Across the border: Francisco Romero*
New York, NY — Francisco Romero was just 18 when he tumbled into North America. He arrived, “under the midday sun,” he says. “We were laughing. We were young.”
Sitting at a plastic table — in a Manhattan taqueria, where he works as a waiter — Romero, 44, is burly, friendly and constantly amused. He is drinking horchata and enjoying the attention.
Romero, 44, remains in the United States, illegally. Born in Mexico, he does not qualify under the Dream Act. He is cast as a danger to society by some Republican presidential candidates, as the issue of illegal Mexican immigrants fuelled this summer’s debates. Romero has no legislative rights in the U.S. He remains just one face in the sea of undocumented migrants within New York City.
Hailing from central Mexico, Romero left his hometown of Tlapa over 20 years ago. When his mother became sick, he dropped out of school to support his family and took up work as a laborer. Searching for economic opportunities, America loomed large on his horizon. “At the time, it seemed an easy decision to make,” Romero said. “Everyone was going then, and everyone was coming back. It seemed ok, you know, it seemed possible. It was an adventure. The money sounded good.”
Romero paid $1,500 to be smuggled across the border. It took him three days — by bus — to reach the assembly point and a large group of opportunists. They all traipsed slowly — by foot — towards a different America, passing the frontier just north of Nogales, Arizona’s largest border town.
Romero arrived in August 1992. It was a casual beginning. “We just walked right in,” says Romero. “We saw nobody. It was easy.” Romero never returned home. “The border closed too quickly,” he says, “I can’t go back now.”
Romero’s Mexican passport expired over 15 years ago. His entry into Arizona is unrecorded. He remains in the United States, illegally. Juan Allende*, the restaurant’s owner — and one of New York’s 457,288 documented Mexican migrants — seems unperturbed, waving away the question with a large bowl of tortillas. “[Allende] has all of his papers,” Romero said. “He knows about me.” The police are regular patrons here.
Romero is aware that his situation remains precarious. He was arrested last summer while walking his dog. He spent 24 hours in jail, convinced he was being deported, eventually charged with accessing a park, after-hours. The judge dismissed his case as petty. Romero walked free the next day. Leyla — his American canine — remains at large, with legislative rights and the community’s benevolence. “They never even checked my documentation,” Romero said, both terrified and bemused.
Currently living with his girlfriend in Brooklyn, Romero earns $5 an hour. He pays $1,400 a month in rent, which requires at least a 70-hour work week. Despite having no legal status in America, he is eligible to pay taxes — a quirk he is vehement to own. He has a medical arrangement with a hospital in Manhattan. Care can be provided for “just $15,” he says. Romero explains that medical staff in New York City are used to dealing with undocumented migrants. Romero has never required these services, but he knows he is covered when he does. Efficient and competent, he is proud of his independence. His tone, however, changes when he talks about his family left behind in Mexico. His youngest sister was just two-years-old when Romero left for North America. “She is now a woman.” He sends money home to his family in Mexico. Nobody followed him over the border.
Romero’s evening shift is starting to take shape, “it is always busy in here.” He rises to serve a nearby table. “I have not spoken about this for a very long time,” he said. Returning — with yet more guacamole — he pauses. Standing with the sounds of sizzling behind him, Romero sighs. “I wish I had never come.”
*Please note that names have been changed to protect identities.
