVIDETHE COLUMBUS DISPATCH MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 8, 2008BREAKING NEWS: DISPATCH.COM
Hispanic workers, such as these homebuilders, keep Oklahoma’s economy churning but backers of Oklahoma’stough law say such laborers take jobs from Americans.
TULSA, Okla. — Fluid team-work is necessary in the hot,cramped kitchen of a mom-and-pop restaurant near aninterstate ramp.
A tangle of brown faces — headchef Jose, his wife, parents, twobrothers and sister — cooked theAmerican comfort food in the humidhive.
In the middle of the controlledchaos stood Teri Kidd, the whiteowner of the restaurant, basking inthe sweet smell of freshly baked rolls.
“They’re not just workers,” she saidof her busy employees. “They’ve beenwith me eight years, and they’re likeour family.”
Yet, wedged into the close businessrelationship is an Oklahoma im-migration law considered the nation’stoughest — and a model for legisla-tion in other states, including Ohio.
The Dispatch is not using fullnames of illegal immigrants or identi-fying their workplaces because feder-al authorities have indicated theymight deport anyone identified bythe newspaper.
The crackdown left Jose’s family —none of them legal U.S. residents —considering whether to flee the state.
“They’re all ready to leave,” Josesaid.
And that worries Kidd, a self-pro-claimed proud, conservative Repub-lican.
“If they have to leave, it’ll probablyshut my business down,” she said. “Iwon’t be able to get help. Americans,we live off the back of immigrants.”
Supporters of Oklahoma’s im-migration law dismiss such com-ments, but the state’s business lead-ers teamed with the U.S. Chamber ofCommerce to file a lawsuit to over-turn it.
In June, a federal judge issued apreliminary injunction blocking partof the law set to take effect July 1 thatwould have required employers toverify a worker’s residency status. Afederal appeals court eventually willdecide the constitutionality of theOklahoma law.
If Ohio lawmakers look to Oklaho-ma for answers about how to enactimmigration reform, they’ll findbusiness reaction murky at best.
Oklahoma’s Commerce Depart-ment hasn’t yet released data relatedto the law, and the state treasurer’soffice reports no clear trend in sales-tax collections since it took effect lastNovember.
Boarded-up windows of aban-doned businesses dot parts of EastTulsa, where the city’s HispanicChamber of Commerce estimatesthat 25,000 Latinos have left in thepast year.
And yet the U.S. Department ofLabor reported that Oklahoma’sunemployment rate dropped morethan 1 point to 3.1 percent from May2007 to March 2008. Only three otherstates had a lower jobless rate.
“(The law) has freed up jobs forU.S. citizens. Wage-and-benefit rateshave risen,” said state Rep. RandyTerrill, who wrote Oklahoma’s im-migration law.
Some economists credit Oklaho-ma’s low unemployment to thebooming oil-based economy andminimal effects from the nationalhousing crisis, not the immigrationlaw.
In March, the Oklahoma BankersAssociation estimated that if 50,000immigrants left Oklahoma, the statewould lose about $1.8 billion annual-ly in wages and productivity. Terrillcalled the report flawed.
“I’m comfortable with the study wedid, but we don’t view our study asthe end-all or be-all,” said Kyle Dean,president of the Economic ImpactGroup in Edmond, Okla., which con-ducted the study. “We view it as abeginning of the discussion.”
No such studies were conductedwhile Terrill’s legislation sailedthrough the Oklahoma legislature.
“For whatever reason, the businesscommunity remained silent on thisand didn’t think it would affectthem,” said state Sen. Harry Coates,the lone Republican who votedagainst the law. “What they didn’trealize is we’d also run off workerswho are legally here. That’s the kick-er.”
Last year, the Report of the TaskForce on Oklahoma Illegal Immigra-tion Issues — a body created by thestate Senate to study the issue — saidthere will be no net increase in na-
tive-born workers ages 25 to 54.“We’re definitely hurting for work-
ers,” said Paul Kane, executive vicepresident of the Home Builders Asso-ciation of Greater Tulsa. “We wereexperiencing somewhat of a laborshortage even before (the immigra-tion law) happened.”
Just as the law came between TerriKidd and her restaurant work force,Oklahomans remain divided onwhether undocumented workers fill avoid in workplaces or cause one.
. . .The home-framing business is
good for John Tillman, but he’s wor-ried that Oklahoma’s immigrationlaw could cut into his profits.
“If half my crew leaves, it wouldreally put a hurting on me,” saidTillman, owner of a constructioncompany.
Nearby, his labor crew was busybuilding a house in an upscale neigh-borhood in Edmond, north of Okla-homa City.
Eight men sawed and hammeredunder a hot sun.
Seven were Hispanic.
“I can’t find any white guys whowant to work,” said Tillman, 41, whois white. “I’ll try them out. They showup for a couple of days and won’tcome back.”
Back in Tulsa, such a commentmade Ron Dampf grind his teeth.
“That’s baloney,” the retired con-struction company owner said. “Youcan find American citizens. You paythose workers a living wage, andthey’ll knock your door down to workfor you. Who reaps the benefit ofillegal (immigrants)? The greedycontractor.”
Dampf, 60, closed his constructionbusiness, Commercial Systems, andretired in January. Job contracts keptgoing to other companies that Dampfsaid were able to underbid him byusing undocumented workers forcheap labor.
Four years ago, Commercial Sys-tems had 32 employees. Dampf re-fused to hire illegal immigrants.
Last year, his company had fouremployees.
“This isn’t about race,” he said. “It’snot about being a bigot. It’s the sim-ple fact that these contractors are
breaking laws and taking advantageof (immigrants) as slave labor. I hearda contractor say, ‘If one gets hurt, Isend him back to Mexico and go getanother one.’
“My grandfather, my father and Iworked like dogs in a trade that wasprideful and profitable. Now, I don’thave a dog in the fight.”
Some proponents of Oklahoma’simmigration law frame their fightagainst illegal immigration in morethan monetary terms.
“It’s about the immorality of em-ploying cheap, illegal alien, slavelabor,” Terrill said. “It boils down tobig business and the chambers ofcommerce are trying to preserve apool of illegal immigrant labor tokeep the costs low.”
That’s a myth, countered the HomeBuilders Association of Greater Tulsa.
“The truth is, I’ve talked to dozensof builders who say their guys are notgetting sub-minimum wage,” saidKane, the association’s chief exec-utive. “They’re paying 10 to 12 dollars(an hour) to sweep floors.
“The only reason labor costs go upis because of supply and demand.That’s Economics 101,” he said. “It’seasy to go around throwing inflam-matory rhetoric and accusations.”
Farmers in the western part ofOklahoma don’t need rhetoric. Theyneed workers.
Even before the law, a drought ofworkers caused Bob Ramming toswitch his farm this year from water-melons — his primary crop the previ-ous 15 years — to wheat and soy-beans, crops that can be harvested bymachinery.
“You cannot get American citizensto do this kind of work,” Rammingsaid. “You can advertise and do what-ever you want, but they’re not goingto work out in the fields, in the heat.”
. . .Plaza Santa Cecilia, once a vibrant
gathering place for Latinos in EastTulsa, looked like a carcass of failingcommerce in April, less than a yearafter it had brimmed with businesses.
“After the law, everything has comecrashing down,” said Simon Navarro,owner of a pharmacy and money-wiring shop in Plaza Santa Cecilia.“Everybody wants to sell their busi-ness.”
Navarro, 54, refuses to leave eventhough his pharmacy sales are down50 percent and his wire-service cus-tomers, who generally send money tofamily in their homelands, havedropped from 500 to about 250 in thepast year.
Others in the mall wonder if theycan be so resilient.
“My business has dropped 80 per-cent,” said Maria Rivas, owner ofPeluqueria Lupita beauty shop. “Peo-ple have left (Tulsa), and the peoplewho stayed here, they have fear ofstepping out. They don’t want tospend money because they mightneed to leave.”
The Greater Tulsa Hispanic Cham-ber of Commerce estimates that up to25,000 immigrants have left TulsaCounty, causing business to dropabout 40 percent in general in Latinocommunities.
“When the state passes a law thatruns away your customers, you endup suffering,” said chamber exec-utive director Francisco Trevino.
The chef at Kidd’s restaurant, a fewmiles from the mall, knows all toowell about how Oklahoma’s law af-fected some businesses.
Jose, the head chef, has madeenough money working the pasteight years at the restaurant that hecould afford to own three cars andthree homes in Tulsa.
“I hear (Fox News commentator)Bill O’Reilly and people say we paythem $2 or $3 an hour. That’s a lie,”Kidd said. “Jose makes as much mon-ey as does my husband, who’s in theconstruction business making $15 anhour.”
While living in the shadows, Josehas spent more than $5,000 trying toadjust his legal status since comingfrom Mexico in 1996.
“The U.S. gives me work, but itdoesn’t give me a chance to fix mypapers,” he said. “Who doesn’t wantto be legal? All Hispanics want to belegal, but we need opportunities tochange our status and become legal.”
Undeterred, Jose and his brotherinvested $49,000 to open their ownTulsa restaurant, El Fogon Café, inAugust 2007.
Bad timing.Oklahoma’s immigration law took
effect three months later, causingthousands of potential customers toflee.
Jose and his brother closed theirrestaurant in February and cut backfrom working two full-time jobs totheir one at Kidd’s restaurant.
“When the law passed, the dreambroke, and everything went into thegarbage can,” Jose said.
Now all of his family is consideringmoving to Mexico.
And that could leave his bossscrambling.
“What am I going to do for a workforce?” Kidd asked. “The Hispaniccommunity does labor that Amer-icans don’t want to do. We’re spoiled.You want to go back and work on thathot grill and do dishes?”
Free-lance photographer LeonardoCarrizo served as interpreter for in-terviews with Spanish-speakingsources.
Jobs in the balanceDo illegal workers help or hurt the U.S. economy?
LEONARDO CARRIZO PHOTOS FOR THE DISPATCH
Oklahoma’s tough immigration law has Jose, a chef in Tulsa, Okla., thinking about returning to Mexico after 12 years in the United States
By Todd JonesTHE COLUMBUS DISPATCH
Taking the leadLast year, states enacted 240 im-migration laws — nearly triple thetotal of 2006. The toughest law tookeffect in Oklahoma, and Ohio nowhas a bill pending that would mimicthat crackdown.
PubDate: 09-08-08 Page: 7 A Edition: 1 Replate: User: mhartz Color:CMYK
