General Discussion
Related: Editorials & Other Articles, Issue Forums, Alliance Forums, Region ForumsCrisis of older undocumented workers awaits Illinois (and rest of USA)
CHICAGO In a cold basement apartment on the Southwest Side, Gregorio Pillado and Martina Alonso count pennies and pray for relief.
Pillado, 79, has been working at a nearby meatpacking plant for 20 years, lifting thousands of pounds of frozen meats into large vats, eight hours a day, five days a week. His $16 an hour pretax is the married couple's only source of income. With it, they manage to pay for their groceries, medicines, utilities and their $800 monthly rent but not much else.
Alonso, 69, used to bring in money by catering small parties and selling bags of chopped-up nopales (prickly pear), but she had to stop after she fell and injured her wrist months ago.
Pillado's health has declined dramatically over the last few years. First he had to get a pacemaker implanted. Then he had surgery to remove a hernia. Now he has another hernia, but he doesn't know whether he'll be able to get it removed. His health problems make him incapable of handling his old workloads, and he worries about if or when he'll get fired.
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Pillado and Alonso have no savings, no retirement plan and no authorization to live in the U.S.
https://thesouthern.com/news/state-and-regional/crisis-of-older-undocumented-workers-awaits-illinois/article_8243244a-67f3-5745-a073-2590b313552a.html
Without a social safety net, many undocumented seniors are forced to work until they drop, said Adela Carlin, a public aid lawyer who's helped dozens of immigrants in the Chicago area access charity funds. "When you're undocumented, there's no such thing as a retirement age," she said. "You work until you can't anymore."
old as dirt
(1,972 posts)Then they came for the Mayans of Postville, and I was not Mayan, so I did not speak out.
Eric Camayd-Freixas, Ph.D.
Florida International University
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Echoing what I think was the general feeling, one of my fellow interpreters would later exclaim: "When I saw what it was really about, my heart sank. . . ." Then began the saddest procession I have ever witnessed, which the public would never see, because cameras were not allowed past the perimeter of the compound (only a few journalists came to court the following days, notepad in hand). Driven single-file in groups of 10, shackled at the wrists, waist and ankles, chains dragging as they shuffled through, the slaughterhouse workers were brought in for arraignment, sat and listened through headsets to the interpreted initial appearance, before marching out again to be bused to different county jails, only to make room for the next row of 10. They appeared to be uniformly no more than 5 ft. tall, mostly illiterate Guatemalan peasants with Mayan last names, some being relatives (various Tajtaj, Xicay, Sajché, Sologüí. . .), some in tears; others with faces of worry, fear, and embarrassment. They all spoke Spanish, a few rather laboriously. It dawned on me that, aside from their nationality, which was imposed on their people in the 19th century, they too were Native Americans, in shackles. They stood out in stark racial contrast with the rest of us as they started their slow penguin march across the makeshift court. "Sad spectacle" I heard a colleague say, reading my mind. They had all waived their right to be indicted by a grand jury and accepted instead an information or simple charging document by the U.S. Attorney, hoping to be quickly deported since they had families to support back home. But it was not to be. They were criminally charged with "aggravated identity theft" and "Social Security fraud" -- charges they did not understand . . . and, frankly, neither could I. Everyone wondered how it would all play out.
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http://graphics8.nytimes.com/images/2008/07/14/opinion/14ed-camayd.pdf
From the album, "Little Criminals:"