A new American

Marvin Hernandez, whose illegal journey through Arizona was chronicled by the Star in October 2000, is now determined to stay no matter what - for the sake of a little girl named Genesis.

Boston resident Marvin Hernandez cradles his U.S.-born daughter, Genesis, as partner Nidia Santana, behind, helps out with family's laundry.

Boston is a big, busy place, but in his two years in this country, Hernandez has learned his way around, here heading to a hotel job.

Hernandez and partner Santana check out a baby seat at a Boston-area Target store. The family has some money to buy such items, much more than they would in their native El Salvador. * Should the parents of Genesis Hernandez be allowed to stay in the United States? * Should U.S. birth mean U.S. citizenship?

I feel like I have to put up less with bad treatment and exploitation. It's allowed me to be a little more vocal and demanding about the salary and treatment on the job. Marvin Hernandez, on having working permit

She has so many more opportunities, and I want her to have the things this country offers. Nidia Santana, on her child

Migrant makes go of it with 2 jobs, new baby

BOSTON— He heard "Genesis" from a friend and liked its biblical sound.

But it wasn't until one cold December morning in Cambridge Hospital, when the nurse first placed his daughter in his arms, that Marvin Hernandez felt the power of her name.

The wailing little bundle was his own genesis: his first child, a solid anchor to a nation he had risked so much to reach.

Only two years before, Marvin paid his life savings to a coyote to smuggle him from El Salvador to the United States. Abandoned in the Southern Arizona desert during a thunderstorm, and facing capture by the Border Patrol, Marvin was found by a modern-day underground railroad that secreted him from Bisbee to Boston.

Genesis' mother, Nidia Santana, who didn't know Marvin at the time, made it to Boston on her own, tearfully leaving a son behind with her family in El Salvador. Like many families fractured by migration, she couldn't afford to raise him there or bring him to America.

Little Genesis already shows signs of the strong wills that led her parents through their ordeals: She can go from a sweet smile to a clenched-fist scowl in an instant.

Marvin and Nidia vow to raise her in the country of her birth, as an American - even though the law compels the couple to return to El Salvador.

After months of using fake Social Security cards to get jobs illegally, the couple won temporary amnesty because El Salvador - second only to Mexico as the source of illegal immigrants to the United States - suffered a devastating earthquake and could not afford to accept deportations.

Their amnesty expires soon.

As a U.S. citizen, Genesis has a right to petition the government to declare her parents legal residents.

But not until she turns 21.

Automatic citizenship is a right that all immigrant babies born on American soil have held since 1868, but one that some in Congress, including two from Arizona, say the country can no longer afford - especially in an age of terrorism.

Marvin insists he won't return to El Salvador's poverty and violence, though his own mother waits there alone and though Nidia's "greatest wish" is to reunite with her son and raise him with his new sister.

Marvin's small family is thriving in Boston, where he now works two jobs, pays U.S. taxes, shops at Target and blends in on the streets.

He swears they'll stay in the United States, even if immigration officials put the heat on.

"I would have to get my chuecos again," he says, referring to false documents.

"You change your name, move to another state if you have to.

"It's not hard to disappear."

Blending in

Hernandez checks out some patriotic stickers he bought from a vending machine as Genesis takes a nap. The family's apartment is decorated with lots of U.S.-flag-themed items. Marvin Hernandez dresses Genesis in the family's tight living quarters, a single $500-per-month room that doubles as bedroom, living room and nursery.

"Next stop Government Center," crackles a nearly intelligible voice from a speaker overhead as the B-train on the green line rolls to a stop below Boston's commercial center.

Marvin, 28, dressed in a Boston Bruins T-shirt and a baseball cap, metallic-blue headphones dangling from his ears, is nearly indistinguishable as he leaves the crowded commuter train on his way to work.

Stepping into the daylight, he glances quickly over his left shoulder and gestures toward a tall silver skyscraper.

"That's the immigration building," he says as he makes his way down a canyon of buildings to work at a new luxury hotel.

Two years ago, he moved with more caution and concern, staying under the radar of "la migra."

In the summer of 2000, Marvin, an auto mechanic in San Salvador, paid a smuggler more than $5,000 - nearly twice his yearly pay - for the trek to El Norte.

He planned to join his brother in Boston, work for a year or two, then return to his home and his mother.

Crossing through Guatemala and Mexico, he dodged potential danger from bandits, police and the very coyotes - people traffickers - whom migrants hire to lead them into this country.

He arrived on the U.S. border at Agua Prieta, Sonora, about a two-hour drive southeast of Tucson, in early July.

As Americans celebrated Independence Day, he and 30 other migrants marched for three harrowing days across the desert near Douglas.

The Border Patrol captured them. But an overwhelmed agent, struggling to transport the large group in a storm, left Marvin and others behind, ordering them to wait. They did as they were told, until rising water in a drainage culvert forced them onto a road.

There they were picked up by a local man who delivered them into the hands of a group of Bisbee samaritans who housed them, clothed them, then helped them reach Phoenix's Sky Harbor airport. Marvin was put on a flight to Boston.

Paths cross

Nidia Santana, with baby Genesis, waits on the steps of the family's Boston home as Marvin goes to get a Toyota Corolla he bought along with his brother for $2,000. The birth certificate is proof that little Genesis is officially an American citizen, even though her parents aren't.

Nidia Santana made her journey to the United States by air, with a tourist visa. In some ways it was easier than Marvin's desert ordeal, but in others, much harder.

Leaving Josúe Abemael behind with his grandmother in San Vicente, El Salvador, was difficult for the single mother, then in her third year of university training in computer analysis. But when the opportunity came, she left immediately.

The cost of supporting and schooling Nidia and her siblings, and supporting her 3-year-old son, had depleted her parents' earnings.

"I wanted to provide for my son, but I couldn't find work. And I was worried about my mother because I could see her depressed trying to find a way to pay the debts," Nidia said.

One day a neighbor said he was applying for a tourist visa to the United States, and Nidia did the same. She managed to convince U.S. officials that she wasn't coming to take an American job.

She made her reservations on her birthday in June 2000 and flew to Boston to live with her neighbor's family.

A week later, she obtained fake IDs and documents. Within a week of that, she was working at a McDonald's and later, at a second job as a housekeeper.

Some English

Marvin arrived in August 2000. Three days later, using his fake Social Security card, he was on the job at $6 an hour stacking boxes of nuts at a Rhode Island factory two hours south of Boston.

Since then, he's learned some English while working hotel and food service jobs. Employers were willing to overlook his illegal status in exchange for his willingness to work for a low wage.

Then, in January 2001, an earthquake hit Marvin's homeland, killing more than 1,200, injuring 8,000 and causing $3 billion in damage.

El Salvador appealed to the United States to allow temporary amnesty to more than 200,000 of the Salvadorans living here illegally. They send home money essential to rebuilding.

The work permit Marvin received in spring 2001 under the amnesty opened up better opportunities. He now works 40 hours a week or more in the kitchen of the trendy Nine-Zero hotel, earning $12.75 an hour.

"I was working at the Doubletree Inn - not the one downtown, they won't hire mojados - one farther out. Once we got our work visas, my brother got a job at the hotel and then helped me get a job. I work in the kitchen helping the chef. He's a little crazy, but he treats us well and the pay is good.

"Becoming legal changed things a lot," he said.

It became even more important after Sept. 11 of last year.

"The cleaning companies and landscaping companies fired a lot of workers because of false documents at that time," he said.

The work permit empowered Marvin.

"I feel like I have to put up less with bad treatment and exploitation. It's allowed me to be a little more vocal and demanding about the salary and treatment on the job," he said.

Marvin logs another 16 to 20 hours a week at $7 an hour, working a McDonald's window.

It's there he met Nidia.

Making a home

There was attraction from the start.

"He's got that bad boy look. I thought he was a little bit scary," Nidia recalls, laughing. "But as I got to know him, I could see he wasn't that at all."

She admired how Marvin loved to talk with people in English, spending free moments practicing to video tapes, absorbing books, even reading to her from Boston newspapers.

Before long they were courting.

She was worried how Marvin would react to news of her pregnancy. "He was quiet, and I could tell he was worried," she said. But from the start, he insisted they would be a family.

They searched for an apartment in a city where a run-down studio can cost $1,500 a month.

Marvin's American dream is confined to one $500 bedroom in a boarding house shared with six other Central American immigrants. But with Nidia's touch, the room is graced by cheerful blue-and-white curtains and a matching bedspread.

Genesis may be the only official American in the family, but in this tiny room in Allston, U.S. flags fly on wall decals, clothing, even toys.

The couple's three jobs bring in about $2,600 a month after taxes, but the high cost of living in Boston, and the $200 to $400 a month sent back to family in El Salvador, doesn't allow for much luxury or entertainment.

Salvadoran immigrant Marvin Hernandez is now just another commuter on the Green Line as he heads into central Boston to start his hotel job. To make ends meet, Hernandez, who now has a baby, also does a stint behind the counter at a McDonald's. Hernandez heads for the subway and home at about midnight after a day's work at the hotel.

Still, they enjoy the routine of family life together, doing the laundry, getting groceries, shopping at the malls. Occasionally, they go to dinner or to a park.

Among Nidia's favorite times are afternoons and weekends when three little boys from downstairs come up to play: "One of them is about 5, just like my son."

Leading up to Genesis' delivery last Dec. 6, Marvin made all but one doctor's appointment with Nidia.

She remembers how frightened he looked as he stayed by her side through four days of labor ending in a Caesarean - and how fear gave way to amazement when his daughter was placed in his arms.

"Anchor babies"

"Anchor babies" such as Genesis have grown up in all walks of American life.

Victor Manjarres Jr., 39, is the Border Patrol agent in charge at the Douglas station along the Mexican border.

Manjarres' father was an illegal immigrant from Mexico when his wife became pregnant. The pending birth of this new U.S. citizen prompted him to begin the process of legalization.

"I was really important to my dad. He wanted to be a U.S. citizen," his son says.

Critics of legal and illegal immigration say an estimated 1.5 million legal immigrants and an unknown number of illegal immigrants were added to the U.S. population last year - a rate they find unsustainable and unhealthy.

Groups such as Num-
bersUSA argue that the births of more than 300,000 anchor babies - to foreign tourists, legal temporary workers and more than 9 million illegal entrants - are driving that figure higher under the guise of family reunification.

The 14th amendment was adopted in 1868 to grant citizenship to freed slaves after the Civil War, they argue, not to make citizens of the U.S.-born children of foreigners.

The same sentiment is behind several legislative efforts to end birthright citizenship.

The most recent attempt was introduced without success in January by U.S. Rep. Bob Stump, an Arizona Republican, and co-sponsored by at least 11 others in the House, including Arizona's John Shadegg.

Birthright citizenship creates a double tragedy, first enticing people to risk their lives to come to the United States, said Roy Beck, executive director of Num-bersUSA, which describes itself as an immigration reduction organization. Then, he said, it dashes their hopes when they and their U.S.-born children are forced to leave or live in a secret economy.

"We have to stop rewarding illegal immigration, and the anchor baby is a huge reward and a huge incentive," Beck said.

It is easy to feel sympathetic to the families, Beck said. But he said the Census Bureau indicates there were 181,000 anchor babies born in the United States in 1992, and 349,000 in 2001. If left unchecked, the number will exceed 900,000 by 2010, he said.

Most of the children will be born without charge to the parents, the cost paid by city and state taxpayers. They'll continue to burden health care and education systems, Beck said, because most will live in poverty.

City of immigrants

Marvin and Nidia have no idea what Genesis' birth cost. The prenatal costs and Caesarean delivery were paid by the Massachusetts health care system.

A typical Caesarean birth with a six-day hospital stay can run $26,900 including the physicians' charges of about $4,000, said a spokeswoman for Cambridge Hospital.

But the hospital billing for state-funded patients like Nidia is usually lower, about $5,400.

The federally funded Women, Infant and Children's program provided Nidia with extra food during pregnancy and still helps with formula and cereal for Genesis.

The program serves 130,000 women and children each year, and a significant share are new arrivals to the state, said Massachusetts WIC director Mary Kelligrew Kassler.

While she recognizes that some taxpayers may resent providing services to new immigrants, she noted it's tradition in a state so accustomed to new arrivals - from Ireland, Italy, Brazil, Central America, Mexico, countries all over the world.

Kelligrew Kassler is part of an Irish family that arrived in Boston in the late 1800s.

"These people may be taking some help now to get started, but they do make their way. There isn't a study that doesn't show that immigrants make more of a contribution than they take," she said.

Friends of Immigration Law Enforcement, a New York-based watchdog group, is hoping to test the legality of birthright citizenship. The test case involves Yaser Esam Hamdi, the U.S.-born son of Saudi Arabian parents, who is accused of helping the Taliban against the U.S.-led war on terrorism.

"He is not an American citizen, he is Saudi Arabian. He was born in Louisiana, where his parents were temporary workers. He was 2 or 3 years old when his parents returned to Saudi Arabia. He grew up there and then went on to kill Americans in Afghanistan," said Craig Nelsen, a spokesman for the pro-enforcement group.

A judge has yet to rule, but Nelsen said the decision could have far-reaching effects on the U.S.-born children of foreign nationals in the United States.

Manjarres, the Border Patrol official in Douglas, said most people who cross the border illegally aren't motivated by giving birth.

"I don't think I've ever met anyone who said their sole reason for coming was having a baby. It was more for economic reasons, or reuniting with a husband," said the 14-year Border Patrol veteran.

Instead of searching for ways to exclude people like Manjarres and Genesis, Congress should address a huge backlog of immigration cases, said Jeanne Butterfield, executive director of the American Immigration Lawyers Association. Spouses and immediate family are waiting to be reunited with legal residents and citizens.

"Our laws should be adjusted to reflect reality, and if we're going to let families unite, and I think we should, they shouldn't have to wait for years - that only drives illegal immigration," she said. "We need to find a way to bring together employers and workers and give the workers a way to come legally."

Earthquake helps

Marvin and Nidia hope to stay "legal."

The temporary amnesty approved by President Bush has been extended another year, allowing Salvadorans enrolled in it to remain until Sept. 9, 2003.

After that, federal law requires Marvin and Nidia to leave the U.S. within 60 days.

As a practical matter, the Immigration and Naturalization Service lacks the resources to go after those who stay, said Bill Strassberger, a spokesman in Washington, D.C.

But there are risks to staying, he said.

Those who do not leave voluntarily would revert to undocumented status, making them ineligible for work. And they would accrue "bad time" that could bar them from returning legally for three to five years.

"If they really want the child to be raised in the United States, they're faced with a decision of leaving the child with friends or relatives, or they take the child with them back to their own country," Strassberger said.

It seldom works that way, said José Pertierra, a Washington immigration attorney.

There are rumors the U.S. will offer another general amnesty, and if history is a guide, the chances are good.

The last time Salvadorans were granted temporary protected status was in 1991 at the end of that country's civil war. At that time, hundreds of thousands of refugees, more than 90 percent of those registered in the program, were granted permanent residency in the U.S.

"There is a lot of talk about something occurring next year -depending on the way the election goes, and how the Hispanic vote turns out," Pertierra said.

History also shows that if the reality fails to match the optimism, and there are no legal options for people to remain, "they stay nonetheless and they stay clandestinely," he said. "What that does is create a permanent underclass of people."

Next generation

Marvin and Nidia have compelling reasons to make a trip home to El Salvador, but they won't take the risk.

Marvin says Genesis will visit her grandmothers in El Salvador and meet her half-brother when she's a little older - but only if they can find someone trustworthy to make the journey with her, and get her back to the United States

"My daughter is an American," he said. "As a citizen here, she has so many more opportunities and I want her to have the things this country offers. I want her to have a good education, a good life."

Nidia believes her strong-willed little girl is at least part of her own contribution to America's future. "I can see her being an officer in the Army - I'd like that."