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In the Trenches

Ktav Publishing House

Chapter One

Letter from Juan January 12, 2004

My name is Juan. Actually, that's not my real name, but it will have to do. I'm an illegal alien living in the United States. I've been here just over three years. It's been tough, very tough, but I'm proud of what I've accomplished.

I came here with absolutely nothing except a will to work hard and earn some money. I left behind my country, Paraguay, my parents and siblings, my two children, and everything that was familiar and dear to me. I had no choice. I love my country, but it couldn't offer me anything. Even though I had a few college courses under my belt, I could find work only at all kinds of odd jobs-from door-to-door salesman to long-distance truck driver. There was no job security and certainly no prospect for the future-hence my decision to emigrate.

Paraguay is a vast landlocked country, roughly the size of California, but with just under six million inhabitants. It became independent in 1811, after 275 years of Spanish rule. There are two official languages-Spanish and Guarani. The population is largely mestizo, a mixture of Spanish and indigenous Guarani Indian. The Catholic Church predominates. There is a small but highly successful community of Mennonites who came in waves from Europe and Canada, and settled in the Chaco region, near the Bolivian border. The Jewish community, centered in the capital of Asuncion, is tiny but, like the Mennonites, seemingly well-to-do. There are some Chinese immigrants. And, as I'll discuss shortly, there are a fair number of Arabs, mostly from Lebanon.

Like many Latin American nations, Paraguay came to democracy only recently, after decades of stultifying authoritarian rule and economic stagnation under "President-for-life" Alfredo Stroessner.

Just over one-third of the population lives below the poverty line. The unemployment rate today is close to 20 percent. Corruption is widespread and systemic. Money talks. With money, just about anything becomes possible: without money, everything is out of reach.

Nowhere is all this more evident than in my hometown of Ciudad del Este, in eastern Paraguay, the country's second largest city. Perhaps you've heard of it. If not, it's a name you should remember, all the more so in this era of global terrorism.

My city is in a region called the tri-border area, where Argentina, Brazil, and Paraguay meet. On our side of the border is the Itaipu Dam, which created one of the largest hydroelectric projects in the world. On the Argentine side is the city of Puerto Iguazu. And on the Brazilian side, which is connected by the Puente de la Amistad ("Friendship Bridge"), are the famous Iguazu Falls, a major tourist site. I don't know the exact number, but I'd say that thousands of people cross the bridge every day, mostly Brazilians on shopping expeditions. Border controls are lax to nonexistent.

Ciudad del Este, I'm sorry to say, is best known not for shopping or sightseeing, but for its black market, smuggling, money laundering, drugs and arms trafficking, and Islamic extremism.

The city was founded less than fifty years ago. The construction of the Itaipu Dam in the 1970s and 1980s caused a rapid growth in the population as many moved to my city for work in the booming service and commerce industries. Arabs became the principal merchants and to this day dominate the business sector. Most of the Arabs are Shiite Muslims from Lebanon. Across the Parana River, in Foz do Iguazu, Brazil, there is another Arab Muslim community with its mosques.

It wasn't until ten years ago that people began talking about Ciudad del Este and the tri-border region. Until then, no one seemed to pay much attention to what went on in the area. The law-abiding people, of whom there were many, kept their heads down and went about their business quietly, knowing that the last thing to do in a largely lawless place like this was to draw attention to themselves.

But with the two terrorist bombings in Buenos Aires-the first against the Israeli Embassy in 1992, the second against the Jewish Community Center in 1994-our area was suddenly in the news. I here were reports that the attackers had a connection to the Arab community, numbering about 20,000, in Ciudad del Este. Rumors began swirling that the terrorists had been given logistical support or financial assistance or safe haven in our city or the surrounding area. Leaders of the Arab community denied the allegations.

Then things seemed to quiet down, at least until September 11. Since then, there have been investigations, accusations, raids, and arrests, all focused on some members of the Arab community and involving suspected links to Hezbollah, Hamas, and Al-Qaeda. A few people were detained, some of whom were subsequently released. Others, including the Hezbollah point man in the region, managed to flee across the border to Brazil. And incriminating material, including Hezbollah recruitment propaganda and evidence of financial remittances to the terrorist organization, has been found.

I left just over three years ago, but stay in close touch with my family. I have to say that we were all surprised by the reports. We knew the Arabs as local businessmen and neighbors, and we saw them gather to pray on Fridays in the Prophet Mohammed Mosque. We understood that as a community they were quite successful, which came from a combination of skilled entrepreneurship and, we presumed, cross-border smuggling, the pirating of compact discs and the like, which, as I've said, is not uncommon in our region. The alleged links with international terrorism, whether in Buenos Aires or the Middle East, though, came as a big surprise.

I'm certainly no expert on international terrorism, but I can tell you that, despite some recent well-publicized steps, law enforcement still has a long way to go if it wants to monitor effectively what's going on in Ciudad del Este and its neighboring cities. I know from my friends just how porous the borders are, even if Argentina has noticeably tightened its frontier, and how free-wheeling and unchecked the economy is in my city. There are any number of unpatrolled airstrips and waterways, which create endless opportunities for people to move in and out of the region with ease. People can also make lots of (unreported) money, which can be moved around-in the country or out of the country-without too much difficulty.

Back to my own journey. After lots of agonizing, I decided to take the plunge and go to the United States. Everyone said that was the place for me. I was lucky. I didn't have to turn to a "coyote," the name given to professional smugglers, for help, nor did I have one of those gruesome overland trips depicted in the film El Norte. By a quirk of fate, I had been born on the Argentine side of the border and therefore had two passports-Argentine and Paraguayan.

At the time I planned my departure, Argentine citizens, unlike Paraguayans, didn't need an American visa to enter the country. That made life a lot easier for me. As a Paraguayan, getting a U.S. visa can be tricky. For instance, if you're from the town of Caraguatay, located between Asuncion and Ciudad del Este, you're likely to be turned down flat. It's widely known that just about every young person from that town tries to get to America, and many have done so, mostly illegally.

In my case, the Argentine passport was sufficient. I flew to New York, showed my passport, was given a tourist visa and, like many others, simply overstayed.

I was in my early thirties, healthy, strong as a bear, and eager to go to work. My goal was to make enough to live on and to send back as much money as I could for my two children, who were living with my ex-wife. Long-term, my hope was to find a way to bring my children to America.

I could write a book about my first three years. I spoke just a little English, which I had learned in school in Paraguay, but was far from fluent. I had a few Paraguayan contacts, but they had arrived not much before me. I knew nothing about the American economy or its social system.

I found my first job on a farm on Long Island. That was backbreaking work, and I lasted about three months. Then a friend told me I'd be better off elsewhere, so I moved upstate and became a pizza delivery man. Incidentally, that first winter introduced me to snow, something I'd never seen before, much less driven in.

Once I got the hang of driving here, which essentially involves obeying rules that are largely ignored in my country, and a sense of the geography, I got a job as a cab driver. It wasn't long, however, before I realized that the owners, fellow South Americans, were treating me unfairly. They kept for themselves all the lucrative rides to airports and into Manhattan, while I was left with local calls that yielded very little. And so I worked even harder, twelve to fourteen hours per day, six, even seven, days a week, to put some money aside toward my dream of one day opening my own competing company. I'm proud to say that, together with a few compatriots, I have now started that company, and it's doing well.

Any American reading this is bound to ask questions, most of which are variations on the same theme: How can an illegal immigrant start a business? The short answer is that it's surprisingly easy. And we've managed to do everything by the books. We are licensed and insured, we accept credit cards, and we deal directly with local authorities. I could write a book-or, more precisely, a manual-on this subject as well.

But what I want to convey is that, believe me, I take no pride in being illegal. Given the choice, it's not the way I would opt to live. Please understand that the last thing I wanted was to leave my country, my family, especially my children, and my friends, without the possibility of returning to them.

Do you have any idea how painful it is to know that my children are growing up without me, while the best I can do is make regular phone calls and send holiday gifts and money? I can't see them. There's no way l can go back for a visit and be sure that I can return here, as border controls have tightened since September 11. And there's no way for me now to bring the children here, even though my ex-wife has agreed in principle that they'd be far better off in America than in Paraguay. I've explored all kinds of schemes, but the chances of success aren't very high. I suppose my best hope is for an amnesty that will legalize my status, all the more so after President Bush's potentially encouraging comment on undocumented aliens of January 7. Then I would hope to file for my children's legal immigration.

I know there's some resentment in America about this influx of illegals from Latin America. At times, I feel it personally. The local police, for instance, seem to go out of their way to harass us. I can't tell you the number of times I've been stopped for no apparent reason while driving. They always seem to be looking for some excuse to give me a ticket. But we're here in America for the very same reason that others have come-in search of opportunity denied us elsewhere and a better life for ourselves and our families. And we're prepared to do the work that others don't seem to want. Who are the maids, housekeepers, gardeners, dishwashers, parking attendants, nighttime office cleaners, day laborers, and agricultural workers of today? (But we're also entrepreneurs and who knows what else.)

There are moments, though, when I feel that, as a group, we're practically invisible. Yes, society wants us to do the tough jobs, but then some people look at us as if we are lesser human beings, or nonexistent. Or they lump us all together and see us monolithically as "those Latinos."

I've now been here long enough to meet a lot of Latinos from various countries-Ecuador, Guatemala, Mexico, and Peru. Many came here legally; others, like myself, didn't. Some are with families; others are not. Some plan to return to their countries; others see their future in America. Some are well-educated; others are practically illiterate. Some have learned English; others are still struggling. In other words, while most of us speak Spanish (either as a first or, if we were raised to speak an Indian dialect, second language) and are Catholic (though a growing number have been drawn to Evangelical churches), we are a far more varied community than outsiders might think. Moreover, Peru is not Paraguay, and Ecuador is not El Salvador. Each country is different.

There are many things about America I like, even if I can't entirely adjust to a country whose national sport isn't soccer. After living in a country rife with corruption and with only limited economic opportunity, I find it a breath of fresh air to live here. America's infrastructure is also very impressive, as is the care given the environment. And I'm struck by the diversity of people here.

For example, I had never actually met a Jew before coming here, but now several of my regular customers are Jews. I have to confess that I didn't know much about Jews while living in Paraguay, other than that they were concentrated in Asuncion. I heard they were rich and that some Catholics believed they were responsible for killing Jesus, but I myself wasn't familiar with any Jews. In fact, I remember asking one of my customers if Jews celebrated Christmas. I couldn't imagine that anyone didn't. Now I know better.

Speaking of Jews, I read in one of the Paraguayan newspapers that Israel had decided to close its embassy in Asuncion. That's a shame. Israel is not well enough understood in my country, and the Arab community is very active. But there's a natural connection to Israel because it's seen as the Holy Land, the birthplace of Christianity. I hope Israel will reconsider its decision.

All in all, I've discovered that life isn't always fair. That's why I'm here alone and not in my country with my family. But I think I was born with an optimistic disposition. I try not to dwell too long on my difficulties. I have faith. I believe in God. I trust that things will work out for the best in the end. One way or another, I'll get my kids here, legalize my status, maybe remarry, and perfect my English.

My taxi company is doing well and I'm making more money than I ever imagined possible when I was working on the Long Island farm, even if it doesn't give me much time off. Earlier this fall, I even agreed to drive to a suburb of Denver to pick up a teenager and bring him to New York, at the request of a customer. I guess I had no idea how big this country really is and therefore charged too little. In all, I drove about 75 hours back and forth with just a couple of hours of sleep in the car. It turned out the teenager was the son of a "coyote" who couldn't let his son fly because he had no valid identification! Live and learn.

Why do I share my life story with you?

First, I suppose it's because of what I said a moment ago: I want to humanize us, the invisible people. Each of us Latinos has a story to tell, and no two stories are identical.

Second, maybe by recounting stories like mine, I can help in a small way to narrow the gap between the tens of millions of Latinos in the U.S. and other Americans.

And third, having been in the New York area on September 11, I came to understand the evil of terrorism. By coincidence, I come from a city that is on the global terrorist map. Perhaps by telling my story, I can shine the spotlight a bit on a city I love but one that contains within it dangerous elements that, if left unchecked, could contribute to a major terrorist incident somewhere in the world.

Letter from Chappaqua February 29, 2004

Once upon a time, Chappaqua was an unknown northern Westchester town, often confused in people's minds with either Chautauqua or Chappaquiddick. No longer. Ever since an ex-president and his wife, now the senator from New York, unexpectedly moved here, the place has become plenty well known. What hasn't changed, though, is the beauty and tranquillity of the area.

That makes it all the more jarring, on a quiet weekend day, to contemplate the world in which we live. From my desk, looking out at tree tops framed by snow-covered hills, it's hard to imagine the complex and often ugly realities which we face daily.

This past week was another sobering reminder.

Continues...

Excerpted from In the Trenchesby David A. Harris Copyright © 2001 by David A. Harris. Excerpted by permission.
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