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My Boyfriend Wasn’t ‘Illegal,’ but My Nation Destroyed His Migrant Friend

What happened to him is tragic, and cruel, and deeply sad

Image of young Mexican American men licensed from Adobe Stock

Let’s call him Christopher, a cheerful, friendly, kind young man in his late 20s when I knew him. He lived in Detroit’s Mexican Town, a vibrant, lovely neighborhood nestled into an industrial area and flanked by a stinking refinery. Funny how that works. Imagine street after street of pre-war brick bungalows painted in primary colors, leaning up against each other sharing carefully tidy, postage-stamp lawns. Imagine wide avenues full of bustling shops, restaurants, and bakeries that open at dawn. Outdoor markets. Parks full of soccer players.

Mexican Town is one of Detroit’s best kept secrets. Few tourists ever discover its charms. Sadly, this is not a charming story, though it sure starts out that way.

Imagine me drinking a Modelo Negro with my boyfriend Pablo (not his real name) and his parents in the driveway of their cute bungalow, chicken sizzling on a charcoal grill.

I was nervous because Pablo had introduced me as his boyfriend, a surprising new status to me but taken with friendly interest by his…