“The fear is historic in this region and the policies of hate in this administration have reached new levels,” says a community organizer in Alamo, Texas.
25 June 2018 | Sarah Holder | CityLab
And since she was undocumented, she wasn’t expected to speak up. “She would mention things to them—that she wanted to find a better job, get better pay—and they said they would call immigration and she could get deported,” her daughter, Natalie Figueroa, said. Finally, at the urging of a stranger she met at a local bus stop, Olivia Figueroa fled.
It’s been more than three decades since Figueroa came to the United States, and she’s long been liberated from that job. But conditions for women at the border are eerily similar today: There’s Irma, who immigrated from Veracruz, Mexico, to become a live-in nanny and housekeeper without a written contract, and “hardly ever saw the sun”; and Maria, a housecleaner who suffered from abuse but felt powerless to report the violence after her abuser told her “no one would believe me because I didn’t have papers.”
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