Berkley Center

As an Arizonan, living in Mexico is a little awkward. Thanks to the Arizona immigration law S.B. 1070, Governor Jan Brewer, and Sheriff Joe Arpaio, I usually avoid telling people where I am from. When asked, my typical response is that "I study in Washington, DC"—a more welcomed answer. When I am pressed further and confess that I am from the Grand Canyon State, I quickly condemn "la ley racista" and "la guera loca gobernadora."

Back at home, much fuss is made about the problems at the US-Mexican border. Posturing politicians and tea party patriots cry out about crime, unemployment, low wages, and the poor state of America's education system. They see the influx of illegal immigrants into the Unite States—over 57 percent of which are from Mexico—as a significant, sometimes the sole, contributor to these issues. In the United States, however, very little fuss is made about the other immigration problem at the other southern border—the one between Guatemala and Mexico.

What most Americans won't believe, and what most Mexicans won't admit, is that there is an unsettling similarity between the United States and Mexico when it comes to immigration: illegal immigrants are treated like animals in both countries. What is usually understood as a national security, economic, and educational issue for the United States is actually better understood as a most severe human rights crisis facing all of North America.

Illegal immigrants from Guatemala, Honduras, Nicaragua, and all across Central America pour into Mexico through its southern border. In the first half of 2005 alone, 120,000 Central Americas were deported from Mexico. These immigrants are seeking one of two things: a pathway to employment in the United States, or a job in Mexico better than one they can find at home.

Like immigrants in the United States from Mexico, these Central Americans work low paying jobs, sending much of their money back home. They are subject to intense discrimination and are reduced to a shadow community. The illegal pathway to citizenship is often far more efficient when compared to the stifling legal one. And, when an immigrant from Central America embarks on his journey across the border, the consequences of being caught can be catastrophic.

Take, for example, the use of illegal immigrants as guerrilla capital by drug cartels in Mexico. To boast their dominance and their inextinguishable lawlessness, drug cartels extort and/or murder illegal immigrants unwilling to traffic drugs across the border during their journey. Sometimes the sole purpose is to display territorial control.

Most recently, in late August 2010, 72 slain bodies were found piled atop each other in an abandoned room in the northern city of San Fernando, Tamaulipas, just a 100 miles south of the US border. A ruthless drug cartel comprised of ex-military men called the Zetas are accused of being responsible. This is the latest and most gruesome example of the dangers facing immigrants in Mexico.

Perhaps even more horrifying is that the Mexican authorities are at times complicit in abusing and exploiting immigrants. According to a report by the National Human Rights Commission, from September 2008 to February 2009 nearly 10,000 immigrants were kidnapped and held for ransom in Mexico. In 91 of these cases, the Mexican police were directly involved. And, these are only the documented cases during a six month window.

Also, for all the understandable outcry from Mexico over Arizona's draconian immigration law, the Mexican government takes an equally xenophobic stance on immigration. Under Mexican law, illegal immigration is punishable by up to two years in prison; up to 10 years if someone is caught attempting re-entry. Any immigrant, legal or illegal, can be deported who is deemed harmful to "economic or national interests," who are not "physically and mentally healthy," or who lack the "necessary funds for their sustenance." Also, Mexican police can request documentation at any time from anyone suspected of illegal residence.

In the United States, we should be thankful that our abuse of immigrants does not include bloody massacres carried out by drug cartels. But we have nothing to be proud of. Sheriff Joe Arpaio's Tent City detainment camp in Maricopa County, Arizona —where inmates, often times suspected illegal immigrants awaiting trial, are fed skimpy meals twice a day and are subject to 110 degree heat during the summer—is under investigation and is constantly criticized by human rights watch dogs like Amnesty International. And when Nevada Senatorial Candidate Sharon Angle runs a TV add warning that illegal immigrants threaten US families—using images of Latino men in prison and gang attire juxtaposed with white children—the fact that illegal immigrants aren't massacred in our country is little solace. In terms of the treatment of illegal immigrants by the governments of the United States and Mexico, both countries should be ashamed.

While living in Mexico, I've come to a new understanding of the human rights crisis that describes immigration throughout North America. My former, United States-centered focus on immigration in my studies at Georgetown let me overlook the policies and problems on the other side of the border. More broadly, they let me overlook the more big picture concerns facing immigrant populations: how should these people be defined? What rights should they be entitled to? How should they be treated?

More than contributions to GDP and to the work force, illegal immigrants are people trapped in a strange definition of existence: both as citizens of the world whose human rights are technically protected by international law, but also as non-citizens, exploited and abused by foreign nation states. And, these poor people are only trying to give themselves and their families a better life.

With regard to how we should approach solving the human rights crisis of North American immigration, I'd like to borrow language from Luke Swiderski (SFS '10), who is currently working with the UN High Commission on Refugees in Geneva. Our "approaches need ultimately to be backed by principles of global burden sharing to counter the constrictive thrust of national ideologies and market forces. And that effort requires us to reconsider the relation of the non-citizen to the political community. We have to ask again and emphatically the ancient, enduring question: who is my neighbor?"