JENS MANUEL KROGSTAD
WCF Courier Staff Writer
July 6, 2008
POSTVILLE -- On a quiet street lined with neatly mowed lawns, blue sheets cover the front windows 24 hours a day at the home of Marta Veronica.
Even on a bright, warm June afternoon, little light seeps into the living room, where her nephew sits watching television in the sparsely decorated space. Federal agents arrested him in an immigration raid at Agriprocessors in May, but conditionally released him when they found out he was underage.
Veronica, 32, of Guatemala, said she knows her fear of the authorities is irrational -- they already arrested her, her husband and her nephew.
She spoke in Spanish quietly, and often stared into the distance for a few moments before answering questions.
"We are scared that they will come again. I think, in my case, I'm a working woman. We're simple, humble, we're poor -- we came to fight for our children and earn a living," she said.
She wants to return home, she said, but she can't.
Veronica and her nephew represent two of more than 40 Postville residents -- primarily mothers conditionally released to care for children -- quietly waiting in their homes to leave the country.
Nearly two months after the immigration raid, many still don't know when they will appear in court to continue the deportation process.
They cannot work and cannot leave the state. So they rely on local churches and charities to pay rent, utilities and put food on the table.
In a back-logged immigration court system, immigration attorneys say, a wait of six months is not unusual. If a person decides to fight deportation, the process can take years.
Sonia Parras Konrad, a Des Moines attorney representing several of the immigrants, said a few of her clients have been notified of an October court date. She is trying to speed up the process because her clients do not want to fight deportation.
"The best thing for them, because they can't work lawfully, is to just help them get out of the country," she said.
Since May 12, Veronica's days primarily consist of waking up, feeding her children, cleaning the home, starting dinner, then heading to bed.
She also awaits the return of her husband, who like most men arrested in raid, is serving a five-month prison term on charges related to identity theft.
Sometime during the day, Veronica must sit by an outlet for two hours while her electronic monitoring bracelet charges. If she recently received a cash donation, she finds a ride to Wal-Mart in Decorah.
Most of the women waiting deportation visit the local food pantry once a week. It has struggled to keep up with demand. Local churches take turns holding pot lucks on Wednesdays.
The wait has frustrated not only the immigrants, but those helping them.
At the end of the month, most of the immigrants visit St. Bridget's Catholic Church to ask for money to pay rent and utilities. So far, the church has been able to keep the women and their families from homelessness.
"It's tough for me to comprehend why it's taking such a long time," said Paul Rael, director of Hispanic ministries at St. Bridget's. "Those families are caught between a rock and a hard place."
Maria Guadalupe Torres, 30, of Mexico, visited St. Bridget's last week to arrange paperwork for her children, who are U.S. citizens.
As the release date of their husbands approaches, women are visiting the church more often for help on the matter.
Torres wants her children to have passports and certified birth certificates so the family can leave the country together when her deportation date is decided. But she does not know yet when that will be.
"I feel worried. I don't know what will happen," said Maria Guadalupe Torres, 30, of Mexico.
As she cooked a chicken stew, Veronica said she came to the U.S. to escape the frequent violence and home break-ins in her Guatemalan neighborhood. Instead, she said, she has endured abuse from supervisors at Agriprocessors, and worked overtime without pay.
"It's a difficult life there -- that's why we came. But if I could do it over again, I wouldn't come to the U.S.," she said.
Just to obtain a job at the plant, she said, she paid $1,500 to a man at the plant to buy a car that did not run. The extortion was common at the plant, according to court documents filed before the raid.
Veronica cried when she talked about her elderly mother in Guatemala. She relies on Vernonica's income -- $100 a month -- to survive. The stress and sadness of the arrests, she said, has caused her mother's health to worsen.
"I'm the only daughter who supports her, so she's very sad," Veronica said.
For now, she said, her mother will have to find a way to survive until she can return to Guatemala.
Contact Jens Manuel Krogstad at (319) 291-1580 or jens.krogstad@wcfcourier.com.
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