Those who deny freedom to others, deserve it not for themselves.
—ABRAHAM LINCOLN
WE MEET WITH the lawyer for our consultation the week after Christmas. Freddie Alvarado is Latino, in his midfifties, and has a close-trimmed beard and mustache. When he greets us, he’s holding a cup of green tea, which is my favorite drink. Dad, on the other hand, isn’t impressed and scowls at everything.
The office is filled with all kinds of photos of labor leaders past and present, including a shot of Mr. Alvarado standing between Larry Itliong and Philip Vera Cruz. I know who the two Filipino men in the photo are because Dad spent some time in the fields. Most Filipinos his age have worked, or have family who worked, in the fields at one time or another.
I can tell by Dad’s grimace that he thinks the picture is there to keep any potential Filipino clients happy.
“Welcome, Mr. and Mrs. de los Santos,” Mr. Alvarado says.
“Very interesting office,” Dad says, looking up and down the bookcases.
“I take great pride in meeting some of the political figures I’ve admired.”
While Mom and I sit on the chairs, Dad remains standing. “How much are you charging for this consultation? I want to know we’re getting a fair price.”
“Daddy,” I say, mortified. “We already know.”
Mom decides to speak up. “We would like to get started as soon as possible, Mr. Alvarado.”
“Of course,” he says. “You’ll be happy to know I’ve already begun researching your case. I believe with your work records and your children’s academic success, you have a good chance to prove you’re worthy candidates for a green card that can then lead to American citizenship.”
“How much will that cost?” Dad asks.
Mom steps on his foot.
Dad changes his tone. “I mean, what’s your well-counseled advice?”
Mom steps on his foot again. I make a mental note not to bring Dad next time. The way he’s acting right now, Mr. Alvarado will probably pay us to leave the country.
Mr. Alvarado seems to expect this kind of behavior and ignores the foot-smashing on our side of the desk. “I’d like to press for a deportation trial,” he says. “Your family also hasn’t committed any offenses, especially aggravated felonies.”
I’m a little nervous. The memory of running with Kayla through Lo’s living room to avoid the police flashes in my mind. Even though there weren’t any actual police, I still feel exposed.
“What exactly is a deportation trial?” Mom asks.
“It’ll mean you’ll be admitting fault that you have been living here without documentation,” says Mr. Alvarado. “But I’ll be able to argue that you should be able to stay and receive some kind of documentation in the meantime.”
I sense my parents are already feeling overwhelmed, so I speak up. “That’s a little scary, isn’t it? If we lose, couldn’t we be deported? Wouldn’t it be difficult to get back into the US if that happens? And wouldn’t my parents lose all their assets?”
Mr. Alvarado folds his hands. “You must have been researching this process, Ms. de los Santos.” I nod silently in agreement. Doing research seems to be my full-time hobby these days.
“That is a possibility...” Mr. Alvarado continues. “It’s always risky, even for the most seasoned of deportation defense attorneys, to win these types of cases. That’s also why I’m careful when I agree to take on a case. I’ve won about ninety percent of these types of hearings.”
“I can do simple math,” Dad says. “That leaves ten percent getting kicked out.”
“That’s not always the case either,” Mr. Alvarado says. “In some cases, there are appeals that can be made to the Board of Immigration Appeals. There are also short extensions via temporary permission to live and work in the US that can result.”
“We don’t want temporary visas,” Mom says. “What about just waiting for a new bill? We could get amnesty. Is there going to be another?”
“Laws are always changing, Mrs. de los Santos,” Mr. Alvarado says. He adjusts his bright green tie and buttons his suit jacket. “They depend on politics. And, as you know, politics are undependable. They can also take a very, very long time. In the meantime, any undocumented family runs the risk of deportation. And, of course, any infraction—even something as simple as a speeding ticket—while undocumented could put the entire family at risk of being housed in a detention center if you’re all in the car when it happens.”
In disbelief, Mom covers her mouth. Dad sits up in his chair. “A detention center?” I ask.
“They do exist, unfortunately. The government calls them family detention centers in the name of keeping families together, but my understanding is that they’re terrible, as one would assume, especially for children. I won’t let that happen to you. Most of them are used for those caught at border crossings.” Mr. Alvarado continues. “In some ways you’re lucky. The current administration recently passed laws to speed up the process of hearings. Just a few years ago, there was a backlog of more than 300,000 cases and a waiting time average of 1.5 years.”
“One and a half years!” Dad says. “All for a chance at eventual citizenship?”
“It’s a quicker process now,” Mr. Alvarado says. “And I believe your case will get a speedy hearing. Your daughter’s accomplishments and her meeting the president will really help your case. She’s a model citizen, as are all the members of your family. It would be even better if you could somehow bring more public attention to your case.”
“You think we should go around telling everyone?” Dad asks.
“Your daughter has been named a National Scholar. Surely she must know someone who could publicize her case.”
The only person I can think of is Mr. Blakely. Royce offered to ask his dad for help, but I don’t really see why the congressman would help us.
“Get the word out,” Mr. Alvarado continues. “The more political pressure, the better. The more support from the community. We can use help from all sides.”
“But we could still end up in a detention center or deported,” Mom says.
Mr. Alvarado looks each of us dead in the eye. “Like I said, there are risks. But you’re already technically taking them now. If you win, however, you’ll be deemed legal once and for all. You’ll be eligible for naturalization in a few years. You’ll all be United States citizens.”