Usually, this annual event has people lined up around the block waiting to pick up their free goodies.
The organizers also passed out red cards created by theImmigrant Legal Resource Center.
They also say that under the 4th Amendment, authorities do not have the right to search their belongings.
The author’s family in Washington State. From left: Brother Güero, father Ricardo, mother Alicia, and brother Pepe.Courtesy of Araceli Cruz
These cards are specifically to be handed out toimmigrationauthorities.
Gabriel read his card carefully.
Hopefully, the police will respect it, he said.
This is affecting us all.
I had heard of such cards before but never held one in my hand.
Many of us still do.
They are human beings.
FOR MY FAMILY, THESE STORIES OFLa Migrahave become part of the fabric of our history.
We tell them again and again, using gallows humor to alleviate some of the pain we endured.
Remember whenLa Migratook Guero?
Remember when my Tio Chuy was deported?
We made the trek back and forth daily, so my parents were familiar with the agents.
with the magic words U.S. citizen!
As a toddler, Mari was envious of her siblings green cards.
She just wanted to show something with her picture on it.
I was free and could speak for myself.
My moms road trip ritual was collecting and distributing paperwork.
She carefully guarded manila envelopes to ensure they were always within reach.
We learned the hard way that misplacing them could be devastating.
Every summer from 1980 to 1985, my family would drive our RV 22 hours from Calexico to Mt.
Vernon, Washington, to pick strawberries at a farm.
I didnt think it was odd that we worked in fields.
Many of our heroes were in that same farming community; it felt natural.
I even thought we were related to the legendary farmworker union organizer, Cesar Chavez.
His face was plastered everywhere like Jesus, and we even looked a little like him.
So, to us, he was like God.
We didnt identify that way because we lived here.
The U.S. was our home.
The other room was stacked with bunk beds.
The bathrooms were outside the house, which we shared with the rest of the families.
These bathrooms were basically outhouses and they were lined up side-to-side.
For many, it is their means of survival.
But working the fields was also hard and scary whenLa Migrashowed up.
But my brothers were still nervous, especially when they werent working close to our parents.
To hear my father tell it, Guero, who was 13 or 14, once forgot his advice.
The rest of them worked separately, picking strawberries.
La Migradid show up, and everyone around Guero started running, so he did, too.
They rounded up Guero and his friends.
My mom stashed everyones documents in her safe place underneath the mattress.
Guero swore toLa Migrathat he had papers, but they didnt believe him.
I told you not to run, my dad said sternly.
Years later, I asked Guero about the dayLa Migrapicked him up.
He recounted the story a bit differently than my dad.
For one thing, he says, he didnt run.
Pepe was with me, he explained.
It was the weekend, and we wanted to make extra money.
Everyone else started running whenLa Migrashowed up.
We stayed put, but they took us anyway.
She only found Pepes.
Go to his house.
Thats when the tears started streaming down Gueros face, Pepe said.
My mom said, Why cant they take Pepe?
He knows Mexico better than Guero and can blend in easier.
What she knew but didnt say was that Pepe would be OK in Tijuana because he had darker skin.
Thankfully, it all got settled, and none of us got deported.
Others werent so lucky.
That way, whoever got deported back to Mexico after working an entire summer wouldnt get paid.
LIVING AND WORKING IN THE SHADOW ofLa Migradidnt start in the 1980s for my family.
It spanned back decades.
That way, they could bail themselves out once deported to Mexico.
My dad shared that something similar happened when he first tried to build a life in the U.S. Ill call immigration on you, my dad remembers her saying.
He still felt uncertain despite entering legally with his Mexican passport, and he feared deportation.
One Sunday, my dad told his friend about his situation and how she denied him a raise.
He told me, Grab your things and lets go, my dad said.
Did you just take your backpack and leave?
I asked, Backpack?
I put whatever clothes I had in a plastic bag and left.
It was called theMexican Repatriation, and I didnt even know about it untilTrump began his anti-immigrant campaignin 2015.
I was looking to see whether such a thing had been done before.
None of us in our family had a clue.
History is repeating itself once again.
But we wont forget.
Her forthcoming memoir,Five Times I Died, will include portions of this article.
