Reaching for Legitimacy in the Immigrant Economy

'What a Country We Live In'

In 2001, after Edy had been working at the nursery for six years, his employer agreed to sponsor his green card, which would grant him permanent residence in the United States and the right to live and work here freely. Under a law passed by Congress in late 2000, undocumented immigrants or immigrants who had overstayed visas could apply for green cards if a family member or employer sponsored them -- but they had to do it by April 2001. The result was a surge of green card applications and a backlog of half a million applications, meaning it has not been unusual for applicants to wait for their papers for several years. So, like so many others, Edy Diaz and his family continued living and working on the fringes of the illicit world they knew too well.

One day, in late June, a thin official envelope came in the mail, among the bills and the Fourth of July circulars. Eleven years and two months after walking into the United States, Edy Diaz got his work permit.

He wasted no time applying for a new Social Security number. At the local office in Wheaton, the processor mentioned something that astounded him: Diaz could roll over his earnings and history associated with the old Social Security number into the new one. "What a country we live in, no?" Diaz asked.

Days later, nine new digits arrived.

"These are my fortuna ," Diaz said excitedly, waving the cards and slipping into Spanglish. "Do you know what is fortuna ? It means all my opportunity is right here."

He began the task of cleaning up his finances, shocked at how easy it was. From business to business, Diaz walked in and asked to be recorded under his new ID. At most places, few questions were asked and he was finished in seconds.

"Congratulations," said the man at his Langley Park insurance office, with a knowing look. "Now -- can I interest you in a homeowner's policy to bundle with your car insurance?"

"I'll come back," Edy said.

The Next Step: Citizenship

As Edy Diaz spent this past summer becoming legal, Rosa Guzman waited for her turn. She spent most of her days cleaning houses because of the flexibility it gave her to be home with the children. Her green card application was linked to Edy Diaz's, and she'd been told to expect the work permit by Labor Day. Now she watched enviously as her husband suddenly exuded a certain ease and confidence. He inquired about applying for credit cards, talked about buying a new flat-screen television and a new house.

On the day after Labor Day, it finally arrived: a work permit bearing her real name and photo. Guzman had been anticipating the day for so long that she didn't feel joy as she opened the envelope. Just relief.

Still, she understood how the document changed everything, the giddiness it inspired to plan, to spend, to want. More than her right to work, it represented a future, a fortuna , as her husband had said.

This week, Rosa Guzman begins English classes through a free program offered in Anne Arundel County; she is tired of relying on her husband to navigate life in America. Edy Jose is in first grade now, and Rosa has bought him an electronic English-Spanish translator for $125 to help with his homework. She hopes the device will help her learn, too.

Her goals remain simple: Visit Guatemala, learn enough English to converse freely with her son, find a job cleaning at an embassy, maybe. Edy Diaz's goals, on the other hand, seem limitless: He wants a new house, a big five-bedroom.

They have one goal in common. Both want to become citizens.