Imperfect Spiral (18 page)

“I got my license over the summer,” she says, “and any day now they're going to make new wheels for the refrigerator and put me on them.”

“You use their car?”

“It's not really ‘their' car. It's the car that our parents don't use. So it's just as much mine.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Okay, yes, I use
their
car.”

In this way, we circle around to the accident. Not the accident itself, but the fallout. Marissa is especially bothered by the illegal immigration issue, and not in the way you might think. She embraces the “Mexican” part of her Mexican American heritage—food, music, history, art. She's a fanatic about the paintings of Frida Kahlo. But she's also always been very clear about the “American” part, too. She's proud of the fact that her great-grandfather, the one who came here from Mexico, fought in the U.S. Army in World War II and even got some kind of medal. His son, Marissa's grandfather, joined the U.S. Army, too, and was in the Vietnam War. I can't say that we've ever had a full-fledged conversation about immigration issues before, but today she wants to talk about it.

“Remember last year, when that gardener guy was arrested after he tied up some of his customers—all old people, living by themselves—and then stole things from their houses?” she asks.

“Vaguely, I guess,” I say.

“It turned out he was here illegally,” she says. “Mexican, I'm very sorry to say. He shouldn't have been here, and he shouldn't have had the chance to hurt those people.”

It's hard to argue with that.

“And remember that accident, which was all over the news
last year, where that drunk driver crossed into the wrong lane on the highway and crashed into a car being driven by a middle school teacher? And another teacher was the passenger?”

I do remember that. The teachers both died.

“That was awful,” I say.

“One of them used to teach at my school,” Marissa says.

“Oh my gosh,” I say. “Did you know him?”

“
Her
,” Marissa says. “No, she left before I started there. But Malcolm had her. Anyway, that driver was also here illegally. So, think about it. If he hadn't snuck into the country—two times, the papers said—those two teachers would be alive.”

It's hard to argue with this, too, but I feel like there's some sort of disconnect about what Marissa is saying. The drunk driver wasn't drunk and driving
because
he was here illegally, was he? If the guy were a legal U.S. citizen, it would be kind of like arguing that the teachers would be alive if the guy hadn't ever been born. Which is technically true. But then what, would you say people who are going to grow up and become drunk drivers shouldn't be born?

I am not sure that my arguments make any sense, either, so I just say, “It's awful.”

“It is,” she agrees. “I don't want to sound intolerant, but I'm starting to really kind of resent these people.”

“Resent?” I say. “Why would you resent them?”

“Because … my family followed the rules when they immigrated here. Everyone should have to.”

“I wouldn't have guessed you'd be on the anti-immigrant side,” I say.

“Danielle, I'm
pro
-immigrant!” Marissa says. “How could I be anti-immigrant, with a name like
Martinez
? But the people who are here illegally hurt the legal immigrants. They make people think that all immigrants are bad news, because, honestly, who takes the time to figure these things out? All foreigners just end up with a bad name. All Hispanics, anyway.”

“I—I don't think people think all Hispanics are bad news,” I say.

I hear Marissa exhale through the phone. “I shouldn't get on a soapbox about it,” she says. “And you're right: not
all
people think that. But I still don't like knowing that thanks to undocumented immigrants, people with my family's background are looked down on, even just by
some
people.”

“I understand,” I say.

“You probably would feel the same way,” Marissa says.

“I don't know,” I say. Lightly. “Maybe. I mean, I understand how you feel, but I'm not sure how I would feel. Or how I do feel. I haven't really been focused on the immigration status of the people in the car that … hit Humphrey.”

“No, of course not,” she says. “You've had so much to deal with. I'm just saying. It's an issue you've ended up in the middle of because, as everyone now knows, those people are undocumented immigrants. I thought you might be thinking about it.”

“Marissa,” I say, “it's great—I guess—that you've become an anti–illegal immigration activist. And—”

“I'm not an activist. I'm reading and thinking about things.”

“Well, okay,” I say, and add testily, “think away.”

Marissa does not like sarcasm. “I'm in favor of legal immigration,” she says. “Like how my family came here; probably yours, too. It's not fair to turn it into something negative. Something
anti
. I'm not
anti
. I'm pro–legal immigration. I'm pro-immigrant.”

“That's fine,” I say. “But I don't have to become pro or anti anything just because the people who were unlucky enough to have hit Humphrey are here illegally.”

The air between us hums for a few seconds.

“I could send you links to a few very interesting websites,” Marissa says.

“That's okay,” I say, meaning
please don't
.

“This didn't just happen to Humphrey. Or to you. It happened to the community,” she says.

Wow. That almost sounds like some kind of political campaign slogan.

We say good-bye quietly (“I have to go”; “Me, too”).

Marissa says she isn't anti. She's pro.

Well, I'm both.

Here's what I'm anti: random deadly accidents.

Here's what I'm pro: do-overs.

Send me the website for that.

AFTER ACCIDENT, LOCAL SPOTLIGHT ON NATIONAL DEBATE

by Caroline Touey

Washington Post
staff writer

A fatal accident in the Franklin Grove neighborhood of Meigs County is causing repercussions well beyond initial concerns about pedestrian safety on a busy thoroughfare, catapulting the quiet, stately bedroom community just outside the nation's capital into the national debate on illegal immigration.

The driver of the vehicle that struck and killed five-year-old Humphrey T. Danker has been living in the country illegally for many years, according to
officials close to the accident investigation. Eugene Folgar Guzman, 43, of Calvert Hills, is believed to have entered the United States on a student visa some years ago to pursue graduate studies in bioengineering. Whether he obtained his graduate degree while legally on his student visa is not clear, but sources involved in the investigation say that the visa expired at least a decade ago.

Guzman is a native of Colombia, as is his wife. They have two young daughters, both of whom were born in the United States. Mrs. Guzman and the two daughters were in the automobile when Mr. Guzman struck Humphrey Danker.

Guzman was driving on an expired driver's license obtained when he was a graduate student.

“Mr. Guzman apparently did not seek to renew his license when it expired, presumably because he thought such an action would have exposed his by-then illegal status to authorities,” said a person with knowledge of the investigation who spoke on condition of anonymity because he is not authorized to speak about the case.

According to Cynthia Hardisty of the Meigs County Police Department, Guzman has no record of traffic violations or other legal infractions in the state.

Anti–illegal immigration activists are disturbed
by the fact that an undocumented alien driving without a valid license killed young Humphrey Danker.

“If it were not for this illegal immigrant, a child who is now dead would be alive,” said Geoffrey Merryman, executive director of the Federation for Lawful Immigration, which advocates for tougher immigration law enforcement. “He was driving without a license. And we don't even know everything about this Mr. Guzman yet. He studied bioengineering—then what? He's from one of the more violent countries in South America, a center of drug trafficking. What has he been doing all these years?”

Susan Lester, spokeswoman for Americans for Secure Borders, said, “Look, let's assume that this driver has not been up to anything nefarious. I'm happy to give him the benefit of the doubt. But that's not the point. The point is, he's here illegally, and he has been for many years. How has he been able to work and live here illegally for so long? Because of indefensible loopholes in our legal system.”

Under existing law, Meigs County police do not take action when they suspect or determine that an individual who is cited for a misdemeanor traffic violation may be an undocumented alien. In several adjacent jurisdictions, county and city police follow a policy of determining the immigration status of
individuals who are stopped for traffic violations. Those police departments then share information about undocumented aliens with federal authorities for possible prosecution and deportation.

“Our community so far has resisted the temptation to blame all its problems on immigrants,” said Simon Lytell, director of the Immigration Rights Center. “Obviously, law offenders are held to account here. Federal immigration policy is a federal matter. Our concern is that efforts to get local police involved in immigration enforcement not only divert scarce community resources to problems that are the responsibility of the federal government, but also can be used as a screen for intolerance and bigotry, pure and simple. That's not what our county is about.”

Last year, an undocumented immigrant with a criminal record that included a drunk driving conviction killed two middle school teachers when the car he was driving crossed the median on Interstate 595 and crashed into their car. The immigrant, Hassan Mansour, had a blood alcohol concentration of .15 percent, nearly twice the legal limit. That incident spurred debate throughout the region about the role of undocumented immigrants in deadly accidents.

Earlier this year, Delegate William Foster (5th District) introduced legislation in the Meigs County Council that would authorize, and in some cases
require, county police to inquire into the immigration status of any person stopped for a traffic offense and to report any apparent violations to federal immigration authorities. Hearings have not been held on the proposal, and prior to the Franklin Grove accident, it did not attract significant attention. Nor has it been considered likely to pass, as a solid majority of the council members are considered friendly to the county's immigrant population, which generally opposes the idea. The Humphrey Danker accident may change this calculus.

“We will be going to the council on this,” said Merryman, of the Federation for Lawful Immigration. “And if they are afraid of offending the immigrants in this community, we'll take it to the state assembly. Enough is enough. Let's act before another innocent child is killed.”

The parents of the child killed in the Franklin Grove accident, Thomas R. and Clarice Danker, declined to comment. Thomas R. Danker is a prominent Washington, D.C., attorney known for his advocacy before the U.S. Supreme Court. In the past, he has been counsel of record in at least two cases in which he represented the Immigration Rights Center.

“Another Saturday Night.” The song, from one of Mom and Dad's Jimmy Buffett records, played in my head as I walked to the Dankers' house for another weekend out with a five-year-old.

Another Saturday night, and I ain't got nobody
.

Which reminded me of the funny tune that Adrian sometimes played, “Poor Poor Pitiful Me.” He liked the cover recorded by the country singer Terri Clark. Mom and Dad have the Linda Ronstadt version on an old LP, and it's one of Mom's favorites. The differences between the two have been a source of heated debate between Adrian and Mom. Naturally.

“Dan-ielle-y!” Humphrey sang out when he opened the door.

“Hum-phrey-y!” I said.

They'd been playing dominoes, Humphrey and his parents; their game was spread out on the kitchen table.

“I already ate my dinner!” Humphrey said. “So we can play, play, play all night!”

“Sounds great!” I said.

“And we can go to the park if we want, right, Mommy?” Humphrey said.

“That's the beauty of summer,” Mrs. Danker said. “It stays light late out there.”

Mr. Danker came downstairs. A get-together at some friends' house, Mrs. Danker said. They would not be home late.

“So—what shall we do first?” I asked Humphrey after his parents left.

“Want to play dominoes?” Humphrey asked.

We played a few hands, and then Humphrey blew out a long sigh.

“What's wrong, buddy?” I asked. “If you don't like this, we don't have to play.”

“I do like it, and I don't like it,” Humphrey said. “I like the way they feel. But playing is a little boring.”

“If you want to go to the park, now's a good time for that,” I said. “If we head out now, we'll have a nice long time before it gets dark.”

As we made the turn onto Quarry Road, Humphrey said, “Let's talk about something. Something interesting.”

“Okay,” I said. “First we have to think of something interesting.”

“Something highly interesting,” Humphrey said.

Of course the son of a brilliant lawyer would have high standards for making conversation.

“What would you like to talk about that's highly interesting?” I asked.

“No—
you
talk about something highly interesting.”

Oh, yes
, I thought,
I'll just delve deep into the treasure trove of sparkling ideas that have made me such a dazzling conversationalist
.