Book Review: The Undocumented Americans by Karla Cornejo Villavicencio
Karla Cornejo Villavicencio was convinced Trump was going to be the 45th President. She thought he was propelled to the win after the Comey letter from a month earlier. On that Tuesday night, she prepared for the dismal victory by wearing a burgundy velvet dress and adorning her shoulders with a leopard-print faux fur coat, “I understood that night would be my end, but I would not be ushered to an internment camp in sweatpants.”
Cornejo arrived from Ecuador in the United States as a four-year-old. For nearly three decades she and her parents have lived as undocumented immigrants. She is currently pursuing a PhD, which she is allowed to do because of the Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals (DACA) program. DACA gives certain undocumented young immigrants who were brought to the United States as children, permission to live and work lawfully. The program does not grant a path to permanent residency nor U.S. citizenship. Cornejo knew that Trump’s feat was sure to alter DACA’s delicate and critical existence (as of this writing, a decision by SCOTUS on the fate of DACA is expected by the end of June 2020). His success, based on a campaign of intolerance and hate, gave immigrants (undocumented and documented alike) a clear message: you are not wanted here. It is within this context that Cornejo wrote The Undocumented Americans.
Photo by Bella Newman. Used with permission.
In her book Cornejo writes from a place of shared trauma, memories, and pain. She portrays day laborers, housekeepers, construction workers, and deliverymen as “the weirdos we all are outside of our job.” Cornejo also establishes that “immigrant” and “worker” are not a mutually exclusive state of being. Her emphasis on trauma and “the weirdos we all are” is only fitting for the kind of lives we immigrants live in this country. Our lives here are acutely defined by our immigration statuses. Nonetheless, we are not just individuals who suffer. We are also weirdos who enjoy the same mundane and funny elements of life. We adore our rescue pit bulls and crack jokes about how much therapy we need.
The Undocumented Americans is part memoir, part reporting, and a small part fiction; or as Cornejo describes it, “creative nonfiction.” Its central theme is Cornejo’s undocumented/DACA experiences and that of the women, men and children she interviews. It exposes the impact of 9/11 and the Flint Water Crisis on undocumented immigrants. It opens a window into the lives of undocumented Americans in a few cities across the north and south of the East Coast. Cornejo’s storytelling flawlessly goes from her experiences to those of her interviewees, all the while weaving everyone’s histories into a compassionate and nuanced narrative of what it means to live an undocumented life for each person featured in her writing.
The fictional aspect of her writing is the most surprising, yet necessary part of her book. She sprinkles in fiction as a reminder to the reader of our shared humanity. For instance, Cornejo depicts the final hours of Ubaldo Cruz Martínez, an alcoholic, undocumented day laborer who drowned to death in his basement apartment during Hurricane Sandy. She imagines that on his way home that final night, his body and heart intoxicated with depression and alcohol, he picked up an ailing squirrel laying on the ground. He took her home, dried and fed her, and placed her in a shoe box surrounded by warm socks:
He knew he was not leaving this basement tonight. He couldn’t get himself anywhere. No one would want him. They’d given up on him long ago. He had kids in Mexico. They’d be orphans. His heart raced. His hands became moist. Stroking the squirrel kept him calm as the basement filled with water. He put on his Ochoa jersey and a thin gold chain, and he decided to wait for what would come. He stroked the squirrel until the water got up to his shoulders and he treaded water. He held on to the shoe box above his head. No creature should have to die alone.
We do not know who was saving who in this passage. What we do learn from this excerpt is that sadness and loneliness are part of our nature and one does not need documents to cogitate or to die.
The Undocumented Americans is a poignant, much needed book for all of us immigrants, particularly in the times of Trump. You will see yourself in its pages, and if you do not, that is fine, for books are mirrors and windows. Cornejo asserts her book will give you permission to let go and to be free. She admits it will sometimes be hard to read but, “I didn’t write it for you to like it.” Racism, workers’ exploitation, nostalgia, and loneliness can indeed be difficult to read, but it is much harsher to ignore them. Can love trump hate? Karla Cornejo Villavicencio writes, “[t]ruly, I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.”
Daisy Muñoz is pursuing a Master of Arts degree in Latin American and Caribbean Studies at New York University. She immigrated to the United States from Colombia at the age of 15. She can be reached at daisy.munoz@nyu.edu.