this country has too many loopholes i feel that congress isnt protecting its people.
A white Ford pickup with Arizona plates is driving north on U.S. 191 headed for the Utah border. Afraid of encountering police, the family inside is traveling at night. The pickup's headlights cut through a sea of darkness.
The family is in a hurry to get out of Arizona, to get away from the state's harsh new immigration law.
The pickup crosses into Utah at 11:59 p.m. Luis Sanchez breathes a sigh of relief as his wife, Marlen Ramirez, keeps driving. Both are undocumented immigrants from Mexico.
"Look," he says. "We are here. We have arrived in Utah."
They have made it safely out of Arizona, past the Maricopa County sheriff's deputy they saw as they were leaving Surprise and past the highway patrol cars they saw along Interstate 17 between Phoenix and Flagstaff.
They still have a long way to their final destination: Pennsylvania. There will be engine troubles along the way. And more police. And frayed nerves.
But the hardest part of the nearly 2,700-mile journey will be the end. Their final destination is where starting their lives over begins.
Feeling like prisoners
Luis and Marlen, both 33, lived in Arizona for more than 15 years. They are from the same small town, Xaltianguis, in southern Mexico, but they met while living at the same West Valley apartment complex.
Luis was 17 when he crossed the border illegally near Douglas. Marlen was 16 when she jumped a fence near Nogales. Both came looking for work.
Their three children are U.S. citizens because they were born in Arizona. The oldest, Luis Jr., is a quiet 13-year-old. Vanessa, 10, wears glasses and loves to talk. The baby, Christian, is 2.
Lawyers have told Luis and Marlen that they do not qualify for legal residency.
Luis has washed dishes at a restaurant on Grand Avenue, at a retirement home in Peoria and at a restaurant in Sun City West. For the past four years, he worked as a landscaper for a company that maintains office buildings in the West Valley. He earned $9.80 an hour. Marlen is a stay-at-home mom.
Luis got his jobs using fake papers. He has managed to keep working despite the recession and Arizona's employer-sanctions law, which have made it much harder for illegal immigrants to get jobs.
The couple started thinking about leaving Arizona when Maricopa County Sheriff Joe Arpaio began conducting his crime sweeps two years ago, saturating largely Latino neighborhoods with deputies, stopping vehicles for minor traffic violations and arresting illegal immigrants. The couple said the sweeps made them feel like prisoners. They used to enjoy spending Sundays at the park. But to avoid the police, they started staying home as much as possible.
The day after Gov. Jan Brewer signed Arizona's new immigration law on April 23, Luis and Marlen decided to leave.
They are not alone.
Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of families have fled Arizona, abandoning homes and apartments in already struggling neighborhoods. Many more are planning to leave. Some have returned to Mexico. Many are relocating to neighboring states, many of which may soon try to adopt laws similar to Arizona's.
Luis and Marlen picked Pennsylvania. They have relatives there who say there is plenty of work.
Arizona's new immigration law makes it a state crime to be in the country illegally. It states that an officer engaged in a lawful stop, detention or arrest shall, when practicable, ask about a person's legal status when reasonable suspicion exists that the person is in the U.S. illegally. It takes effect July 29.
Supporters of the law say it does not allow racial profiling. But Luis and Marlen are unconvinced. They think that once the law takes effect, police in Arizona will stop anyone who looks Mexican to check their papers. They fear they would be deported, their children left behind.
They built a life and a family in Arizona, so the thought of leaving brought them and their children to tears. But to them, the alternative was even worse.
"That is why we decided to leave, before something happens," Luis said.
Troubles on the road
Luis and Marlen plan to drive straight through to Pennsylvania, stopping only every so often to sleep a few hours. They want to get there as quickly as possible to avoid being caught by authorities. They also can't afford to stay at motels each night, and every day on the road is money lost because Luis isn't working.
But soon after entering Utah on June 8, there is trouble. Their neighbors, also undocumented immigrants, are following them in a 20-year-old Jeep Cherokee with 183,000 miles. The Jeep's engine is starting to overheat. The driver, Daniel Diaz, 22, pulls over in the darkness and pops the hood. The radiator hisses loudly. A cloud of steam billows out. Daniel thinks his car is overloaded with the belongings of his three passengers, Ruben Rosario, 33, Ruben's wife, Betty Cabrera, 34, and the couple's U.S.-born daughter, Alondra, who will be 2 in September.
Daniel and Ruben try lightening the load. They toss a suitcase stuffed with clothes and a cooler filled with food. Daniel even chucks the spare tire before reconsidering and putting it back.
Luis takes a hard look at the engine. Then he scoots under the Jeep to get a better look. The water pump is busted, he thinks. So the men start twisting off caps from bottles of drinking water and pouring them into the radiator. A moment passes. Then the water just leaks out.
It is past 1 a.m. The highway is empty. Luis and the others worry that if they stay here, they might draw the attention of the police.
They decide to take their chances and keep driving, broken water pump and all.
Need to travel light
Luis and Marlen prepared for the trip for weeks. They took the pickup to a mechanic and spent $450 on new tires. They held a yard sale to winnow their belongings and make some money. They boxed some belongings and mailed them ahead. Their plan was to travel as light as possible. A pickup overflowing with televisions and furniture might draw the attention of police.
But the yard sale was a bust. The first day, they made just $30. Luis and Marlen chalked it up to the new law. Many of their neighbors were in the same situation, undocumented immigrants either leaving or planning to leave. So no one was buying anything. Luis and Marlen ended up throwing away most everything they owned. Televisions, VCRs, a stereo system, bedroom furniture, mattresses, dressers, a leather sofa, kitchen table - all dumped in the trash bins at their apartment complex.
Preparations were difficult for the children, as well.
On the last day of school, Luis Jr. and Vanessa told everyone they would not be coming back. Some of their classmates cried. Others said they were leaving Arizona, too.
At home, the tears continued.
Luis and Marlen had told Vanessa that they would bring their Chihuahua, Brandy, and her puppies. On moving day, the 10-day-old puppies were still nursing. They hadn't opened their eyes.
Just before leaving, Luis and Marlen broke the news: The dogs would have to stay and would be given to another family. Vanessa turned her head. Tears ran down her face.
Journey resumes
The caravan heads north on U.S. 191, stopping finally at a Mobil in White Mesa, a tiny community of Ute Indians. It is 1:30 in the morning. The gas station is closed. Luis and the others decide there is nothing to do but sleep.
At 6 a.m., the station opens. The cashier says there is a repair shop 10 miles away in Blanding, a Mormon settlement. But the mechanic there is too backed up to work on the Jeep. He suggests a shop on the other side of town.
By 10:30 a.m., the water pump is fixed. The bill is $252.60. Daniel hands the mechanic $253 in cash, money pooled with help from Luis and Ruben.
Will the Jeep make it to Pennsylvania?
"I don't see why not," the mechanic says, tightening the last bolt. "I've seen much worse cars make it that far."
Last goodbyes
The Friday before they left, Luis picked up his last paycheck. On Saturday, he also cut three lawns, the last of the weekend side business he ran with the help of Marlen and the children. They informed their clients they would not be returning. One of the houses had a sign on the front lawn, an award from a homeowner's association for having the best-kept yard. The sign made Luis and Marlen proud. So they took photos of themselves and the kids in front of it.