By Aly Colon
Immigration stories that involve deportation from the United States usually end when an individual, or family members, leave the United States.
Esmeralda Bermudez, a staff writer at The Oregonian, wanted to follow that story further. She knew such a change involved an adaptation that could involve the familiar, the frustrating and the frightening.
So Bermudez and staff photographer Stephanie Yao accompanied members of a Guatemalan family as they traveled back to their country of origin after living 13 years in Oregon.
The Oregonian had written stories about the deportation process. But Bermudez and Yao sought to chronicle what it was like for Irma Diaz, 39, to return her homeland after so many years; and for her son Luis, 21, and daughter Monica, 20, to come back to a place they barely knew.
The story
I interviewed Bermudez, who attended a Poynter seminar in September on race & immigration, about how she covered the story.
How did you learn about the Diaz family’s situation?
The family’s attorney called The Oregonian to tell us an immigration judge had denied Luis Diaz Sr.’s petition for political asylum 15 years after he had applied. Luis and his wife, Irma, applied separately for asylum. His petition is still being appealed. But Irma’s was denied. So she, her 21-year-old son Luis and 20-year-old daughter Monica faced deportation to their native Guatemala. A reporter on our politics team stepped in to write the story. Their case illustrated how complicated illegal immigration is in the United States. After more than a decade in Oregon, the Diazes had put down roots and now three members of the family were going to be returned to a country that stopped being home long ago.
Had you written about this family before?
Five months after the first story, we heard Irma and her children were scheduled to board the plane to Guatemala. Their deportation had been stayed three times over the summer, once just hours before they were supposed to leave for the airport. An Oregon congressman had tried to help them and the community had rallied in support, but this time it looked like their fate was sealed. Five days before the flight to Guatemala, photographer Stephanie Yao and I were called in to put together a story about their final effort to find help during their last days together.
What prompted you to come up with the idea of following the deported part of the family back Escuintla, Guatemala?
The idea was unexpected and came together at the last minute. After I introduced myself to the family and spent half a day with them for the second story, I came home feeling restless. I knew a story about their last days was not enough. The moment that plane lifted off the ground and they saw Oregon slipping away — the second they saw Guatemala’s landscape come into view — a whole new world would reveal itself, a bitter reality would strike, and it bothered me that no one would be there to see it. I wanted to follow. The next morning, when Stephanie also proposed traveling with the family, we knew we had to pitch the idea to editors.
How did you propose the story to your editors?
News stories about illegal immigrants typically end at the time of deportation. The immigrant walks out of immigration court or boards the plane, and all of sudden, the story’s closing credits roll by. Here, we had a unique opportunity to take readers to the other side, to a charged new beginning where every hour would be as unpredictable as next month.
The Diazes had spent 13 years living in the suburbs in a secluded, manufactured-home park where landscaping was as well-kept as a country club’s. They worked six jobs in total, had three cars, rose bushes, a fish pond, a dog named Lucky and a life that could only give way to more opportunity. In 72 hours, they’d abandon all of that and arrive as strangers in their homeland.
How did you convince the family to trust you and let you follow them?
This was the biggest challenge. I showed up at the family’s house for the first time five days before they would board the plane. Within 24 hours of our introduction, I asked if we could follow them to Guatemala to tell their story. Initially, Irma — the matriarch in the family — seemed flattered and quickly offered her sister’s home. Later, when I showed up at their house to talk more about our intentions, her attitude had changed. She worried how acquaintances in Guatemala might judge her and her children if they returned after being deported with journalists in tow. She wanted to exclude us from family gatherings. Luis Sr. feared for our safety. Both wondered what the point would be of telling their story if it could not bring them back. They asked that we arrive in Guatemala weeks later after they had settled in or that we arrive in a separate plane a day later.
In order for the story to work, the family had to believe that telling it was important. If they questioned it, they would set barriers and make it difficult for Stephanie and me to get close during the eight-day trip. So I asked them what they wanted people in Oregon to know about their predicament, what impression they hoped to leave behind. Their case had been widely covered by media in Oregon, and it seemed odd to have the story stop the night of their departure. Everything they had pushed to broadcast about their imminent reality was about to come to life, and we were offering to capture it.
We made no promises other than to write about their experience, the first week of entry. To do so meant boarding the same plane, staying in the same home and being present at all times. Finally, Irma understood and said, Sí, la sopa se toma caliente. “Yes, the soup must be eaten hot.” The following night, she called and agreed to our idea.
Did the family express any concerns about what you would write about? If so, how did you address them?
There were two issues that came up. Irma didn’t want me to mention her sister’s home, where she stayed with Luis and Monica until they found work. She said Americans would misinterpret her sister’s comforts as her own and assume Mirian’s home — a small three-bedroom house with couches and a television with MTV — was representative of the life that awaited them in Guatemala. I told her writing about the house was inevitable. It was part of their experience, but in the larger context of the story, her concern would be addressed. It wasn’t her home. It was a stopover, a place to sleep and store their 400 pounds of luggage, which is all they had left.
She also didn’t want me to write about her illegal trip to the United States, which she made with her children without telling her husband, who was already in Oregon. She said it was a moot point and considered it personal. But the history was important. It showed how this woman — who had never filled her own car with gas in Oregon and walked sheepishly with a tightened fist in Guatemala — had once been bold enough to break the law to reunite her family. The decision haunted her. Back in Escuintla, she regretted the risk and felt guilty for her children.
Were there cultural issues you had to address and become familiar with?
Stephanie and I had starkly different experiences with cultural issues during the trip. I left El Salvador when I was 5 years old, yet everything about the country, its language, its nuances, food and attitude is second nature to me. When we joined the family in Guatemala, at times crowding into small homes to talk and joke loudly, it all felt familiar. Our accents are very similar and like Salvadorans, Guatemalans also speak using the pronoun vos, with its own set of verb conjugations. Out in the streets, the country looked, smelled and sounded like El Salvador.
For Stephanie, who is Chinese American, it was difficult. Because of her Chinese features, people stared and constantly called her “China. La China!” At the orphanage one worker greeted her in Japanese, bowed his head laughing and said “Konichiwa.” It never occurred to her that her own ethnicity would turn out to be her biggest obstacle. Everywhere she was obvious. At first she’d smile and laugh it off. Later, she made a point to just ignore the attention and not let her discomfort distract her from capturing the most real picture of the family.
Did you have any ethical concerns?
Being a Salvadoran immigrant was a blessing and a curse. The countries lie side by side, and it led the family to immediately connect with me. Irma’s mother is Salvadoran. In Guatemala I was “Esmeralda, the reporter from El Salvador.” I worried the Diazes and the extended family would lose sight of my role and confide in me expecting that their words would not end up in print. At times Irma would talk and then say, “but I tell you this as a friend.” Each time, I would remind her: This is part of reality so it may end up part of the story. I paid close attention to the tone of my voice, my body language, my sense of humor. I had to be maintain space, and at the same time, not shun the affection that’s common among Hispanic families.
During desperate moments it was tricky. When Irma, Monica and Luis went apartment hunting or weighed the pros and cons of the orphanage job offers, they sought my opinion. Not wanting to stress them out more or change their course of action, I’d respond cautiously by parroting back facts they already knew. Then I’d tell them it was their decision.
There were also logistical disruptions that we brought on with our own presence. When I found that the family wanted to rely on my cell phone (which I carried for emergencies) to communicate with their sister, I removed the SIMS memory card so the phone wouldn’t work. Transportation became a headache in the first two days. Stephanie and I could not fit in the sister’s compact car with the family. With the lawless driving, we could not drive and we were cautioned against hiring a taxi so we decided to try a van. On the rare occasions when the family had a ride and we didn’t fit, we decided we’d call the van, which was owned by a family friend. The rest of the time we’d tag along on buses. After two air-conditioned van trips, we got rid of it because it altered the family’s state of mind. When I asked Monica what was the most positive aspect of her second day in the country, she said. “The van. It’s so nice.”
Was being able to speak Spanish necessary for this story?
Everything for this story was negotiated and discussed in Spanish. Before I could get the family to believe in the story, they had to trust me. I don’t see how the concept, the nuances and our sincerity could have been conveyed effectively if our communication was not as clear, thorough and direct as any reporting done in Spanish.
What did you do to prepare for the trip, and for the story you would write?
Before the trip, I could not do much. I had a day and a half to prepare and pack. If I would have had more time, I would have learned more about Guatemala’s history and current affairs. The family asked for privacy in their last two days together and hours before the flight, as other media surrounded them.
How did you decide what you would focus on about their lives in Oregon?
We lacked time so I saw little of their lives in Oregon. What’s in the story are snippets I was able to catch in the few hours I spent with the family before the trip or learned from watching and interviewing them in Guatemala. Luis Sr. also added to the story after the trip by talking about Irma’s peculiar lunch habits: her favorite was a Burger King Whopper and McDonald’s fries with honey on the side. In Guatemala, Monica was a girly girl. She spent more than hour on her hair and was easily brought to tears by thoughts of her dog Lucky back in Oregon. Luis pointed to cars wherever he went, twice finding the red Honda Civic model he drove in Oregon.
How did you prepare yourself to learn about what life and culture was like in Guatemala?
There wasn’t much time. I found a few statistics and maps on Escuintla, the Diazes’ hometown. Most of all, I relied on what my five senses, input form native Guatemalans and my own experience traveling in Central America.
You wrote: “In Guatemala, violence is as common as the trash littering the street. Fear dominates decisions: what to wear, where to walk, who to talk to.” What reporting did you do to come to that assessment?
Everyone I encountered during the trip was affected by the lack of safety in Guatemala. I continuously asked how this affected their daily lives. Irma’s mother had been shot on two separate occasions by robbers at the family bike-repair shop. Each sister and sister-in-law has had jewelry yanked off their necks and wrists in broad daylight. One sister-in-law can’t hang clothes to dry outside because they get stolen. Mirian, the sister who the family stayed with, had been groped in the street and held a gunpoint a few months ago when two men hijacked the bus during her morning commute. She never went anywhere alone and she warned the family to sit in the middle of the bus in case hijackers were aboard. At the orphanage, Heather Radu warned them that there was no such thing as a safe area. Within a three-day period, we saw a veterinarian shot dead in the street, two men killed for attempting to rob a bank and a teenager struck by a hit-and-run.
The fear this created was obvious in the Diazes. Monica would change her outfits several times worried that her cleavage or short skirts would attract attention. Luis removed his watch and rings. Irma carried a money in a belt. The three clung to each other wherever they went.
Were you present for all the events you describe on the trip?
Yes, we were present for everything I described except at the end when the family returns to Zone 1 and signs a six-month lease on a two-bedroom apartment. By that time, we were on the plane headed back to Oregon.
Where did you stay while reporting the story?
With the family at Irma’s sister’s house in Escuintla.
What did you decide to focus on when you wrote, and why?
There were two powerful elements in this story: change and survival. Overnight, the life the Diazes had built over 13 years in Oregon ended — and gave way to a bitter new existence. To cope, each family member transformed and became a different person.
How did you decide what the structure of the story would be?
We were afraid that following the family during their first week in Guatemala would lead to little more than back-to-back culture clashes with a lot of sitting around and little interaction with the outside world. But thankfully, the Diazes hit the ground running.
The story’s structure follows that simple chronology. It starts with the trip from the airport where Irma and her kids are literally pressed against a new reality, inches from the front of a big rig. Then there’s the arrival to the sister’s house where the phone call from the orphanage begins their search for work and housing. Last, there’s tension when Luis’ job may be given to someone else. This pushes them to end up in Zone 1.
There were other points woven in about dangers, their personal transformations and background about the illegal journey to Oregon.
How did you determine when you had enough for the story?
I didn’t. I wrote as much as a I could about everything I saw, heard, smelled and felt in Guatemala. Then I returned, as usual, freaking out because I feared I didn’t have enough. When you only have two and a half days to finish the story, you yank it all out of your brain and notebooks and realize you have more than enough.
What did you want this story to accomplish for your readers?
There’s a larger debate over immigration happening nationwide, but we didn’t want this story to be political for readers or for the Diaz family. The goal was to connect Oregonians to a world they would not have witnessed otherwise. We wanted to put readers and Web users in the shoes of the Diazes as their lives were transformed. The goal was to follow the story past where it usually ends — at the border. Many readers who wrote to us connected emotionally to the story and stopped to think: What would I do if this happened to me? What if these were my kids?
