'We Can Do Better To Support Immigrants'

<span class="copyright">Illustration:Jianan Liu/HuffPost; Photo: Chris Ray, Getty Images</span>
Illustration:Jianan Liu/HuffPost; Photo: Chris Ray, Getty Images

Jesus “Chuy” Mendez-Fragoso is the owner of multiple bar and restaurant concepts in Birmingham, Alabama, including The Louis Bar and Unos Tacos in the Pizitz Food Hall, Adios Bar, and upcoming Salud, plus he’s a franchise owner for Honest Coffee Roasters. As a 4-year-old undocumented Mexican immigrant, Chuy faced language barriers and struggled with his identity. In this edition of Voices in Food, he talks about how his illegal status limited his prospects in life and career ambitions, and offers advice on how the Latinx community can advance through education and entrepreneurship. 

I was born in a small town in Tabasco, Mexico. Because there were no jobs there, my parents crossed the border into the United States. My dad worked as a cook and mom cleaned hotels. My parents were always working and I was home alone. Back in the early ’90s in Shelby County, Alabama, there were no ESL or Spanish teachers, or groups to help Latino kids navigate kindergarten and elementary school. I had no other family or friends in the area. And the lack of technology available to me didn’t allow me to reach anyone. My dad dropped me off at school and I had to figure out when it was time for class, how to ask to go to the restroom, tell when I was hungry, when school was over, etc. After first grade, I started getting the hang of school. 

Sometimes, I would accompany my mom to the hotels and she would put on a VHS of “Jurassic Park” in the hotel room. I watched a lot of “Sesame Street,” “Barney” and “Power Rangers” so I could communicate with the other kids in school. Eventually, one or two teachers in third grade took some effort to teach me how to read and write. Otherwise, the school would need to hold me back and I wouldn’t be able to move to the next grade. 

Growing up in the South was difficult because I was still a minority and everybody was more vocal there, too. Walking down the hallway, I was often called “brown boy, wet bag!” It was OK for them to say it, but deep down I felt they were hurtful words. But I couldn’t defend myself. I was scared of being ridiculed or beaten up — which happened a lot to kids who spoke up. I felt abused verbally and emotionally as my English was not well developed. Everyone would giggle, including the teachers. I wanted to fit in, so I would go along. I missed school a lot because I did not want to face those comments.

As an 8-year-old, I had a traumatic experience when my parents crossed the border illegally with me through Phoenix, AZ ... But the memory of that day, though painful, developed my immigrant spirit to work hard and be the best that I can be in this country.

It wasn’t until middle school that I realized I was not just a non-native English speaker, I was also an illegal immigrant. When my counselors requested my Social Security number to help me prepare for college applications, my mom broke down and told me that I didn’t have it. I could not pursue my dream of becoming a doctor, or get a 9-to-5 job in corporate America. This broke me and I stopped showing interest in studies. I went with the flow through my teenage years with no vision of who I wanted to become.

I was blindsided by the fact that I couldn’t go to college. I also couldn’t get a parking permit at my high school, rent an apartment, get a bank loan for a house or a car — all my resources were gone, because I was undocumented.

After high school, I found myself all alone. My parents separated and moved back to Mexico. I had to support myself, so I worked as a server at Cocina Superior, Taco Mama and Margarita Grille. I made my way to bartending, and eventually management, learning all different aspects of the restaurant industry. I knew this was the land of opportunities and I had to find a way to make it here. I worked very hard and moved to Birmingham, Alabama, where I was able to network with folks in the culinary field who offered me good positions. I was a fluent English speaker and a highly skilled Mexican by now! I worked with the renowned Frank Stitt across all of his Birmingham restaurants — Bottega, Chez Fonfon, and Highlands Bar and Grill.

At 29 years old, I became a business owner and my dad came back into my life to help me open more Mexican-inspired restaurants, a coffee roastery and a franchise brand. I feel the key to my success was understanding that there is a big difference in learning how to cook and sell chips, salsa and margaritas, to working in a high-end restaurant where you understand wine, different cooking styles, and serving higher-end clientele. 

The Latinx community is often very complacent and unambitious, largely because we are expected to get a job as soon as we can, earn money and take care of the household. We are not really pushed to pursue a profession. So without education, we have no option but to work as a dishwasher, landscaper, housecleaner or babysitter. Also, we lack knowledge of how to run our finances, develop our credit scores, or apply for bank loans and grants. We don’t come from wealth. It is too risky to use our savings to start a business and we don’t know of any pathways to get business licenses or loans.

But we can do better to support immigrants by involving them in networking events, hiring them and helping them understand finance and documentation. Even illegal immigrants can be valuable contributors to the economy if they get an individual taxpayer identification number. With this, they can open a bank account, and after banking for a couple of years, they can get a credit card. At the nonprofit I work with, HICA (Hispanic Interest Coalition of Alabama), we go to low-income communities and high-unemployment areas to develop entrepreneurship. The community economic development programs provide Latinx entrepreneurs with small-business development, financial coaching, and volunteer income tax assistance. 

Without education, we have no option but to work as a dishwasher, landscaper, housecleaner or babysitter. Also, we lack knowledge of how to run our finances, develop our credit scores, or apply for bank loans and grants.

As a Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals recipient, I feel for kids who never had a say in their status. I connect my employees to attorneys and organizations like HICA that offer free resources to undocumented people so they don’t have to hide or be scared, and can face the problem head-on. It is important to help them figure out what pathway they have for legal residency or asylum.

As an 8-year-old, I had a traumatic experience when my parents crossed the border illegally with me through Phoenix, and I slept on the floor with a coyote as everyone scattered, fearing approaching officers. As a child, I did not know that I was breaking the law. I did not know the magnitude of what it means to be crossing a country’s border. I was just being hauled by my parents. But the memory of that day, though painful, developed my immigrant spirit to work hard and be the best that I can be in this country. 

We can also influence our policies. Laws in 19 U.S. states allow undocumented immigrants to get driver’s licenses, car insurance and taxpayer IDs. Without these, we are always watching our backs whenever we step outside our homes. If we get pulled over for speeding, we cannot get bail. We go to jail and are thrown out of the country. 

My message for the young Latinx community is to not forget who you are and where you come from. Realize that the prospects we have here are not available back in our home country. I love Mexico but I have to use my gifts with a humble mindset to take advantage of the opportunities this country has to offer. 

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