DADE CITY, Fla. -- It was dark when Aurora Gomez turned her rusting Ford Taurus off the paved road toward home.
She'd been gone less than 15 minutes, to pick up groceries and a 12-pack for her husband.
As her car bumped along the rock-strewn street, blue and red lights flashed behind her. When she eased to a stop in front of her mobile home, Gomez panicked. Much more was at stake than a ticket for a broken brake light.
What about her three babies inside? What about the life she'd built over the last decade?
As the deputy walked up to her window, Gomez feared the question she knew he would ask:
"Can I see your driver's license, please?"
+ + +
Since the terrorist attacks of Sept. 11, 2001, thousands of illegal immigrants have taken to Florida roads without drivers' licenses.
The reason: Out of security concerns, state officials began strictly enforcing a Florida law passed two years earlier requiring proof of citizenship or "legal presence" in the United States when obtaining or renewing drivers' licenses.
Most of the 19 hijackers entered the United States legally, but 13 of them had been issued Florida drivers' licenses or identification cards, which some think helped them move about without suspicion.
Since the crackdown, illegal immigrants who were able to get licenses from other states accepted here have had them torn up in state offices when they tried to get them renewed.
Newly arriving immigrants, who flock to Florida to work in orange groves, strawberry fields, construction sites and hotels, have not been able to get a driver's license at all.
The result, officials fear, is a growth in the number of unlicensed _ and therefore, uninsured _ motorists on the road.
All sides agree the problem has created a driver safety and insurance issue for everyone.
Several pieces of federal legislation, as well as President Bush's recent immigration proposal, could address the problem. Florida lawmakers are expected to introduce bills this session that would grant licenses to many of the estimated 900,000 illegal immigrants in the state.
Meanwhile, illegal immigrants without licenses risk everything when they get behind the wheel. In a time of heightened security precautions, they are being sent from local jails to immigration officials in greater numbers, many for deportation.
In Hillsborough County, the Sheriff's Office sent 76 illegal immigrants from its jail to federal officials in 2000; that number jumped to 259 in 2003.
In Pasco, the number went from 28 in 2000 to 107 in 2003. Pinellas County only started keeping track last year. But in 2001, the county jail averaged about 12 inmates a month who were sought by immigration officials. That number jumped to an average of 40 a month last year, said Marian Garet, the inmate records supervisor.
"It's the same system as before," Garet said. But before, many immigrants posted bail before immigration officials could order them detained for transfer. "(Now) when notification is made, they're making a more concerted effort to place that hold (on illegal immigrants)."
The link between jail and deportation was something Gomez knew that November night as she turned to look into the officer's face.
Goodbye at the bus stop
It's Jan. 23, Gomez's day in court. The sun has been up and the roosters crowing for less than an hour, but life is already stirring inside Gomez's weathered mobile home.
Her three children race through the small rectangular living room and kitchen, dodging her outstretched arms and efforts to prepare for school. News in Spanish blares from the television. Stuffed animals crowd two small couches. Pink curtains with roses block the two back bedrooms.
The family lives in this mobile home for $520 a month, a little less than half their $1,200 monthly income. Gomez's husband works in orange groves outside of Brooksville. Gomez helps him on the weekends, but mostly she takes care of the children.
She tried to get a Florida driver's license about four years ago, but she couldn't without a green card. Her husband transferred his years earlier from another state. But when he went to renew his license 18 months ago, officials cut it up.
Gomez, 31, came to Dade City from Mexico 10 years ago. She was a nurse back home, but there was hardly any work. She paid $800 to a coyote, or human smuggler, to get over the border and follow a friend to a promised job in the groves.
Today, coyotes charge $3,000, she knows. If she's deported, it would be years before she could pay that to get back to her children, who are American citizens. Who would care for them? If she stayed in Mexico, how could she find work to support them, her parents and another daughter still in Mexico?
Gomez has no idea what to expect in court.
As she coaxes the curly black hair of 5-year-old Eva under a barrette, Gomez wonders if this is the last she will see of her young ones for a long time.
Yet she told the children nothing, not even after her husband left for work at 6 a.m., leaving her alone to swallow her fear behind a stiff smile. Before he left, he asked whether she'd be in jail when he got home. Who would pick up the children after school?
Gomez tries to put all this out of her mind as she walks them to the bus stop, their black dog, Chiripas, in tow. They stop next to a blue frame house and a metal mailbox out front.
The girls' bus hisses to a stop. Nine-year-old Jenny walks away and climbs aboard. Eva hugs Gomez goodbye. A few minutes later, another bus arrives for 3-year-old Jorge. Gomez holds his hand as they walk across the street. She kisses him goodbye and watches as the bus pulls away.
"I tried to be very strong," she says, clutching her gray sweatshirt in the morning chill, walking home with Chiripas. "But inside, I'm very sad."
A day in court
Pasco County Court Judge Bob Cole is a white-haired man known to be quick with a joke.
But today, he seems irritated.
He deals with a skinny shaven-headed man accused of writing 53 bad checks. The man wants a trial. A woman charged with multiple batteries claims not to understand her plea agreement.
"If she's playing games, she's playing games with the wrong person," Cole tells her attorney.
Gomez watches all this from a hard walnut-colored bench. She has changed out of her sweatshirt for a flowered blouse and a black jacket. Silver hoop earrings dangle from her ears.
The public defender told her not to worry. She'd probably walk out with a $120 fine, he said. She'd likely not get jail time and be turned over to immigration officials for deportation, he tried to reassure her.
But now as she listens, understanding the proceedings, she's not so sure. She rests her head in her hands. She puts her fingers to her lips and waits.
"Aurora Gomez," the judge calls.
Gomez walks to the dais, flanked by the public defender and a translator.
"Judge, Ms. Gomez would like to get an offer from the court," begins assistant public defender Doug Spiegel. Cole stops him.
"I believe the problem I had with Ms. Gomez was not the fact that she had no driver's license supposedly on Nov. 5 of last year, (but rather) back in 1998, she had a speeding ticket, didn't have a license then," he says.
"Any persons that come in here who don't have a driver's license, I always give them a chance the first time," Cole continues. "Now, I tell them if they come back here, I'll offer them jail time.
"Now, I'm not unsympathetic about some of these folks . . . and the problems they have getting drivers' licenses, but you're supposed to have a driver's license. If you don't have a driver's license, you don't have insurance. If you run into somebody, they're in worse shape.
"So the offer on Ms. Gomez is five days in the county jail."
A public safety issue
Judge Cole said he hopes politicians figure it out.
"I understand our president in this election year has decided to help these folks out, and I hope it's done for the right purposes," he said in court.
For now, the driver's license issue is being hammered out at the state level. Immigration activists and lobbyists believe legislators will act on it this year.
A California law giving licenses to illegal immigrants became a lightning rod issue in last year's recall campaign and was repealed at newly elected Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger's insistence.
There are several other state legislatures grappling with the same issue this year, said John Estrella, senior policy associate with the American Immigration Lawyers Association. Already 13 states don't tie drivers' licenses to immigration status.
"This is not an immigration issue, but a public safety issue," Estrella said. "(And) it could bring undocumented immigrants out of the shadows."
Opponents disagree.
"Giving an illegal alien a driver's license gives them virtual keys to the kingdom to set up shop and stay in the United States," said David Ray, spokesman for the Federation for American Immigration Reform, which lobbies for stricter immigration controls.
"The only way to ensure they aren't on the roads," he said, "is stricter border enforcement and a crackdown on employers."
To many, the very idea of issuing a government-sanctioned driver's license to illegal immigrants seems preposterous and contradictory. Opponents argue that a law granting a driver's license to illegal immigrants rewards law breakers and endangers national security by giving them access to board planes, open bank accounts and buy homes.
But proponents of such a law say denying drivers' licenses to illegal immigrants won't prevent a terrorist attack but could allow law enforcement to more easily track criminals among them, strengthening security.
The bottom line, proponents say, is that the 9-million illegal immigrants in this country are here in such overwhelming numbers that they are not going to be deported unless they commit violent crimes or are suspected of terrorism, so they may as well have to follow the rules of the road.
"She's not going to stay here'
Gomez gets a glimmer of hope. She might qualify for Operation Payback, she's told.
If she's accepted into the manual labor program, she won't have to report to jail on Feb. 20 and face being turned over to federal officials for deportation. She won't be separated from her three children.
On a chilly morning in late January, a friend drives her to the county jail in Land O'Lakes. She wears a pink sweater, jeans and brown sandals with socks.
She sits in a plastic chair in the clean lobby lined with sky-blue tiles and carpet. Her knee shakes and she wrings her hands as she awaits an interview for the program.
Deputy Barry Cook walks over.
"Tell her not to worry," Cook tells her friend. "She's not going to stay here."
Gomez qualifies for Operation Payback because she meets the guidelines: She has the judge's permission; she's physically able to work; and she has no violent crimes on her record.
Cook arranges for her to put in five days, or 40 hours, on landscaping, maintenance and construction at a local park.
An hour later, she emerges from a back office from filling out forms and smiles broadly. She can stay with her children. And no more driving, she swears. Instead, she'll call a taxi, even though the fare will take money away from groceries or clothes.
But her joy is tempered by bad news.
Her husband just got stopped by deputies. For the same broken brake light.
Times staff writer Adrienne Samuels and researcher Caryn Baird contributed to this report.
PROPOSALS THAT COULD AFFECT ILLEGAL IMMIGRANTS' ABILITY TO GET A DRIVER'S LICENSE
+ President Bush has proposed a guest worker program that would give illegal immigrants access to work visas for a period of three years with an undetermined number renewals. Undocumented workers now in this country would benefit by obtaining temporary legal status, thus allowing them to drive legally.
+ Under the federal bipartisan Agricultural Jobs bill, more than 500,000 undocumented farm workers nationwide could be eligible for legal residency, allowing them to legally drive.
+ State immigration activists expect Florida lawmakers to file a bill this session allowing illegal immigrants to obtain a driver's license.
If you get struck by an uninsured motorist:
If you carry uninsured motorist protection:
The uninsured motorist coverage would pay for injuries to you or your passengers above and beyond what would be paid for by personal injury protection. You would have to pay deductibles and you could lose any accident-free discounts you have. Depending on your driving record and other factors, your rates could rise.
If you don't carry uninsured motorist protection:
You have to pay expenses from injuries once your personal injury protection is exhausted. The minimum on personal injury protection is $10,000. If your medical bills climb into the thousands of dollars, your health insurance would have to pay, or you would pay out of pocket. Your collision coverage will pay for damage to your vehicle. You must pay deductibles and could face higher rates.
Source: State Farm Insurance |
