After the Deadline: Waiting by the Highway
Immigration is one of the loudest arguments in the country. Deport them. Let them stay. Grant benefits. Close the border.
Meanwhile, on a quiet stretch of road four miles outside town, a lone fruit stand sits at the intersection of work and home.
The other night, as I drove past, there was a pop-up tent, a collapsible table and crates of oranges and strawberries. One worker, bundled in 60-degree weather, waiting patiently for the next car to slow down.
Hard work, no doubt.
I do not know who this person is. I do not know their age, their story or their legal status. I do know that I have seen a van drop workers off in the morning and return long after dark. Hours pass between those moments. No restroom nearby. No shelter beyond canvas. I hope there is water in the cooler beside them.
Sitting so close to the highway, they are exposed. To weather. To strangers. To whatever may pull off the road.
When we talk about immigration enforcement, I often think less about slogans and more about scenes like that. If someone is here without proper documentation, are they being exploited? If someone is documented, are they being treated fairly? Who is responsible for their working conditions?
We talk about protecting borders. We should also talk about protecting people.
In our community, I have seen hardworking families navigate a citizenship process that is slow, expensive and confusing. I have seen others pay thousands of dollars to individuals who promise help and deliver very little.
There has to be a better way.
A process that is clear. A system that is efficient. A path that does not leave people vulnerable to abuse or desperation.
We can disagree on policy. We can debate numbers and visas and timelines. But at the end of the day, that person under the tent is not a headline. They are someone’s child. Someone’s parent. Someone trying to earn a living.
We are all somebody to someone.
The question is not just who should be here.
The question is how we treat the people who are.