Making sense of immigration and identity

With all the national furor over Arizona's state law designed to identify, prosecute and deport illegal immigrants, it was a welcome respite to lose myself recently in a thoughtful, meticulously reported book called "Just Like Us."

Somehow I missed it last year when it won praise from The Washington Post as one of best books of 2009. I'm glad I picked it up this spring at a used bookstore in Anacortes.

"Just Like Us" is the true story of four high school girls in Denver whose families have emigrated from Mexico and the complications that ensue because of their differing legal status. Best friends since middle school, each has at least one parent who crossed into the U.S. without a legal visa.

Marisela, the leader of the group and the one most tied to the Mexican culture, was smuggled into the United States at age 7 in the back of a pickup truck. Her best friend, Yadira, also crossed the border illegally. Neither girl has a green card or Social Security number. Elissa was born in the U.S. and Clara is a naturalized citizen so both, unlike their friends, are able to get a driver's license, travel on a plane and, most important, apply for college scholarships without reservation. Illegal immigrants in Colorado, like most states, must pay non-resident tuition and are ineligible for state or federal financial aid of any kind.

As the girls pursue their education, they confront multiple challenges involving their family's finances, the tug-of-war between American and Mexican cultures, and the fraying of their own friendships, tattered by the difference in their legal status. If this weren't enough, two subplots complicate things further: 1) Congressman Tom Tancredo, who represents a suburban Denver district, becomes a leader in the national movement to crack down on illegal immigration, drawing the girls into political activism on campus and in the community. 2) An illegal immigrant fatally shoots a Denver cop at a Latino night club and flees the state, triggering a scary backlash and putting the city's mayor on the hot seat.

The book, at 382 pages, falls into the genre of narrative non-fiction journalism and recalls similar books, like Adrian LeBlanc's "Random Family" (about multigenerational welfare) and Alex Kotlowitz's "There Are No Children Here" (about life in the Chicago projects).

The narrative follows the girls from high school to college with author Helen Thorpe tagging along to family gatherings, Denver nightclubs, their classes and dorm rooms -- and even to Mexico to visit the mother of one of the girls. Thorpe uses pseudonyms to protect the girls' identities and brings two unusual perspectives to the book: She was born in London, the daughter of Irish parents, but grew up in the U.S. carrying a green card and became a naturalized citizen at 21. And, though she's an established journalist, writing for The New Yorker and other magazines, she's also the wife of John Hickenlooper, the mayor of Denver.

Thorpe acknowledges the conflict of interest wherever it pops up and is admirably transparent in sharing the evolution of her thinking as she considers all sides of the immigration debate, with obvious empathy for the girls and their parents but also with respect for Tancredo's views and the thorny questions raised by one's status. With considerable skill, but sometimes a sense of too much information, she makes this a coming-of-age story as well as a powerful account of contemporary politics over a complicated social issue. The first-person narrative is a bit awkward, but unavoidable, because she's the mayor's wife.

Most of all, it's a gripping story about identity. As the book liner says:

"The girls, their families, those who welcome them, and those who object to their presence all must grapple with the same deep dilemma: Who is an American? Who gets to live in America? And what happens when we don't agree?"

I'd like to think this is the kind of book that might, just might, cause those who demonize illegal immigrants to pause and consider the complications and the consequences that result from blended families like these -- blended in the sense of having differing citizenships and limited/unlimited opportunities to live freely in America.

I think I'd be dreaming, though.

For an excellent review of the book, read Jenny Shank's take for New West.net.

For more on Helen Thorpe, read Natasha Gardner's profile in 5280 Magazine.