Mexico Sad Return of the Prodigal Sons

By John Moody/Huandacareo

Mexicans make up more than half the estimated 4 million indocumentados, or undocumented aliens, who will be affected by the U.S. Immigration Reform and Control Act that took effect last week. Not surprisingly, their countrymen bitterly criticize the new law, which will force many illegal workers to return home, as discriminatory. Even President Miguel de la Madrid has expressed disdain for the legislation. Said he: "Let's see what the United States has to say when it needs workers." Among the President's concerns: the flood of Mexican workers that could inundate Mexico as jobs become increasingly scarce in the U.S. The sudden tide of returnees is likely to have a serious effect on hundreds of towns and villages across the country. To assess the potential impact, TIME Correspondent John Moody traveled to the central Mexican town of Huandacareo (pop. 15,000). His report:

Each week the knot of men who spend the day hanging out in the central plaza grows. The older ones, their heads invariably protected against the searing spring sun by white straw hats, mutter occasionally to one another, then lose themselves in the local paper. The younger ones, several of them wearing BORN IN THE U.S.A. T shirts, banter loudly and watch the girls go by. Their burgeoning numbers are the first sign that the flow of Mexicans seeking jobs and a better life in the U.S. is beginning to reverse itself. American cars with license plates from Illinois, California, Texas and Washington State are parked on nearly every street.

Those who have come back with cash are spending it freely. Gossipmongers say that the local bank has recently changed as much as $40,000 to pesos in a single two-hour period. One beneficiary of the windfall is the telephone company. Residents boast that they make the highest per capita number of international phone calls in Mexico. Almost all are to the U.S. There has been a shift in culinary habits as well. Rafael Tema Chavez, who runs the Licha restaurant when he is not at his second job as principal of the town's grade school, has recently added ham and eggs to his menu in case any of the returnees develop a hankering for American-style food.

Huandacareo is bracing for an invasion against which there is no ready defense: thousands of its own citizens returning from north of the Rio Grande. The president of the municipal council, Enrique Gonzalez Martinez, estimates that 25% of the town's inhabitants now work in the U.S., most of them illegally. By sending home some or all of their pay, they keep a steady stream of dollars flowing into the local economy. Their absence has taken pressure off employers, who, like many in economically straitened Mexico, have no jobs to offer. If Gonzalez's worst fears prove true, some 3,000 people may arrive in the next eight months. Says he: "The future of our town depends upon the failure of your law." The 300 or so early arrivals have already found that their prospects in Huandacareo are not bright. The few who accumulated small nest eggs in the U.S. are rapidly depleting them, to the delight of local merchants. Says Jorge Manriquez, the proprietor of a bicycle shop: "They come in and buy a bicycle, spare tires, everything. It's good for business now, but I wonder what it will be like in six months."

Most of the returnees, however, are as poor today as when they left. Quirino Lopez, 54, had been back home only a few weeks when he concluded he had no chance of getting work. He plans to sneak into Texas. Says he: "Better to be arrested there than to starve here." Mauricio Martinez, 18, and his best friend Juan Pablo Fulgencio, 20, each earned about $7,000 during the 18 months they held minimum-wage jobs in a Chicago meat-packing plant. Whatever did not go toward rent and food was spent on the flashy clothes that seem sharply out of place in Huandacareo. No longer comfortable in his hometown, Fulgencio plans to go back to the U.S. Martinez is seeking a job in Mexico because, he says, "people in the U.S. don't want us there."

He may find himself the victim of a cruel paradox. Employers in the area have put out the word that those returning from the U.S. need not apply. Their attitude is summed up by Ignacio Manriquez, 26, Jorge's cousin, who employs about 80 people on six pig farms in and around Huandacareo. "They get used to the big money they make in the U.S.," he says. "They see they won't make in a day what they were getting in an hour up there. And the first time there's a problem, they say, 'You can take this job and shove it.' I don't need that kind of worker." Says Javier Cansino Garcia, secretary of the town council: "Some of the young people who have come back display an air of superiority. Older people, especially those who might employ them, don't like that."

Juan Guzman was luckier than most. He spent nearly a decade in Orange County, Calif., washing and repairing cars, cutting grass and performing the odd jobs that, he says, "Americans have forgotten how to do." Guzman, 26, believes he can qualify for permanent U.S. residence, though he has returned home for the time being. But he wants his two children, both born in California, to become acquainted with Mexico first. Guzman quickly landed a job repairing the town's official vehicles, though he cheerfully concedes he had a big advantage. His father is the chief of police.

By late afternoon, the sun is unbearable, and the odor of the surrounding pig farms has drifted into the center of town. Oblivious to both, the newly returned residents make small talk as they lounge on metal benches in the plaza. In the language of the Tarascan Indians who ruled the area before the Spanish conquest, Huandacareo means "place of speakers." Now, 500 years later, there is little else to do.