After years in the shadows, Salinas woman visits mom in Mexico for first time in 15 years

As María Elena Maya Sánchez celebrated her 74th birthday at a party in Mexico, she could not hold back tears as her family sang her "Las Mañanitas," the Mexican birthday song.

For 15 years, she had waited for this.

Her youngest daughter, María Ramírez, 44, had made it home to Michoacán. Using her smart phone, Ramírez recorded the moment on that Aug. 31 afternoon, capturing Sánchez clutching a napkin and sitting before a cake that read, "Felicidades Mamá."

It was a short visit, just five days. But the American story that brought Ramírez back to Ciudad Hidalgo on what incidentally happened to be her mother's birthday, that reunited her with her sisters Marta, 45, and María de la Luz, 46, had been unfolding for at least a decade and a half. If only for a moment, her mother had all her daughters together.

Ramírez stored the video on her phone, along with a selfie with her mom at the party — just as she keeps photos of the only other images she has of her mother. The separation has been excruciating.

For most of those 15 years, Ramírez had lived in the United States illegally. She couldn't leave or she might not be able to come back. Only after she recently obtained a U visa, for immigrant victims of crimes who cooperate with law enforcement, could she have permanent residency. With it, she could finally travel.

Still, she works in Salinas Valley fields and it was a while before she could get time off.

Both pathways she took to legal status have become increasingly more difficult since President Donald Trump's election. There's now a 10-year waiting period just to hear cases for visas like Ramírez obtained. Green cards, too, are increasingly scrutinized by immigration authorities.

Love from a distance

During that time apart, Ramírez could only talk to her mother on the phone. She would tell her about her life in the U.S., but Sánchez has never seen it. She doesn't have the paperwork to visit here.

Ramírez's mother has been her most stable figure, looking after her and her sisters when their father had a drinking problem growing up, and being there for her through domestic abuse and eventually obtaining immigration status.

Ramírez's longing to see her mother was strong. But she knew she couldn't cross the border without risking the ability to return to her daughters, job and life here.

"It's like you have something in your heart and you're waiting and waiting," Ramírez said in Spanish, holding back tears, the day before her flight to Michoacán. "I imagine all that has been stored in 15 years, to tell my mom that I love her, that I missed her, well, that I love her more than everything."

The stable force

Ramírez only lived in her hometown for a fraction of her life, first when she was born and then for a few intermittent years growing up.

When she was just 6 months old, her mother and father, then still together, took the children from Ciudad Hidalgo to Mexico City to find work. Her mother, as she had done since a child, worked in the fields and other jobs to try to support their family.

They later returned to their hometown when Ramírez was 7, where her grandparents mostly took care of her and her two sisters. Then, when she was 14, Ramírez's father took her to Chicago.

That only lasted two years. Her father had a drinking problem, and life was difficult. So she went home, back to Ciudad Hidalgo, but not for long. With her daughters' father, a man 17 years her senior, Ramírez came to Salinas around age 18 to work in the fields. She's been doing that ever since. Every vegetable grown in the Salinas Valley, she has picked it, she said with a smile.

But her mother, through all that separation, has been there all along. They talk on the phone daily, Ramírez's daughters say. The mother and daughter openly discuss anything, Ramírez said. And, mother-to-mother, she often consults Sánchez on how to raise girls.

Ramírez crossed the border illegally to visit her mom about three times, she said. However, crossings became dangerous, especially for women. A high number are sexually assaulted crossing the border and going through Mexico, particularly Central American migrants, Amnesty International found in 2010.

By the time she had Lizbeth, she was also scared for her daughter's safety. She started working on her immigration status.

"You need to be ... in the shadows," Ramírez said. "You need to be without the opportunity to see your family, for the desire of a better life for us and for our children."

While they were separated, Sánchez was getting more and more sick with respiratory problems, including asthma. Ramírez worried she might not see her mom again, wouldn't even get to say goodbye.

"To not have the way to go (visit her) produces a lot of desperation, sadness and frustration," Ramírez said.

Sánchez carries an oxygen tank and is hospitalized frequently.

"I felt powerless that she could not come. I could not go because it's apparent that it isn't easy to cross over there," Ramírez's mother said in Spanish. On top of her fragile health, the cost of travel and difficulty of obtaining a visa have been too difficult.

Ciudad Hidalgo

The day of her birthday party, Sánchez got ready by herself at her home in Zitácuaro, in the Mexican state of Michoacán. Despite her health, she traveled to her daughter Marta's home in Ciudad Hidalgo, about an hour away.

There are good reasons so many people leave Michoacán, with its high levels of violence and poverty, Ramírez said.

Her home state has one of the highest murder rates in the country and has seen an explosion in deaths since 2006, the University of San Diego's Justice in Mexico Project found. Following grisly public killings that year by cartel leaders in Uruapan, Michoacán, chronicled by the University of Wisconsin-Madison, the newly-elected Mexican government led a militarized operation targeting the state's powerful cartel, marking the start of the country's drug war that would spread to other parts of the country.

Since then, the central Pacific state has consistently had one of the highest numbers of murders in Mexico, which nationally had the most violent recorded year in 2017, according to InSight Crime. The U.S. Secretary of State's office has issued a level four warning for Americans not to travel to Michoacán due to crime, the same level as Iraq and one grade higher than Honduras.

Ramírez said police and military personnel were on street corners throughout Ciudad Hidalgo.

Sánchez has watched as conditions in Ciudad Hidalgo worsened. There are no jobs and many of the children leave north to the United States in search of a better life she said.

"How we suffer, all the mothers, that we have our children over there and then they don't give them the ease to fix their documentation," she said in Spanish. "They can't come because of that. One can imagine all the mothers here in México that are like that, like I was."

Travel plans

Ramírez saved money for four months to make the trip. She needed two plane tickets —her daughter Betty, 13, would travel with her to México, seeing her grandmother for the first time. Her older daughter, Lizbeth, 22, also born in the U.S., had visited Mexico before but could not go on this trip because of her full-time job and school.

A single mom, Ramírez lives with her two daughters in a small upstairs apartment near Salinas' Central Park. She has supported her family since she split with her daughters' father a few years ago due to the physical and mental abuse he inflicted on Ramírez and her older daughter. Ramírez's oldest sister, María de la Luz, also lives in Salinas. She obtained her U.S. citizenship through her ex-husband.

The five-day trip disrupted Ramírez's regular schedule for the summer. She works in the fields Monday through Saturday picking cauliflower.

During peak harvest season, which was beginning before she left, she wakes up at 2:40 a.m. to get herself and her daughters ready for the day. Her shifts start at 6 a.m. and usually last 10 hours, sometimes an hour more as the season wraps up in early November.

When she requested time off, her supervisor understood. Word spread quickly, and her coworkers reassured her. The job would be there when she returned. Don't sleep, they told her, give hugs to your mom and above all, take pictures.

"A lot have also had years without seeing their parents," she said.

Many do not have the opportunity she had; they have waited years to go back home, if they ever do at all. Living in the country illegally, as she once did, and not having a clear path towards getting some form of status has kept others in the fields apart from families in Mexico, El Salvador and Guatemala. The U visa and eventual residency she obtained after separating from her daughters' father changed her life.

Departure

Ramírez and her younger daughter hurriedly rolled suitcases down the narrow wooden stairs of their Salinas home. They stopped at Northridge Mall to say goodbye to Lizbeth while she was on break from work.

Then, Ramírez, Betty and Ramírez's oldest sister María de la Luz drove two hours to Oakland International Airport, boarding a midnight flight to Morelia, the Mexican state's capital.

At 6 a.m. local time, Ramírez's dad, Gabriel Ramírez, 77, and her middle sister, Marta, picked them up at the airport. They continued the trip down the windy interstate highway to Ciudad Hidalgo.

Ramírez's hometown has a population of about 60,000, just larger than Watsonville. It's situated in a rural, mountainous area in the northeast of Michoacán. Ciudad Hidalgo's economy, like that of Salinas, is based on agriculture, but the area is also known for forestry, which has been impacted by over-logging. Ramírez's mother used to work in the fields, planting and harvesting crops as a child.

Ciudad Hidalgo had changed from what she remembers, though. It was bigger and more modern. "I felt nostalgic remembering when I lived there," Ramírez said. "But it was beautiful to return to my town."

In the next five days visiting friends and family, Ramírez said she rarely slept, opting to talk and be with her mom. First came the birthday party for Sánchez, then making food and visiting the market.

Her path

Ramírez's home state has been formative to modern immigration to the United States. According to a 2010 Mexican Studies analysis on undocumented Mexican migration, the central western state has the largest share of Mexican migrants to California.

A farmworker housing study for Salinas and Pajaro valleys, commissioned by the city of Salinas and reviewed by the California Institute for Rural Studies, found that close to 20 percent of farmworkers in the area are from Michoacán.

Farmworkers, the study found, have lived in the country for 15 years on average. The population is older and, as the study described, most workers are based in Monterey County.

Ramírez and her now-ex husband, the father of her daughters, followed that well-worn path from Michoacán to the fields of the World's Salad Bowl.

Over the years, the relationship deteriorated. He became more controlling. Ramírez was not allowed to leave the house, nor could she keep her own money. He abused both her and their oldest daughter physically and mentally, she said.

She spoke with therapists who helped her understand the conditions in the house were not normal, and she reported the abuse. Prosecutors filed a domestic violence case in 2011 and she was later connected with the United Farm Workers Foundation.

Court records reviewed by The Californian and used to establish her eligibility for a U Visa confirm that.

Ricardo Nuñez, a service provider with the UFW Foundation, helped her obtain a U visa. A U.S. Department of Justice-accredited representative, he works in much the same way as an attorney: He can give legal advice for immigration issues and is able to file paperwork for clients.

Nuñez, an immigrant himself, traces his roots back to the same state in Mexico as Ramírez. He came to the country when he was 18 to be with his mom, who also worked in the fields.

"I know what it is to be separated from a parent or relative," he said. "Being able to help someone reunify with their parents again, or family, it's something personal to me as well."

In more than a decade, Nuñez has worked on well over 100 U visa cases, all of them successful, he says. The UFW Foundation's Salinas office sees more U visa cases than any of the others, including Los Angeles, Bakersfield and Phoenix.

Cases for U visas are extremely difficult, Nuñez said, and require representatives like him to build extensive cases with clients on documentation, counseling and financial services.

But if successful, clients can get a Social Security card. This opens up the opportunity for unemployment and to get refunds from tax returns. Until former assemblyman Luis Alejo pushed through 2015 legislation allowing people in California illegally to obtain driver's licenses, it was also a way to get that critical document.

Nuñez has kept in contact with Ramírez ever since — especially as she starts getting ready to apply for citizenship — and he was excited for her trip. Ramírez is now a green card holder and no longer feels like she needs to remain in the shadows.

"Things change and help the reality of victims of crime, victims of domestic violence, single women that ended up with kids," Nuñez said of clients like Ramírez, adding that, by receiving a Social Security number as well, they' also be able to access medical and other public benefits. "It changes their lives forever."

A teen's view

It was Betty's first time flying in a plane and her first visit to Mexico. She had never met her grandmother, only talked to her by phone.

Betty could remember when her grandmother got sick and her mother was unable to travel to Mexico. Ramírez's daughter saw her mom and sister crying, and that made her cry. But she didn't really understand.

"I cried too but I don't know how it felt like since I haven't met her," Betty said. "I have my mom here and I'm very grateful for that, but I didn't know what it was like to be away from a family member for so long. But now that my mom actually does have papers, I see how that affects her in different ways."

Betty, a 13-year-old middle school student, enjoys math. She plans to go to Salinas High School next year. When she was younger, her dog got sick and died. She decided she wants to help other people's sick pets live longer. She wants to someday be a veterinarian.

The four-hour plane ride was turbulent, but Betty eventually settled in and fell asleep. Her mom took a picture of that.

On the ground in Michoacán, Betty was struck by the level of poverty. But this trip was about family. She went with her mom to the market in town, and she cooked on the barbecue with her mom and her aunts. And finally, she met her grandmother.

"I was stuttering to talk but I kind of froze because I didn't know what to do, what to expect of seeing my grandma for a very long time. Well, actually not any time I have seen her," Betty recalls. "But I just went to hug her and I didn't cry, that was good."

Ramírez remembers having to hide with a younger Lizbeth as immigration officials searched stores, or not being able to drive. But Betty didn't have to live through that.

Betty, Ramírez thought, came to understand more with the trip. The teen agreed. The experience broadened her perspective, she said, not just about her family but other families with mixed immigration status.

"The struggle of having papers to actually go visit family is something that changed my whole perspective of having papers in the first place," Betty said. "Like at first, I just thought, ‘Oh, it was something you could go travel, nothing too big. Come back to work.' But now that I actually came and went back, it was something that you could actually go with your family."

Protecting victims

U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services only grants 10,000 U visas a year.

Congress created the visa in 2000 through the Victims of Trafficking and Violence Protection Act and began issuing them in late 2008. Nuñez has been working on the cases since the beginning.

The legislation allows protective status to immigrant victims of crimes who have suffered abuse and cooperate with law enforcement prosecuting the crime.

However, there are now close to 209,000 people waiting in line, according to USCIS data from March. Nuñez said there's a 10-year wait to even have a case heard for a U visa.

While Ramírez's application some six years ago went far more quickly, the UFW Foundation said the process of obtaining U visas during President Donald Trump's administration has become more difficult. Applicants are being routed through immigration court, previously unheard of. It's become so difficult the foundation now encourages people to consider other paths.

Rep. Jimmy Panetta introduced a bill earlier this year that would ease the backlog for those victims, as well as expedite T visas, which are issued to human trafficking victims. The bill has yet to move anywhere, though. A spokeswoman for Panetta recently said the bill has not even been brought up for debate, noting that the Republican control of Congress makes it difficult to move any legislation on immigration.

"As a former prosecutor, I know how critical U and T visa protections are to law enforcement and immigrant communities," Panetta said in a February statement. "Non-citizen victims and witnesses daring to come forward to support our criminal justice system deserve safeguarding. This bill promotes victims' safety and encourages their continued participation in our communities."

A new change

At 6 a.m. the morning after she returned from Mexico, Ramírez was back in the fields, back to work to finish the rest of the harvest season.

The trip, she said, was life-changing. She had believed it would be.

"I felt a lot of peace and tranquility that I could go and re-enter because the truth is, never had I left with so much fear," she said in Spanish, referring to her departure from Oakland. "Yes, it's a change now. I feel more secure, calmer that I could go."

She will be eligible to apply for citizenship in 2022.

To obtain it, she must meet the English language requirement, along with having good standing in the community and remaining free of criminal conviction. This, as she has done for years before, requires checking in with local and federal law enforcement, Nuñez said.

He added that he has yet to have a U visa client apply for citizenship, but he believes the timeline for applying will begin soon for those who, like Ramírez, applied early to obtain U visas.

During the years of waiting for documents, Ramírez obtained her GED. She is not sure what she wants to do but hopes to one day leave behind the work in the fields. She also wants to help other women who are victims of domestic violence. Doing so, Ramírez said, would set an example for her children.

"It's something sad, but at the same time, it's something beautiful because you have the opportunity to come to this country and you can move forward and work and study, including me," she said. "It opens other doors and other opportunities."

Ramírez is planning to take more college courses through Hartnell during her off-season, when she receives unemployment benefits in the winter. She might also pick up side jobs to help with the family's costs. The work starts back in March or April, she said.

She hopes to visit Michoacán again in January.

"I'm very grateful to this country and the laws," Ramírez said, "because they permitted someone, regardless of all the years, to realize her desire to have immigration status and be able to travel to her country to see her family, for the opportunity that (her) daughters have a better life."