CATCH-22

Illegal Colombian Immigrants Face Deportation To A War-torn Country. But
They Can't Get Amnesty Because Colombia Is A US Ally In The War On Drugs.

The fear set in a decade ago. Lucas Cardona, then a community advocate in
the Antioquia region of Colombia, awoke one day to find a note tucked under
his front door. On it were scrawled two simple words that sent a chill up
his spine: Beware, revolucionario. Cardona (not his real name) had been
branded a traitor, accused of sympathizing with the wrong side in the
complicated civil war that has raged in his country for nearly half a century.

Months after receiving the message, Cardona and his friend Luis headed to a
popular night spot. As they waited in the packed lobby, Cardona noticed two
men slowly cruising by on a motorcycle. Soon after, the festive ambiance of
the evening was snuffed out by gunfire. Cardona felt the pain; he saw the
blood. A bullet had ripped through his right thigh, and then pierced his
left leg.

The attempt on his life left Cardona terrified that his attackers would
return to finish the job. So he paid $2000 for a fake visa to work in the
United States. He arrived in Boston 15 days later.

In the seven years since his desperate flight, Cardona, a 36-year-old
illegal immigrant living in Chelsea, has fashioned a rather normal life for
himself: he works as an artist in and around Boston; he met and settled
down with his wife in this area (she is a Colombian immigrant with
temporary protected status); they have a three-year-old son, Mitchell. To
this day, however, Cardona is haunted by fear -- not of being killed, but
of being sent back to a place where he will be.

"At first, I come here and think I'm lucky," he says. His friend Luis, he
explains, was shot dead at close range just six months after Cardona left
Colombia. "But," he adds, "I know it's hard to make a life without the
amnesty. Amnesty is future for me, future without the fear."

The Colombian immigrant community, in general, consists of people like
Cardona: young, educated men and women who could afford to flee the
violence. According to the Immigration and Naturalization Service (INS),
Colombians rank 11th among the top 15 groups of undocumented immigrants.
(Mexicans, Salvadorans, and Guatemalans are listed as the top three.) It's
almost impossible to determine how many live in Massachusetts. Using
figures from the 1990 US Census, the Office of Refugee and Immigrant Health
at the Massachusetts Department of Public Health estimates that 27,500
Colombian immigrants live in the Bay State -- most in East Boston,
Brighton, Lowell, and Chelsea. But that number probably doesn't include all
those who are here illegally.

Given the conditions in Colombia -- where 200 people are kidnapped every
month, 3000 are murdered every year, and more than 1.5 million have been
displaced from their homes by political violence -- you might expect
Cardona to receive amnesty. He thought the same thing in 1993, when he
applied for political asylum. But although his life remained in jeopardy,
his application was denied. "It's very hard for Colombians to be defined as
political refugees in the United States," he says.

That's because the US government has aligned itself with the Colombian
government in its fight against Marxist guerrillas and drug traffickers.
Colombia, in other words, is a democratic ally. For the US to regard
Colombian immigrants as political refugees, it would have to acknowledge
that their homeland's government is a repressive regime -- an inconvenient
detail that gets in the way of America's war on drugs.

A bill filed in August 1999 by US Representative Lincoln Diaz-Balart
(R-Florida) would offer relief to Cardona and the 60,000 others like him
now living in the US. The Andean Adjustment Act of 1999 -- HR 2741 --would
protect the tens of thousands of Colombians (and at least 20,000 Peruvians)
who arrived in this country before December 1995 by granting them
permanent-resident status. As Martha Soto of the Cambridge-based advocacy
group Colombia Vive explains, "The amnesty bill is a first step toward
forcing politicians to recognize the plight of Colombian immigrants."

The prospect of ending their daily nightmare has sparked unparalleled
activism among this long-silent and isolated immigrant population.
Colombians have taken to the streets in Los Angeles, Chicago, and Miami to
voice support for HR 2741. An October 14 rally for amnesty at the United
Nations in New York is expected to attract 5000 immigrants, including many
Colombians. In Massachusetts, they are blanketing Greater Boston in an
attempt to mobilize fellow immigrants, many of whom fear taking direct
political action because, in their home countries, speaking out often means
putting your life at risk.

Despite their lack of political clout, these advocates have managed to gain
attention -- at least in Massachusetts. Seven of the state's 10 congressmen
have signed on to HR 2741 as co-sponsors. US Representative Michael Capuano
(D-Boston), for one, maintains that politics never factored into his
decision to champion the legislation. After all, he says, "most of these
immigrants cannot vote." For Capuano, HR 2741 amounts to what he calls
"basic fairness." There is no doubt that Colombians have left their
homeland because of persecution, violence, and strife -- the very
conditions bringing countless political refugees to the US. "Immigration
law must be fair," he says. "We should not be treating immigrant groups
differently."

Ultimately, though, HR 2741 is about much more than basic fairness. After
struggling to come to this country -- fleeing political violence at home
that is perpetuated by the US -- Colombians continue to struggle for legal
protection here. Theirs, then, is a fight for the right to live.