This was tough. [The Undocumented Americans by Karla Cornejo Villavicencio]
One of the first undocumented immigrants to graduate from Harvard reveals the hidden lives of her fellow undocumented Americans in this deeply personal and groundbreaking portrait of a nation.
Looking beyond the flashpoints of the border or the activism of the DREAMers, Cornejo Villavicencio explores the lives of the undocumented—and the mysteries of her own life. She finds the singular, effervescent characters across the nation often reduced in the media to political pawns or nameless laborers. The stories she tells are not deferential or naively inspirational but show the love, magic, heartbreak, insanity, and vulgarity that infuse the day-to-day lives of her subjects.
In New York, we meet the undocumented workers who were recruited into the federally funded Ground Zero cleanup after 9/11. In Miami, we enter the ubiquitous botanicas, which offer medicinal herbs and potions to those whose status blocks them from any other healthcare options. In Flint, Michigan, we learn of demands for state ID in order to receive life-saving clean water. In Connecticut, Cornejo Villavicencio, childless by choice, finds family in two teenage girls whose father is in sanctuary. And through it all we see the author grappling with the biggest questions of love, duty, family, and survival.
In her incandescent, relentlessly probing voice, Karla Cornejo Villavicencio combines sensitive reporting and powerful personal narratives to bring to light remarkable stories of resilience, madness, and death. Through these stories we come to understand what it truly means to be a stray. An expendable. A hero. An American.
In The Undocumented Americans author Karla Cornejo Villavicencio leads a tough talk about the reality of living and working in the United States as an undocumented immigrant, focusing on those of hispano-latin descent. As she travels through the U.S. to get firsthand accounts of that reality and its impact on the lives of individuals and their families, Villavicencio grapples to makes sense of the variations in the hardships she learns of. Undocumented herself, Villavicencio contrasts her own experience and privileges to contextualize her personal struggles, the struggles of her family, and the struggles of her found families and friends.
As the daughter of a now naturalized immigrant, a first generation American, and as someone with generational roots in Latin America I can only attest to where I am on the spectrum of immigrant-adjacent experiences, and that's fairly privileged. Still, I grew up in New York City and in high school especially many peers sat on the immigration spectrum. The neighborhoods I lived in were immigrant hubs so there was always a sense of international connection, of fresh and ongoing travel. The stories of my predecessors in the Caribbean are ones of frequent travel and constant resettlement. Immigration has not been my struggle but I'm not so far removed from it.
I've come to view my family, especially through my maternal grandmother's line, as nomads. When things get difficult, when you need to be elsewhere to eke out a living, or when you're just feeling like a better life is on the horizon, you move. You move as much as you need to, back and forth, to and fro, or to and to and so on. I understand that I can only understand immigration through that lens, so I always welcome the opportunity to learn more and reshift my focus through the lens of others.
It was tough looking through this lens. I grew up in areas where people were often freshly arriving, hoping to make a new place for themselves, but I can't say I was acutely aware of anyone living in fear of deportation. My mother had an alien card for the majority of my life. I can vaguely remember some worries on her part of expiry dates and urgent renewals, but nothing to the degree of the testimonies Villavicencio elaborates on in her book. It was a tough read because the reality of immigration, of discrimination against immigrants, is tough and disgusting, let alone when you consider undocumented immigration.
So I learned a lot reading this accounting. I am further disgusted with ICE and the state of immigration, not only in the United States but worldwide. This was not a pill meant to go down easy, it was meant to jar. But I found myself coming out of the deep-dive narrative, not empathizing with the author. And I recognize that it's really weird to critique someone's narrative of their life, of their experiences when it's a personal narrative, but it's how I felt. The lens was not my own, not the one I'm used to and comfortable with, but the lenses of others are just that, made for others. Personal viewpoints color the lenses, so not everyone can see out of them as clearly as they might hope. All in all, I enjoyed my read, it was elucidating, but this was a 4 star read for me.
Looking beyond the flashpoints of the border or the activism of the DREAMers, Cornejo Villavicencio explores the lives of the undocumented—and the mysteries of her own life. She finds the singular, effervescent characters across the nation often reduced in the media to political pawns or nameless laborers. The stories she tells are not deferential or naively inspirational but show the love, magic, heartbreak, insanity, and vulgarity that infuse the day-to-day lives of her subjects.
In New York, we meet the undocumented workers who were recruited into the federally funded Ground Zero cleanup after 9/11. In Miami, we enter the ubiquitous botanicas, which offer medicinal herbs and potions to those whose status blocks them from any other healthcare options. In Flint, Michigan, we learn of demands for state ID in order to receive life-saving clean water. In Connecticut, Cornejo Villavicencio, childless by choice, finds family in two teenage girls whose father is in sanctuary. And through it all we see the author grappling with the biggest questions of love, duty, family, and survival.
In her incandescent, relentlessly probing voice, Karla Cornejo Villavicencio combines sensitive reporting and powerful personal narratives to bring to light remarkable stories of resilience, madness, and death. Through these stories we come to understand what it truly means to be a stray. An expendable. A hero. An American.
In The Undocumented Americans author Karla Cornejo Villavicencio leads a tough talk about the reality of living and working in the United States as an undocumented immigrant, focusing on those of hispano-latin descent. As she travels through the U.S. to get firsthand accounts of that reality and its impact on the lives of individuals and their families, Villavicencio grapples to makes sense of the variations in the hardships she learns of. Undocumented herself, Villavicencio contrasts her own experience and privileges to contextualize her personal struggles, the struggles of her family, and the struggles of her found families and friends.
As the daughter of a now naturalized immigrant, a first generation American, and as someone with generational roots in Latin America I can only attest to where I am on the spectrum of immigrant-adjacent experiences, and that's fairly privileged. Still, I grew up in New York City and in high school especially many peers sat on the immigration spectrum. The neighborhoods I lived in were immigrant hubs so there was always a sense of international connection, of fresh and ongoing travel. The stories of my predecessors in the Caribbean are ones of frequent travel and constant resettlement. Immigration has not been my struggle but I'm not so far removed from it.
I've come to view my family, especially through my maternal grandmother's line, as nomads. When things get difficult, when you need to be elsewhere to eke out a living, or when you're just feeling like a better life is on the horizon, you move. You move as much as you need to, back and forth, to and fro, or to and to and so on. I understand that I can only understand immigration through that lens, so I always welcome the opportunity to learn more and reshift my focus through the lens of others.
It was tough looking through this lens. I grew up in areas where people were often freshly arriving, hoping to make a new place for themselves, but I can't say I was acutely aware of anyone living in fear of deportation. My mother had an alien card for the majority of my life. I can vaguely remember some worries on her part of expiry dates and urgent renewals, but nothing to the degree of the testimonies Villavicencio elaborates on in her book. It was a tough read because the reality of immigration, of discrimination against immigrants, is tough and disgusting, let alone when you consider undocumented immigration.
So I learned a lot reading this accounting. I am further disgusted with ICE and the state of immigration, not only in the United States but worldwide. This was not a pill meant to go down easy, it was meant to jar. But I found myself coming out of the deep-dive narrative, not empathizing with the author. And I recognize that it's really weird to critique someone's narrative of their life, of their experiences when it's a personal narrative, but it's how I felt. The lens was not my own, not the one I'm used to and comfortable with, but the lenses of others are just that, made for others. Personal viewpoints color the lenses, so not everyone can see out of them as clearly as they might hope. All in all, I enjoyed my read, it was elucidating, but this was a 4 star read for me.
The Undocumented Americans was published March 2020.
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