There’s a great deal of concern, confusion and controversy over the issue of immigration — whether legal or otherwise. The recent influx of more than 50,000 undocumented children has left Democrats and Republicans at odds over what to do about the situation. Some define it as a refugee crisis while others claim it a failure of current immigration policy.
Clearly, a deep sense of fear, ignorance and uncertainty is fueling the national debate. Whether these immigrants are coming into the United States from the border regions of Mexico or migrating from South and Central America, there’s a struggle between law and compassion. Let us first ask ourselves: What possible reason would someone have for leaving his or her beloved homeland for a distant and strange land?
Allow me, a prisoner, to weigh in on this issue of immigration from my personal experience. In 1974, I escaped from San Quentin State Prison and fled the country to Guyana in South America. Almost immediately upon my arrival in the Guyana capital of Georgetown, I joined the bustling refugee community.
In 1976, Guyana began to experience a severe economic decline. Corruption, high unemployment and shortages of basic goods led to political unrest. Sugar workers, who comprised mainly the East India segment of Guyanese society, went out on strike for more than four months; consumer goods virtually disappeared from store shelves. Guyana became the poorest country in the Western Hemisphere after Haiti. I lived there for another four years before the political and economic situation in that country deteriorated, forcing me to cross the border to neighboring Suriname.
After my arrival in Suriname, I met a woman, and we settled down to raise seven children. As the Surinamese economy continued to worsen, cholera and tuberculosis epidemics swept through the country. The school system, without money for books or teachers, ground to a halt. I tried various ways to provide for my family as the country’s violence escalated and the economy deteriorated. By 1993, my family was living in a small “bush house” without electricity or running water, growing vegetables for market and selling herbal medicine and coffee.
I began to worry about the health and future of my children. I pondered about ways of getting my children to the United States. But as a fugitive, I could not simply move with my family out of the country, and I did not want to leave them behind. Would my freedom be worth the welfare of my children?
The situation in Suriname was becoming more and more desperate by the day. After convincing my wife that my surrender would ensure a better life for our children, which I could only achieve by turning myself in, I decided to enter the U.S. Embassy in Paramaribo. Desperate and afraid, I had to get my children out of the country.
Eventually they were allowed entry into the U.S. While some of my children did well here, others struggled. You never know what the outcome will be of the choices that you make, but for me the hope for a better future was far better than no hope at all.
I am back in prison, and only because I love my children more than I hate my incarceration.
The parents of those young people making the incredibly dangerous trip to seek asylum in the United States have one thing in mind, one thing that drives all of us parents – the survival and safety of our children. No human thought or emotion is more powerful than that.
