A century-old stereotype still dictates how far a Latina immigrant can go in America
When you live abroad, sticking to your identity can anchor you through rough times. But what if your identity is associated with belittling stereotypes?
As a Latina who arrived in the U.S. in her late 20s looking for a new life, I’ve received a lot of unsolicited advice on immigration. By far the most frustrating were the men — and women — who suggested I simply enter a fake marriage. Whether a friendly suggestion or racist joke, the idea of the “green-card marriage” actually perpetuates a century-old eroticized stereotype that makes women from Latin America vulnerable to scams and domestic violence.
When my visa nearly expired a couple of years ago, I received five unsolicited marriage proposals in three months. It was a shock; back home in Brazil, I couldn’t lock down a boyfriend, let alone a husband. But in the U.S I suddenly had more proposals than I could handle.
I knew people paid sham “spouses” to obtain green cards. These arrangements could cost as much as $15,000, according to friends who had been in the U.S. longer. But in my case, the men were not asking for money; they only wanted me to give them a “chance.”
When I did not look convinced, one of them played the Trump card, trying to use the president and his strict immigration policies to scare me into marriage. He added feelings of vulnerability and helplessness to a pot already cooking stress and shame.
I was impressed by their assumption that I could force myself into a relationship as a form of payment. And why did people assume that my path to residency in the U.S. had to involve marrying a citizen?
I realized then how toxic the green-card marriage narrative is for Latinas trying to legalize their immigration status in the U.S. In the wake of the #MeToo and intersectional feminist movements, Latinas are still expected to rely on their sensuality to achieve success.
Movies and the TV are a big part of the issue. While Latino men have been portrayed as a lazy, aggressive, flirty bunch, women have been eroticized for generations. From Mexican actress Dolores del Rio, the first personification of the Latina lover stereotype in the 1920s, to Sofia Vergara playing Gloria in the TV show “Modern Family,” people in America have been hammered by the association of Hispanic women with sex.
Like most Brazilians, I didn’t consider myself Latina until I came to the U.S., so the fiery Latina thing was never part of my identity. Hispanic America and Brazil do share a history of violent colonization at the hands of Iberian countries, but both have their own culture and heritage.
When I arrived in the U.S., I identified as a white woman. I had two degrees, almost 10 years’ experience as a journalist and the awareness of being privileged.
But I quickly noticed I was perceived differently here; I was Latina, which meant that if I wanted to pursue my American dream, I should forget about my resume and get a gig as a babysitter or bartender.
In that process, I stopped seeing myself as a white woman — at least, while on U.S. soil. It definitely helped me bond with the Hispanic community and have a sense of belonging, something you long for in a foreign country. But in retrospect, I think I also lost sight of who I was.
It never crossed my mind to research the requirements for an EB-1A green card for high achievers, for example. Those are available for foreign nationals who have earned awards, been on a jury for an award, are members of professional organizations and produce internationally acclaimed work. Sounds hard, I agree, but not impossible for someone who has worked in the media for a decade. The Chinese designer Stella Guan did it in eight months.
I forgot to bring my talents to the table because I didn’t know they meant anything in the first place. The narrative for Latinas revolving around the cleaning lady or the hot senorita really got me.
For some women, it can lead to a life-threatening situation.
Stephanie Mulcock, a New York immigration lawyer specializing in domestic violence and family justice, said many Latinas without legal status marry their boyfriends prematurely or buy a marriage to adjust their immigration status. “Both situations put them at a great risk of different forms of abuse, from domestic violence to blackmail,” she said.
(If you want to know more about the issues influencing domestic violence in the Latina immigrant community, take a look at my interview with domestic violence specialist and attorney Michelle Viana.)
For women who marry for love or convenience and find out they are sleeping with the enemy, there is the Violence Against Women Act (VAWA). If the Senate renews it this year, a woman who proves to Immigration that she has been a victim of abuse by an American spouse can obtain a visa and later a green card. In 2018, the U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services processed 11,034 VAWA petitions by spouses. But if you know anything about violence against women, you know most of them won’t report it, especially if they feel disempowered.
Recalling my own marriage proposals, I knew I had dodged some potentially fatal bullets. It was always clear that my biggest risk wouldn’t be getting caught by Immigration but handing control of my life over to a man whose motives I didn’t trust in a country that was not my own.
Plus, I was not desperate enough.
Many women will marry for green cards because they are supporting their families back home and want their children to have a better life. I know some of those people.
By the time I had saved enough money to start graduate school in New York, many Brazilians I had met had already married U.S. citizens — for love or a green card. To my face, they tell me I am brave for giving up the opportunity to buy a marriage and choosing to pay a grad school tuition, which won’t grant me the right to immigrate.
I know many think I am just a dumb Latina.
But after four years navigating race and coming to terms with this new identity, I find my version of Latina much more representative of the immigrant community: hard-working, honoring the education I received from my parents, and believing I can do better than being someone’s wife — fake or real.
