Motherhood across Borders

by Gabrielle Oliveira

  Children in Mexico clung tightly to the notion of family and resented their exclusion from representations of the family. Kinship, which some have argued has lost its importance in modern societies, proved to be vital and something the participants of this study craved. In a legal environment that promotes and necessitates prolonged periods of separation, the emotional aspects of separation are extremely difficult for family members. The women I interviewed showed great resolve to affirm their maternal ties with children in Mexico, but the children themselves sometimes felt excluded.

  Conclusion: Thoughts about the Future

  Thoughts of inequality related to material goods as well as emotional support create imaginaries for children and youth on both sides. The idea of family never quite disappears even with distance and prolonged periods of separation. Children and youth take real and perceived inequalities to heart, and this complicates how they come to resent, idolize, love, and miss family members. Children and youth’s thoughts and impressions about migration, separated families, and siblings on the other side influence their ideas about inequality within the family and their sense of belonging. Physical resemblance was important when children and youth discussed their siblings, grandmothers, and mothers. In addition to these emotions, children and youth on both sides imagined their siblings in different time and spaces. They started with an economic perspective of how the “rest” of the family lived and used those ideas to build characters of who they are.

  Using inequality as a lens to reflect on how siblings live on the other side was a common practice among children. Siblings in New York City worried about the well-being of their siblings in Mexico and had ideas of the country as a “harder” or “tougher” place to live. At the same time, there were examples of children in New York City using the situation of their siblings in Mexico as leverage to ask for different things from their mothers. Children and youth in Mexico sometimes resented siblings in New York City, who they largely did not know but were supposed to love, and who shared the same residence as their mothers. For children and youth in Mexico, being the beneficiary as well as the bearer of the consequence—distance—built frustration and added to the confusion of how they were “supposed” to treat their siblings. Even though children and youth from the constellations said they did not want to move to the other country, in my surveys with more than 225 children and youth in Puebla, those whose migrant mothers and siblings lived away were more inclined to want to migrate than those who did not have migrant parents.

  Participants in this research project held on to strong feelings of kinship across borders, though children and youth also wondered about their position and relevance within the family established on the other side. ICT was a form of mediation. The communication between separated siblings, the influence of social network, and the narratives parents present to children and youth contributed to the formation of this transnational space where ideas and kinship travel. What are the implications of these interactions for the future of these families? By the end of my fieldwork I continued to observe increasing social media interactions between siblings. There were signs that many of the narratives that mothers in New York and caregivers in Mexico used were consequently starting to be interrogated by children and youth “here and there.”

  INTERLUDE 4

  Giving Birth in New York City

  “Gabi, how is she going to give birth here?”

  That was the question Ronald asked me not too long ago after I received a frantic call from him asking me to come to a Manhattan hospital where his wife was about to give birth. He felt that something was very wrong. “I don’t understand what the doctors are doing and I think she is going to have a C-section, and she has never had one,” he said. “Can you come?”

  When I arrived at the hospital, a haggard-looking Ronald directed me to a security counter where I could sign in to see Brianna. But Ronald himself kept his distance from the counter and avoided eye contact with any of the security staff. When I arrived on the sixth floor, Brianna told me she was in tremendous pain. She had been admitted the night before, but still was only dilated three centimeters. “They did some tests and there is green fluid. I think it has something to do with my liver,” she said.

  When I asked the doctors about the green fluid, they said the baby was so stressed that there was meconium in her placenta. I asked one doctor what this could mean for Brianna and the baby, and she said the worst-case scenario was that it could be fatal. “But don’t worry,” she tried to reassure me, “that’s not her case.” The main doctor asked me if I were the translator; I said no. I requested one for Brianna, but no one ever came. In the couple of hours that I spent in her room, several different doctors came to check on her progress. With minimal explanation and introduction, they examined her; Brianna was uncomfortable, gripping the sheets as doctors examined her.

  The doctors eventually decided to break Brianna’s water to induce birth, but it didn’t work. Two doctors entered the room and in English and Spanish, alternating, one doctor told her she would do the procedure to help accelerate the birth, since she was diabetic and diagnosed as “high risk” for her pregnancy. At the time I had no children of my own and knew little to nothing about interventions during labor and delivery. So I translated the best I could for Brianna. After the doctor told her they would break her water, he exited the room. She asked me, “do you think it will hurt?” I had no idea. When the doctor returned, she inserted a needle through Brianna’s vagina to reach the amniotic sac, which surrounds and cushions the baby during pregnancy. Brianna was caught by surprise when she felt the pain, but did not say a word and just squeezed my hand tightly.

  “She handles pain very well, she doesn’t scream or complain,” I overhead one doctor tell a resident. Brianna had not been screaming or even grunting at all, even though tears welled in her eyes. She had wanted to ask for painkillers, but was too afraid it would hurt her baby. Through it all she had tried to smile at doctors and nurses and struggled to say “thank you.” Brianna, who had three daughters living in Mexico, later told me that it was the most painful birth she had been through.

  Brianna told me, “I just don’t want them to know me … I’ve heard stories in Arizona about women being deported from the hospital to Mexico.” Both she and Ronald had done their best to remain “invisible” during this experience. They did not want to draw any attention to their presence, their statuses, and their existence. Both Brianna and Ronald were excited about the prospect of having a child born in the United States so he could travel to Mexico and meet his sisters. “If we can’t go, he will be able to spend summers at home and meet his sisters, what a blessing,” Ronald told me. Ronald discussed that the fact that they would now be a mixed status family living in the United States. “How weird that he won’t know where he is from right away,” said Brianna. When I asked her what she meant by that, she told me, “all my daughters have their roots in San Lucas, but he will never know how it is to be born there and experience what we experienced. He will be different.” She also told me how with her first three pregnancies she went to the hospital and got sent home because they did not have enough beds to accommodate all the patients. She complimented the facilities in New York City and said that it looked more serious than the clinic that she was used to. However, she felt powerless in her decisions as she did not think she was fully aware or sufficiently informed of what was happening to her.

  Brianna gave birth that night, via a C-section, to a healthy baby boy.

  There were complications, though. In the recovery room, Brianna bled heavily for hours after the operation and her sheets were soaked red. One nurse came in and checked her blood pressure and said, “it is very low.” But she didn’t have time to help right away. “I just started my shift, just came from my house … you have to wait for the doctor,” she said. Ronald opened one of the drawers in the room, found clean sheets, and changed his wife’s bed himself and held her hand. He did that over and over for the next few hours
.

  4

  Educational Aspirations and Social Trajectories of Separated Siblings

  Maria Fernanda’s Constellation

  When I met her in 2012, Maria Fernanda had lived in Sunset Park, Brooklyn for almost 11 years. She had three daughters, one son, and two grandchildren. She immigrated to this country without permits and had not been home to Tlaxcala, Mexico for more than a decade. Maria Fernanda, like several other mothers in this study, revealed that she had been in an abusive relationship in Mexico. When Maria Fernanda left Mexico she left one son, Joaquín, who at that time was eight, with his father and took with her a daughter, Florencia, who at that time was seven. According to Maria Fernanda, Joaquín remained in Mexico because he wanted to stay with his father. In less than a couple of months Cecilia, Maria Fernanda’s mother, insisted that Joaquín move in with her and the father did not oppose. After Maria Fernanda left with her daughter, her husband served her with court papers that alleged she had kidnapped Florencia and left the country. This situation, Maria Fernanda told me, prevented her from ever getting formally divorced and remarried and from going back to Mexico for her son and extended family. In addition, Maria Fernanda revealed to me that she was in financial trouble in Mexico. She gave money to a friend who told her she would invest her funds and start a lucrative business. The friend needed work desperately and did not have a house to live in. In order for Maria Fernanda to lend her the money, she went into debt with a local small loan business. The friend took off with her money and Maria Fernanda defaulted on her payments. She explained to me that she felt threatened and did not think she would have her family’s support since she believed she made a bad judgment call. The decision to migrate was made quickly. She thought that her mistake could have cost the well-being of her children.

  In New York City Maria Fernanda worried that her choices of where to live would determine what kind of work she could find, what kind of school her children could attend, and what kind of neighborhood her children would grow up in. In addition, her occupation in the United States coupled with her partner’s salary would also determine how much money she could send to Mexico. All these pieces of the migration puzzle had to be in place, as she explained to me, “in order for all children to have a fair chance at succeeding.” Centering the responsibility on her own shoulders, she told me, “Your children are the ones that pay for your errors, not you.”

  At the time of our interview, Maria Fernanda lived in a two-bedroom apartment in Sunset Park with her three daughters, her new partner, her granddaughter (Florencia’s baby), and her daughter’s boyfriend (the father of the baby). At night the living room became a third bedroom where Maria Fernanda slept with her husband Armando. Upon arriving in New York, Maria Fernanda and Florencia lived alone for almost two years until Maria Fernanda met Armando. They decided to get together, or juntarse. It took Maria Fernanda a bit of time to settle and find a job that paid well when she first arrived in New York City. However, as soon as she could, she started sending Joaquín money—through her mother—every month, which supported his schooling. After one year with Armando, Maria Fernanda had Mariana (8 years old in 2012) and then Rosa (7 years old in 2012).

  I met Maria Fernanda when I was volunteering at a small organization based in Sunset Park that ran a cooperative for domestic workers. In this cooperative a group of almost 60 women had workshops on cardiopulmonary resuscitation, the developmental psychology of babies, children’s language learning, nutrition, and health. According to Maria Fernanda, she learned through those workshops how to be a “better” mother. When I asked Maria Fernanda what it meant for her to be a better mother she explained to me:

  I was not a good mother to Florencia when she was younger. I would get hysterical and I have hit her before … one day I slapped her in the face. I feel terrible about it … I didn’t know what I was doing, I regretted it. I would never do that with my younger daughters now … because I learned here in America, through my work at the cooperative.

  The co-op in Sunset Park helped Maria Fernanda secure a job as a nanny for a young couple, both physicians, in Manhattan. She took care of baby Victoria. She worked eight to nine hours a day and was able to secure weekly payments of more than $500. At her house Maria Fernanda showed me the different charts she learned to make at the workshops she attended. One, a large, pink, thick piece of paper, featured a reward system with chores on the left, names on the top, and space for stars on the right. On her refrigerator door there was a smaller piece of paper with rules for how to behave at home and in school copied by the girls themselves: “respect the teacher,” “respect mother,” “do the homework,” “study hard to be the best,” and “love school.” Both Mariana (second grade) and Rosa (third grade) were mostly meeting grade-level expectations in school; their report cards were filled with 2s and 3s (the range was 1–4, with 1 being the lowest possible grade). They both struggled in math and English; one teacher asked that the daughter “please practice writing these words at home.” Maria Fernanda’s other daughter, Florencia, who at the time of our interview was the seventeen-year-old mother of four-month-old Graciela, had dropped out of school when she got pregnant and was studying for her GED. Her report cards from high school were filled with 9s and 10s (on a 10-point scale), with teacher comments like “she is one of our best students” and “we are always very impressed with her passion for learning.” For more than ten years Maria Fernanda continued to send remittances home to Mexico; for five years, she had regularly sent in excess of $1,000 a month to her son Joaquín and her mother. Joaquín had just finished high school (la prepa) and been accepted into university to study law.

  For Maria Fernanda, as for most mothers interviewed, providing a better education for her children was a principal motive for migration. Maria Fernanda explained to me,

  Do you know what a good mother does? A good mother teaches her children. A good mother is patient with her children and shows them that school is the best pathway. When I was in Mexico I could not give my kids the best education … I had to leave Mexico because my husband was not a good man. He was violent. And I lent money to the wrong people in the town and ended up owing more money than I will ever have. I needed to make money and a clean break. I was under a lot of stress, you know? I needed to care [emphasis added] for my children … that is my role; a mother’s role [is] to care. If I can’t take care of them I have nothing left. With my son Joaquín I feel guilt. I left him. So I compensated that by putting him through school and now college. I send him money religiously every week … I pray to the Virgin and [then] send him the money. He deserves everything. With Florencia … ai … [tears start to come down her face] … I blamed her [referring to the hardships she faced when she first arrived in New York City]. She represented everything that was bad and I argued with her a lot. I hit her for no good reason … I hit her in the face once … I feel really bad when I think about it.

  With her youngest daughters, Maria Fernanda was calm, permissive, and tender. But, perhaps because of Maria Fernanda’s work schedule, Florencia spent a lot of time raising her sisters. Florencia woke them up every morning to go to school, walked them to school, went to parent-teacher meetings, helped them with homework, and fed them. She did a lot of the daily care. For example, during one of my visits, Rosa went to the bathroom. From the bathroom she screamed, “Florencia, I need you here to help me really quick.” Maria Fernanda looked at me, embarrassed, and responded to Rosa, “My baby, don’t you mean your mamá?” Rosa contested, “I said Florencia!” Maria Fernanda looked at me and said, “Caring doesn’t always mean being there [next to them] physically … look at Joaquín and how his life turned out. He needed my care, but not me [pounding on her chest].” Maria Fernanda did not hide the fact that Joaquín’s educational trajectory during these last 10 years had been the most rewarding part of her life. She thought bringing Florencia to the United States would give her daughter a better chance of succeeding in life, but in fact Florencia’s academic career was put
on hold when she got pregnant at age 16. Maria Fernanda told me, “los errores no los pagas tu, pagan los niños” (you don’t pay for your own errors, your children do). She explained to me that as soon as she was able to find stability in New York City with a paying job and partner who was not abusive, she was able to get back on her feet. Like other mothers, it took Maria Fernanda some time to be able to start remitting money home and “keeping the promise” she once made to her child in Mexico. Economic and emotional stability were, in her opinion, the two most important aspects of her succeeding as a mother.

  When I visited and interviewed Joaquín in Mexico, he explained to me,

  In the beginning I did not understand why my mother had left me, but then I understood that she actually respected my wishes when I told her I did not want to go to the U.S. with her, I wanted to stay with my father. And then, she never abandoned me. My grandmother raised me and now I work at my uncle’s pharmacy and soon I will start college. Look at everything she has given me. I wish I could have seen that when I was younger.

  Joaquín, who was 18 at the time, already had a child and a partner. He worked to support this new family, but he never stopped studying because of his mother’s constant pressure and the financial conditions she had imposed. Joaquín was raised by his maternal grandparents, but mostly by his grandmother. Maria Fernanda’s mother, Cecilia, supported her daughter’s departure as she knew about the relationship Maria Fernanda had with her ex-husband. Maria Fernanda’s departure was sudden and Cecilia was quick to take Joaquín in. Cecilia was committed to keeping Maria Fernanda’s power over her child alive; as she explained to me, “When you see a mother leaving a child you know she is in pain … it’s not normal. Some people say, ‘oh it’s normal’ and I say to them ‘it’s not!’ ” She continued, “I decided to help my daughter and help my grandson … but some people don’t take their own family in.” Cecilia joked, “I was probably more prepared to raise a boy than she was.” All of Maria Fernanda’s siblings in Tlaxcala had careers: accountant, pharmacist, and teacher. Both Maria Fernanda and Cecilia agreed that the family surrounding Joaquín heavily influenced him into pursuing a career.