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Transnational (after)life: migrant transnationalism and engagement in U.S. and Mexican politics

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Transnational (after)life: migrant transnationalism and engagement in U.S. and Mexican politics

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Content TRANSNATIONAL (AFTER)LIFE: MIGRANT TRANSNATIONALISM AND
ENGAGEMENT IN U.S. AND MEXICAN POLITICS

by

Adrián Félix

_____________________________________________________________________

A Dissertation Presented to the
FACULTY OF THE USC GRADUATE SCHOOL
UNIVERSITY OF SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA
In Partial Fulfillment of the
Requirements for the Degree
DOCTOR OF PHILOSOHPY
(POLITICS & INTERNATIONAL RELATIONS)

August 2010

Copyright 2010 Adrián Félix

ii

Epigraph
“A Jerez no lo han defendido.”
Carlos Monsiváis (1938-2010)
iii

Dedication
Para mis padres, Rosendo y Lilia Félix. Con la formación transnacional que
me brindaron, han desafiado fronteras.

iv

Acknowledgments
Turning this dissertation from a few inchoate ideas into a completed
manuscript was truly a collective effort. My main debt is to the many migrants who
provided insight into how transnationalism played out in their everyday lives.
Guadalupe Gómez de Lara, Efraín Jiménez, Carlos Sifuentes, the late Andrés
Bermúdez and other current and past members of the Federación de Clubes
Zacatecanos del Sur de California (FCZSC) provided me with invaluable interviews
and are, in many ways, the protagonists of this study. I am also indebted to many
families in migrant-sending villages in the municipalities of Río Grande and Jerez,
Zacatecas, for welcoming me into their homes and sharing their stories of migration.
Thanks are also in order to the many Mexican bureaucrats who assisted me across
several government entities including the Mexican Consulate in Los Angeles,
California, the Federal Electoral Institute in Jerez, Zacatecas and the State Migration
Institute in Zacatecas city, for providing me with multiple interviews and access to
data and records.
At USC, this dissertation benefited from extraordinary mentorship and
bountiful institutional resources. I thank my dissertation chair Ricardo Ramírez, who,
more than an advisor, has become a friend and role model in my personal life. I
thank Janelle Wong, social scientist extraordinaire, whose personality and attitude are
a blessing for those of us fortunate to work with her. It has been an honor working
with Nora Hamilton, whose masterful analysis of post-revolutionary Mexican state
formation and subsequent work on international migration my own work can only
v

aspire to resemble. I also thank Pierrette Hondagneu-Sotelo, who in a yearlong
seminar on qualitative methods patiently shaped me into the political ethnographer I
am today. I was fortunate to interact and learn from other scholars at USC, in my
home department of political science and beyond. I thank: Apichai Shipper, Carol
Wise, Laurie Brand, Jane Junn, Robin D. G. Kelley, Macarena Gómez-Barris, Maria
Elena Martínez, Verónica Terríquez and Michael Dear for their mentorship and
guidance. Special thanks are also in order to Jody Battles, Alex Venegas, Aurora
Ramírez and Veronica Pete, the staff members of the USC department of political
science, for their diligence and patience with my hasty way of going about
administrative matters. I also gratefully acknowledge the USC College of Letters,
Arts and Sciences, the School of International Relations, the Center for International
Studies, the Center for the Study of Law, History and Culture and the Ford
Foundation for providing financial support for my dissertation research at pivotal
junctures.
During my field research, the Universidad Autónoma de Zacatecas (UAZ)
acted as my home institution. For guidance and materials during my field research in
Zacatecas, I thank professors Rodolfo García Zamora, Humberto Márquez
Covarrubias and Miguel Moctezuma of UAZ. I am also grateful to archivist
Leonardo de la Torre y Berúmen of the Archivo Histórico Municipal in Jerez, for
granting me access to primary documents and for sharing his ample knowledge of
local political and social history.
vi

I could not have made it through the Ph.D. process without the support and
friendship of fellow graduate students. I would like to thank Lisa Ybarra, Denise
Gonzalez, Jillian Medeiros, Hernán Ramírez, Ed Flores, Glenda M. Flores, Perla
Guerrero and Gretel Vera Rosas. As an undergraduate and graduate student, I had the
unique good fortune of benefiting from the moral and intellectual guidance of three
tandems of brothers and sisters: los hermanos Perla, Héctor and Miguel; las hermanas
Rosas, Ana and Abigail; and los hermanos Licón, Gerardo and Gustavo. A debt of
gratitude is also due to other peers beyond USC: Alberto Pereda, Miguel Luz Sauceda
and Romeo Guzmán have been good friends and colleagues to me throughout the
years. I would also like to acknowledge my paisano Gustavo Arellano, whose writing
was a source of much-needed inspiration for the completion of this manuscript. It has
been a pleasure watching him grow into the public intellectual he is today.
On a more personal level, my deepest debt of gratitude is to my immediate
and extended family, in the U.S. and in México. I thank my four brothers: Ernesto,
Jonathan, Esteban and Iván. Each one of them makes me proud in their own separate
way. In Zacatecas, my uncle Carlos Domínguez was a trusty research companion
during my various field excursions. I thank him for his camaraderie and for sharing
his unique view of the world with me. I reserve my last thanks for my parents. I
thank my father, Rosendo—who has toiled tirelessly since first setting foot in this
country in the late 1970s—for those occasional nights when his memories of life and
work back in the rancho were especially generous. I listened intently. I thank my
mother, Lilia—who selflessly endured countless sacrifices with her children’s
vii

interests always in mind—for rearing us transnationally. In many ways, the stories
found in this dissertation are their own tales of migration.
Lastly, I thank Brenda Correa, for loving me and for bringing my geographic
imaginations of rural México to life.
viii

Table of Contents

Epigraph ii
Dedication iii
Acknowledgments iv
Abstract ix
Chapter 1: Introduction 1
PART I: MEXICAN MIGRANTS IN U.S.
POLITICS & CIVIL SOCIETY

Chapter 2: Becoming a (Transnational) Citizen:
Mexican Experiences of Naturalization 16

Chapter 3: Mexican Migrant Transnationalism & Political
Engagement in the U.S.:
Evidence from the 2006 Latino National Survey 51
Table 1. Mexican Migrant Transnationalism &
Civic Engagement in the U.S. 69

PART II: MEXICAN MIGRANTS IN MEXICAN
POLITICS & CIVIL SOCIETY

Chapter 4: Transnational Politicians:
Migrant Deputies & Mexican Party Politics 79

Chapter 5: Posthumous Transnationalism:
Postmortem Repatriation from the U.S. to México 123

Chapter 6: Conclusion 160
Bibliography 173

ix

Abstract
Contemporary migrants in the United States demonstrate an interest and
capacity for political engagement in both their country of residence and of origin. In
the case of México-U.S. migration, why do some migrants engage in the cultural and
political life of their country of residence and of origin while others disengage
altogether? Does engagement in one political system hinder participation in the other?
Research in political science addresses these questions using surveys that capture
individual-level data on transnational attitudes and behaviors at a single point in time.
These studies often conclude that participation in one political system comes at the
expense of participation in the other.
Drawing on a multi-site, multi-method analysis, this dissertation traces
transnationalism at different stages of the migrant political life course, beginning with
the “political baptism” (naturalization in the U.S.) and ending with repatriation to
México after death. First, I use ethnographic methods to capture the collective
experiences of Mexican migrants who are in the process of becoming U.S. citizens to
understand why transnational attachments persist even as the formal process of
political enfranchisement in the U.S. begins. These findings are then tested
systematically with data from the Latino National Survey, a nationally representative
survey with a large Mexican-born sub-sample. Next, I turn to transnational
ethnography to understand how and why migrants engage the political life of México
by analyzing a sample of migrants who have run for office there and address why this
act of political transnationalism can have wider mobilizing effects among their co-
x

ethnics in the U.S. Lastly, I discuss one of the policy priorities of these migrant
officials: the repatriation of bodies of deceased Mexican migrants from the U.S. to
their communities of origin in México. Like other diaspora affairs, this chapter traces
how the Mexican government’s position regarding posthumous repatriations has
changed from a “policy of having no policy” to one that is highly institutionalized.

1

Chapter 1

Introduction

We [Mexican migrants] consider ourselves to be binational citizens. Even though we are in the U.S.
we make our presence felt via our actions and contributions to Zacatecas…We have influence on both
sides [of the border]. Our vote is courted here as much as it is there.
-- Lupe Gómez, migrant activist.
1

Over the course of the last thirty years, Lupe Gómez, a Mexican migrant from
the state of Zacatecas, has lived, established a successful business and raised a family
in Orange County, California. He is a naturalized U.S. citizen and a registered
democrat. As a successful business owner, Gómez says he has the “mind of a
republican” when it comes to cutting taxes but is a “democrat at heart,” because of his
commitment to social justice and the welfare state. This degree of migrant social,
economic and political integration in the U.S. notwithstanding, Gómez has
proactively maintained strong ties with his community and country of origin.
Notably, Lupe Gómez has been an active leader in California-based Mexican
hometown associations from the state of Zacatecas. Despite his full-time
responsibilities in Orange County, Gómez was the only person to run for a single-
member-district in México’s 2009 congressional elections as a U.S.-based “migrant
candidate,” doing so with the center-right Partido Acción Nacional (PAN) (see
Chapter 4 for a full discussion).
Analogously, Rigoberto Castañeda, also a Zacatecas migrant, is a former
Southern California restaurateur, where he has lived with his wife and children for the
last two decades. A naturalized U.S. citizen, Castañeda is also a registered democrat

1
Author interview with Lupe Gómez, Santa Ana, California (March 2009).
2

and participates in U.S. elections. Since 2007, Castañeda has been a “migrant
deputy” in the state legislature of Zacatecas, with the Partido Revolucionario
Institucional (PRI). Holding political office in México hasn’t prevented Castañeda
from participating in U.S. electoral politics however. In the days leading to the
historic election of Barack Obama, Castañeda flew from Zacatecas to California to
vote for the first African American president of the U.S. “I had five eligible voters in
my household who would not vote unless I returned to vote. As soon as I arrived, I
located the polling place and on election day, I took the entire family to vote.”
These ethnographic vignettes raise two related empirical questions: What
drives U.S.-based Mexican migrants to politically engage in the country of residence
and of origin? How does engagement in one political system impact participation in
the other? The present dissertation addresses these questions by brining together
qualitative and quantitative methodologies. Drawing on a multi-site, multi-method
analysis, this dissertation discusses the collective experiences of migrant political
engagement in the U.S. and México. First, I use ethnographic methods to capture the
narratives of Mexican migrants who are in the process of becoming U.S. citizens to
understand why transnational attachments persist even as the formal process of
political enfranchisement in the U.S. begins. Second, I draw on the 2006 Latino
National Survey—a nationally representative survey with a large Mexican-born sub-
sample—to assess how Mexican migrant transnationalism impacts their political
engagement in the U.S. Next, I turn to transnational ethnography to understand how
and why migrants engage in the political life of México by analyzing a small sample
3

of migrants who have run for office there and address why this act of political
transnationalism can have wider mobilizing effects among their co-ethnics in the U.S.
Lastly, I discuss one of the policy priorities of these migrant officials: the repatriation
of bodies of deceased Mexican migrants from the U.S. to their communities of origin
in México, drawing on structured interviews with state actors and the relatives of
deceased repatriates across several migrant sending villages in rural Zacatecas. Such
a varied research design captures the institutional, contextual and cultural factors that
drive Mexican migrants to engage in U.S. and Mexican politics and illustrates how
the two can be complementary processes.
Before proceeding to a review of the relevant literature, a methodological
caveat is in order. Undoubtedly, the experiences of the two migrants profiled above
are by no means representative of the larger Mexican migrant population in the U.S.
These are two highly incorporated and transnationally active migrants. As the critics
of the “scholarly transnationals” have pointed out, these migrant activists represent
the exception rather than the norm among the broader cross-section of Mexican
migrants. Thus, delimiting the research sample to include only such migrant activists
constitutes selecting on the dependent variable (Waldinger and Fitzgerald 2004;
Bravo 2008). Drawing on a mixed method research design, this dissertation avoids
this methodological pitfall by complementing non-random convenience sampling
with statistical analysis of nationally representative survey data. The next section
offers a brief review of the literature on migrant transnationalism and suggests that
4

deploying one methodological approach at the expense of others offers an incomplete
account of this multi-faceted phenomenon.
Understanding Mexican Migrant Political Transnationalism: Competing
Hypotheses

The social scientific literature on migrant political transnationalism has
produced a debate between two views, broadly construed. On one hand, the zero-sum
perspective suggests that migrant engagement in one national-political context comes
at the expense of participation in the other. Customarily, this view is primarily
concerned with U.S. participation—selecting it as the outcome variable of interest—
and hypothesizes that migrant engagement in the affairs of the homeland detracts
from their involvement in U.S. civic life (for a full review of this literature see
Chapter 3). Others in this camp place transnationalism as the dependent variable,
arguing that migrant attachment to their homelands attenuates as settlement in the
U.S. occurs (Waldinger 2008)
2
.
Conversely, the transnationalism perspective suggests that migrant
engagement in one nation-state can be complementary with involvement in another.
Migrant engagement in the politics and institutions of the home country post-
migration—the transnationalism perspective posits—can equip migrants with the
skills, interests and sense of efficacy necessary to engage in U.S. politics. As Smith
and Bakker argue, these migrant activists can, effectively, “recross the border” and
direct civic energies harnessed in home country activities to U.S. politics and civil

2
While one could argue that Waldinger—who has written extensively on this topic—represents a
separate perspective altogether, I place him in the zero-sum category as his argument is that,
ultimately, migrant commitment to U.S. politics and society trumps homeland loyalties and activities.
5

society (2008). Similarly, migrants who have become politically re-socialized in the
U.S. may become increasingly interested in engaging in home country affairs,
especially as the political opportunity structure allows for greater participation from
abroad, via dual nationality and extraterritorial voting rights for example.
Part of the reason why this literature has produced mixed, inconclusive
empirical results with regard to the question of migrant transnationalism and political
engagement is precisely because it has generally failed to successfully combine
qualitative and quantitative research strategies. Some researchers in this debate have
outright reproduced the “methodological nationalism” of past, setting out to
demonstrate that nation and state indeed converge in the age of transnational
migrations (see Wimmer and Glick Schiller 2002). While a thoroughgoing review
can be found in the ensuing chapters, a few examples here will illustrate the
conceptual and methodological shortcomings in this body of literature.
In his study of migrant “nationalization”, Roger Waldinger finds immigrants
sampled in the Los Angeles County Social Survey inclined to express high degrees of
U.S. attachment on indicators such as having “love for USA”, feeling “proud to be an
American” and finding the “American flag moving” (2007b). Perhaps in anticipation
of criticism from those who contend that survey data cannot be interpreted prima
facie, Waldinger states in his conclusion:
Of course, one could argue that the results reported above are somehow
artifactual, influenced by the research method employed… it goes without
saying that survey research has its limitations: one wants to know, not just
what people say, but what they do, though one would have to endorse a very
strong view of the mind/body split to insist that what people say is of no value
at all (2007b: 367).
6

Contrary to this post hoc defense, survey methodology research points us in another
direction: Waldinger’s findings may be influenced by the social desirability of
questions such as having “love for USA” or feeling “proud to be an American.” For
items that are considered socially desirable, respondents tend to over-report,
especially if the social sanctions associated with answering negatively are perceived
as punitive and disciplinary in nature, a palpable fear for many migrants under the
post September 11 “securitization of citizenship” (De Genova 2007). For this and
other reasons, one needs to be wary of studies that take survey data alone at face
value. Combining such analyses with qualitative interviews may constitute a more
comprehensive research strategy, one that may yield more nuanced, perhaps even
contradictory findings than those found in survey responses. As Waldinger states,
“what people say to survey researchers may differ quite greatly from what they say to
friends, intimates, or even the ethnographer” (2007b: 367).
Second, as comparative politics researchers remind us, “Large N statistical
analyses can point out a correlation between an independent and dependent variable,
but say little about why this is so” (Mampilly 2007: 9). Take for example Staton,
Jackson and Canache’s (2007) study of dual national Latinos, who they find to be less
politically connected to the U.S. across measures similar to those explored by
Waldinger (e.g. self-identification as an American, considers U.S. as homeland).
While important, dual nationality studies are tentative at best, since this provision is a
non-continuous variable across Latino national-origin groups. More importantly,
however, the authors cannot tell us much about why dual national Latinos express less
7

attachment to the U.S. with survey data alone. To argue that dual national Latinos are
less committed or attached to the U.S. polity without considering the often hostile
context of reception they encounter sounds a lot like suggesting that migrant
integration is a “one-way” rather than a “two-way” street (Pedraza 2009). Rather, can
it be that migrant perceptions of hostility in the host society color their views of its
government and institutions? More specifically, do migrant encounters of
institutional discrimination impact their subsequent views and attachments to U.S.
politics and society? As Moran-Taylor and Menjívar state in their qualitative study of
Guatemalans and Salvadorans in Arizona, “it is difficult for [migrants] to feel that
they ‘belong’ in an environment that they often perceive as hostile” (2005: 106). This
is precisely the kind of issues that I explore ethnographically in Chapter 2, among a
sample of Mexican migrants undergoing the process U.S. naturalization,
supplementing the survey-based approach offered by Staton et al. (2007) and others.
While a political ethnography of the naturalization process can be a welcome
supplement to survey-based studies, qualitative approaches are not without their own
set of limitations. In particular, it has been a recurring tendency of the ethnographers
of migrant transnationalism to select on the dependent variable. In other words,
qualitative researchers tend to use convenience samples, consisting exclusively of
migrants who are transnationally active. To be fair, ethnographic studies are, by
definition, micro and customarily non-random, as Moran-Taylor and Menjívar remind
us, “employing qualitative methods does not yield generalizable outcomes” (2005).
Strikingly however, this methodological flaw in sampling strategy is reproduced even
8

among some of the quantitative “scholarly transnationals.” For example, Alejandro
Portes and his research associates have conducted sample surveys consisting entirely
of migrants who are members of hometown or transnational organizations (2009).
While social scientists have license to delimit their research subjects as they please,
the problem arises when they generalize their findings from a non-random sample to
the broader migrant population. Therefore, studies that are methodologically
pluralistic offer a fuller picture of the phenomenon under study. In the following
section, I discuss my varied use of political and transnational ethnography, logistic
regression techniques and the subnational comparative method.
Data and Methods
An ethnographic approach involves documenting key actors’ actual practices, exploring how they
understand their own goals and their external environment.
-- Jonathan Fox, Accountability Politics

In the context of this dissertation, political ethnography entails documenting
migrant and state actors’ practices and views vis-à-vis political-institutional
processes—naturalization, emigrant electoral participation, repatriation—providing
in-depth descriptive accounts of the power struggles involved in the sites and acts of
transnational citizenship. Political ethnography has been widely deployed across the
sub-disciplines of political science and applied to a multiplicity of settings, ranging
from peasant insurgency in El Salvador (Wood 2003), to union activism in Chicago
(Warren 2005) to rebel governance in Africa and South Asia (Mampilly 2007). As I
define it here, political ethnography involves both interview and participant
observation techniques (see Fox 2007). The intrinsic advantage of this methodology
9

is that it allows us to identify causal mechanisms and outcomes that are often not
readily intelligible from survey data. In my study of Mexican migrant naturalization
for example (see Chapter 2), my ethnographic approach allows me to link the
institutional discrimination that migrants encounter throughout the process of political
enfranchisement to enduring cross-border attachments and loyalties to their country
of origin post-naturalization, a point that survey-based studies have failed to consider
(Staton et al. 2007; Waldinger 2007b).
Transnational ethnography is different from political ethnography in that it
focuses specifically on a process or population that involves activity that is multi-
sited and cross-border. Drawing on the work of anthropologist George Marcus,
Smith and Bakker (2005) define this method as “an ethnography of places and their
interconnections rather than a place-focused ethnography of single locales” (131).
This type of multi-locale ethnography, in Marcus’ words, produces a “‘narrative that
is both micro and macro’” (quoted in Smith and Bakker 2005: 131). In their own
study of Mexican migrant political transnationalism, Smith and Bakker combine
“transnational ethnography with political-economic and institutional analysis to study
the complex dynamics connecting the multiple places where situated social actors
have forged a path-breaking transnational electoral coalition” (131). Similarly, my
study of U.S.-based migrants who have run for political office in México draws on in-
depth interviews on both sides of the border, directly addressing the question of
migrant involvement in U.S. and Mexican politics (see Chapter 4). Likewise, my
study of the cross-border practice of repatriating the bodies of deceased Mexican
10

migrants from the U.S. to México also deploys transnational ethnography, drawing on
original interviews with bureaucratic actors central to this process in Los Angeles,
California and Zacatecas, México (see Chapter 5).
As discussed earlier, the disadvantage of an ethnographic approach is that it is
limited in scope, preventing the researcher from drawing generalizable conclusions.
In other words, by relying exclusively on non-random convenience samples, I am
unable to draw broader inferences about the relationship between migrant
transnationalism and migrant political engagement. One way to supplement the in-
depth political and transnational ethnographies discussed above is to turn to large-
scale, representative survey data. The 2006 Latino National Survey, a nationally
representative survey with a large Mexican-born sub-sample, is a useful dataset
because it includes a rich battery of questions regarding migrant transnationalism.
For the Mexican sub-sample only, the LNS includes a Mexican state-of-origin item,
allowing us to scale down to sub-national units of analysis. Thus, I conduct logistic
regression analysis to determine whether migrants from a particular state in México
are more likely to engage in U.S. politics and civil society, yielding more systematic
empirical findings.
As I argue in Chapter 3, by scaling down to the sub-national level of analysis
we can control for nation-state-level differences between national-origin groups and
uncover variations at the sub-national level that cross-national studies may be
masking. Again, part of the purpose of the sub-national comparative method is to
explain variation across sub-national units (see Snyder 2001). I apply this method
11

more directly in Chapter 5, which discusses the transnational practice of repatriating
the bodies of deceased Mexican migrants from the U.S. to México. Specifically, I
selected two municipalities in the state of Zacatecas that were similar across most
demographic indicators (i.e. population size, migration intensity) but exhibited
variations in the outcome of interest to this chapter: posthumous repatriation.
Following the controlled comparison and process tracing approaches (see Varshney
2002), the chapter reveals that migrant network robustness partly explains why the
experiences of migrants and their families with this particular form of
transnationalism were qualitatively different in these two municipalities. Having
discussed the data and methods, in the following section I provide a brief description
of each substantive chapter.
Layout of Dissertation
This dissertation is organized into two parts. Part I discusses Mexican
migrant engagement in U.S. politics and civil society and Part II discusses their
involvement in Mexican politics and civil society. I begin Part I with a critical
discussion of Mexican migrants’ experiences with U.S. naturalization and
immigration bureaucracies. Chapter 2 titled “Becoming a (Transnational) Citizen:
Mexican Experiences of Naturalization” (see Félix 2008) uses ethnographic methods
to document the experiences of Mexican migrants who are in the process of becoming
naturalized U.S. citizens. Like earlier research in Latino Politics, this chapter finds
that Mexican migrants are mobilized to naturalize in response to an anti-immigrant
political climate in the U.S. (Pantoja et al. 2001; Pantoja and Segura 2003). Unlike
12

previous studies however, my ethnographic research allows me to link the
institutional discrimination that migrants encounter throughout the process of political
enfranchisement to enduring cross-border attachments and loyalties to their country
of origin post-naturalization. Far from being an impediment to engagement, ethnic
identification and attachment to the homeland post-naturalization may drive migrant
political participation on both sides of the border.
In Chapter 3, I turn to statistical analysis of nationally representative survey
data to supplement the ethnographic approach presented in the preceding chapter.
How does Mexican migrant engagement in home country affairs impact their
engagement in U.S. politics and civil society? Is there appreciable sub-national
variation among Mexican migrants when it comes to U.S. civic-political engagement?
This chapter addresses these questions using data from the 2006 Latino National
Survey (LNS), particularly the underutilized state-of-origin item available for the
Mexican sub-sample. By scaling down to the sub-national level of analysis we are
able to 1) control for nation-state-level differences between national-origin groups
and 2) uncover variations at the sub-national level that cross-national studies may be
masking (see Wals forthcoming). Indeed, sub-national impacts are revealed, with
migrants from the classic-sending states of Zacatecas and Jalisco more likely to
express political interest and contact a government official in the U.S., respectively.
With regard to the transnationalism debate, the chapter finds that communicating with
friends and family in México, sending remittances, being a member of a hometown
association and paying attention to homeland politics are all positively associated
13

with various forms of U.S. engagement. These findings suggest that transnationalism
does not represent a wholesale “cost” to migrant involvement in the U.S. as some
have argued.
Part II of the dissertation illustrates how migrants impact economic and
political development, democratization and changing conceptualizations of
citizenship and national identity within México. My chapter “Transnational
Politicians: Migrant Deputies and Mexican Party Politics,” examines the implications
of recent political reforms allowing Mexican nationals residing in the U.S. the ability
to run for local and national office from abroad by conducting in-depth interviews
with current “migrant deputies” in the state legislature of Zacatecas, which recently
established a migrant quota, and with “migrant candidates” in the 2009 Mexican
congressional elections (see also Smith and Bakker 2008; 2005; Fox 2005). With
regards to Mexican party politics, this chapter finds that each of the major parties
(PRI, PAN, PRD), as well as some of the emerging parties (PT, Convergencia),
endorse migrant political representation in discourse but few have done much to offer
candidacies or appointments for migrants within their power structures. The chapter
also discusses the institutional barriers and potential implications of constituting an
extraterritorial “migrant party”, which may be an important challenge to the
consolidation of a cartel model of politics in 21
st
century México. With regard to
migrant cross-border engagement, this study has implications for recent research on
dual nationals, which finds them to be less attached to the U.S. By actively
14

contributing to democratic engagement on both sides of the border, the migrants
profiled here emerge as exemplar transnational and, by extension, global citizens.
Lastly, drawing on the subnational comparative method, “Posthumous
Transnationalism: Postmortem Repatriation from the U.S. to México”, connects the
role of migrants in Mexican electoral politics to the realm of cultural politics. This
chapter discusses the sustained and increasingly institutionalized transnational
practice of repatriating the bodies of deceased Mexican migrants from the U.S. to
their hometowns in México (Lestage 2008). Drawing on extensive archival research,
unpublished figures from the Mexican consulate and structured interviews with
Mexican bureaucrats, this chapter documents how the Mexican state has
institutionalized this process at the transnational, national, state and municipal levels
of governance. Like other diaspora affairs, this chapter traces how the Mexican
government’s position regarding posthumous repatriations has changed from a
“policy of having no policy” to one that is highly institutionalized (Cano and Délano
2007). By focusing on this particular transnational practice, this chapter seeks to
contribute to the literature on migrant transnationalism and to our understanding of
México’s evolving state-diaspora relations.
By bringing together political/transnational ethnography, statistical analysis of
survey data and controlled comparisons at the sub-national level of analysis, this
dissertation aims to overcome some of the limitations of previous studies of migrant
transnationalism, which tend to privilege one methodology over another. A
methodologically diverse approach can provide a fuller empirical picture of a
15

complex and multi-faceted phenomenon such as migrant transnationalism. While the
present effort is not without its own limitations, this dissertation represents a step in
that direction.

16

Chapter 2
Becoming a (Transnational) Citizen: Mexican Experiences of Naturalization
[Immigrants] have to learn the language; they have to learn United States history and learn the way to
do business. This is very difficult for Mexicans because they are too close to their country here and
they try to remain Mexican while they stay in the United States. As a result there is this going and
coming. What I want to say to Mexicans is that they have to get involved and assimilate into United
States culture so that they can be part of the United States fabric.
—Arnold Schwarzenegger
3

We will never stop being Mexican. That cannot be taken away from you. In fact, we will continue to
face discrimination simply because we are Mexican. Even if we become citizens, we will encounter
prejudice.
—Don Juan, Mexican naturalizer

In the spring of 2006 anti-immigrant congressional legislation triggered
immigrant rights protests that reverberated beyond the territorial confines of the
United States
4
. The coordinated efforts between immigrant rights activists and the
Spanish-language media allowed migrants and their allies to momentarily attain what
Alfonso Gonzales describes as a counterhegemonic position powerful enough to
prevent proposed punitive legislation from becoming law. Despite its initial success,
Gonzales argues, the immigrant rights movement subsequently disintegrated due to a
series of internal and external contradictions (Gonzales 2008). Whether the immigrant
rights movement has dissolved or split into factions pursuing incongruous political
outcomes, the mega-marches are fresh in the collective memory of immigrants who
protested and even of some who did not participate, and such memories may be

3
The Schwarzenegger quote appeared in an article by Araceli Martínez-Ortega in the Spanish daily La
Opinión (2006). All translations mine.

4
In a gesture of transnational solidarity, migrant sympathizers boycotted Wal-mart in Zacatecas,
México, on May 1, 2006. This was one of multiple such demonstrations occurring concurrently on
Mexican territory (see Cornelius et al. 2007).
17

mobilizing them to take further political action. In addition to seeing a powerful entry
into public politics by undocumented migrants
5
, the period following the protests has
witnessed an increase in the number of citizen-eligible immigrants seeking
naturalization. Between January and October 2007, the United States Citizenship and
Immigration Service (USCIS) received 1,029,951 naturalization applications, a 59
percent increase from the same period in 2006. In light of the immigrant rights
protests of 2006 and the attendant surge in citizenship applications, this chapter
presents a political ethnography of a citizenship class in Southern California and
discusses how Mexican immigrants experienced the naturalization process in the
context of their transnational lives and identities.
Citizenship acquisition is conventionally understood as a landmark in the
process of immigrant incorporation (see Bloemraad 2006; Gordon 2007). In his study
of immigrant adaptation in early twentieth-century Los Angeles, George J. Sánchez
interprets Mexican immigrants’ decision to naturalize as a sign of permanent
resettlement in the United States and suggests that their mobilization in U.S. politics
came at the expense of participation in Mexican politics (Sánchez 1993). The
violence of the Mexican Revolution, the creation of the U.S. border patrol, and the
repatriation of thousands of Mexican nationals during the Great Depression were
some of the political and economic forces that led to a second-generation dominance
in Mexican communities in Los Angeles. U.S.-born Mexicans and their political
organizations broke with the former view against naturalization and called upon

5
On public politics and democracy see Guidry and Sawyer (2003).
18

Mexican immigrants to become American citizens involved in American elections,
making for a generation decidedly focused on events north of the border.
Today scholars point to transformations in communication and travel
technologies, increased tolerance of ethnic pluralism in the United States, and home
state rapprochement with their diasporas among other factors that facilitate cross-
border interactions and identities. In the context of transnational migrations, there is
debate among social scientists regarding the nature and degree of contemporary
Mexican immigrant political incorporation in the United States, emphasizing failed
assimilation on one end and a traditional pattern of political assimilation on the other
(respectively, Huntington 2004; Citrin et al. 2007). Consistent with the first view,
Mexican migrants’ failure to assimilate is attributed to proximity to the homeland,
cross-border activities, institutions of dual nationality, and other factors endogenous
to “Mexican exceptionalism,” as the Schwarzenegger epigraph suggests. Researchers
of the second vein have argued that Mexicans are indeed assimilating, citing
immigrant adherence to values such as economic individualism and U.S. patriotism.
Under this view, immigrants who become naturalized citizens are believed to be as, if
not more, patriotic to their new country than white Americans, controlling for
background and other factors (de la Garza, Falcon and Garcia 1996). An alternative
perspective challenges these conventions. As the statement by Don Juan illustrates,
cross-border loyalties and identities persist upon naturalization largely as a result of
migrant self-identification in response to the institutional discrimination they face
throughout the process of political enfranchisement.
19

In light of these studies, how do Mexican immigrants experience the
naturalization process? Why are they becoming U.S. citizens? What does it mean to
them? Drawing on seven months of ethnographic fieldwork and twelve in-depth
interviews with Mexican immigrants who were preparing for the naturalization
interview (or had already completed it) in a citizenship class in San Bernardino
County, this essay presents preliminary responses to these questions.
In contrast to previous studies that attribute “failed assimilation” to forms of
“Mexican exceptionalism,” I argue that this pattern is a product of the anti-immigrant
context of reception sustained and reproduced by U.S. society and politics. Moreover,
while the anxiety, intimidation, and other negative factors attributed to low
naturalization rates among Mexican migrants are well documented, such experiences
are countered by the collective emotions, rapport, and solidarity of the citizenship
classroom, positing it as a potentially empowering public space for the immigrant
rights movement. Rather than operating as a conduit for Americanization, the
citizenship classroom can be a space where migrants make the naturalization
experience intelligible on their own cultural and political terms. As I will show, U.S.
citizenship is indiscriminately negated to many migrants during the naturalization
interview. In response to such bureaucratic inconsistency, the citizenship class
functions as an alternative public space where migrants develop a counternarrative
that exposes the arbitrariness of the naturalization process, creating an oppositional,
rather than assimilative, relationship to citizenship and national identity. Regarding
the incentives to naturalize, Ong and Lee note that securing tangible benefits in an
20

anti-immigrant context leads to “defensive naturalization” (2007). This article
presents evidence of an added community empowerment motive driving a reactive
naturalization, which is more politically purposeful and is more proactive than
defensive. In such cases, when ethnic identity is perceived as the basis of shared
discrimination, the resulting salience of ethnicity encourages naturalization as a
means for furthering community interests via collective political action in ways that
are not reducible to notions of assimilation
6
.
Unlike in the early twentieth century, Mexican naturalization in the twenty-
first century cannot be viewed as a sign of permanent resettlement in the United
States. As Sánchez notes, immigrants who secure legalization no longer face the
institutional barriers to visit their home communities and reenter the United States
legally. To this we add the Mexican government’s more recent dual nationality law
and local policies like “La ley migrante” in Zacatecas, which allow migrants to
participate in the civic life of their communities of origin. As Michael Jones-Correa
demonstrates, immigrants from countries recognizing dual nationality average higher
naturalization rates in the United States than their counterparts from countries that do
not (2001). Far from being an impediment to political participation, ethnic
identification and attachment to the homeland post-naturalization may drive
immigrant political participation across borders.

6
For a discussion of community empowerment and Latino politics see Barreto (2007).
21

Political Context and Mexican Naturalization, 1990s–Present
Naturalization rates among Mexican immigrants (and Latinos more broadly)
have been low relative to other ethnic groups. Citizen-eligible Latinos have been
“characterized by their sluggishness between when they have been eligible to
naturalize and when they actually undergo the process” (Barreto, Ramírez and Woods
2005: 797). The 1990s are thought to have momentarily disrupted these patterns,
setting an important precedent for the argument presented here. In 1990, more than
270,000 immigrants became U.S. citizens. Six years later, this figure soared to over a
million, “with the proportion due to Mexican immigrants tripling from 6.5 percent to
20.8 percent” (Stamper Balistreri and Van Hook 2004: 113). By fiscal year 1999, this
percentage had increased to 30 percent. The reasons for this change include a racially
charged political climate and increased mobilization by ethnic and civic
organizations, which are thought to have stimulated immigrant naturalization and
political participation (Pantoja, Ramírez and Segura 2001).
In the post-9/11 context, immigrant advocates are concerned that
developments within the Department of Homeland Security (DHS) and USCIS
threaten to further discourage Latino naturalization, particularly among Mexican
immigrants. Waslin indicates that “approximately 8 million legal permanent residents
are now eligible to naturalize, and another 2.7 million legal immigrants will soon be
eligible for naturalization but are unlikely to do so.” Eligible immigrants who have
not yet naturalized have lower English language skills and less formal education, and
are more heavily Mexican than their newly naturalized counterparts. As of 2001,
22

there were 2.3 million Mexican immigrants eligible to naturalize, ten times the
number from any sending country. Moreover,
while Mexicans compose 28 percent of all currently eligible immigrants, they
represent only 9 percent of recently naturalized citizens. Only 21 percent of
eligible Mexicans entering the U.S. in the past twenty years have naturalized
in comparison to 57 percent of Asians (Waslin 2005: 2-3).

It should come as no surprise that Mexican migrants have been slow to
naturalize. Mexican immigrants describe the naturalization process as one rife with
patronizing officials, unreasonable criminalization, humiliation, fear, and anxiety. In
addition, Mexican migrants have long been discouraged by feelings of disloyalty to
the home country and misinformation about losing rights and privileges therein upon
naturalizing (Waslin 2005: 3). However, this article suggests a shift in the popular
conception of citizenship, signaling an emerging consensus in favor of naturalizing
among noncitizens. The federal government’s effort to make naturalization more
difficult (for example, increased fee rates, higher English language requirements) may
in fact be the impetus for immigrants to seek full de jure political membership in the
United States. From a migrant’s perspective, the pragmatic reasons to naturalize
include the hiking of fee rates, increased ability to obtain dual nationality, and the
debunking of long-held myths about naturalization. On top of this, however, a hostile
political climate and subsequent immigrant rights protests promoted by the ethnic
media may account for the decision to “seek enfranchisement as an act of political
expression” (Pantoja, Ramírez and Segura 2001: 729).
The current immigrant-hostile political climate is not without precedent. The
mid-1990s temporarily disrupted stagnant naturalization patterns when citizen-
23

eligible Latinos reacted to the confluence of an anti-immigrant political context and
attendant political protests advertised by the ethnic media. Like current anti-
immigrant legislation, Proposition 187, the 1994 California initiative, was punitive in
nature in that it sought to deny public services to undocumented immigrants and
required public officials to report suspected undocumented immigrants to the
Immigration and Naturalization Service (Pantoja and Segura 2003: 266). In this
context, citizen-eligible immigrants became more aware of immigration and ethnicity
as salient issues. Additionally, “because Proposition 187 was seen as a move against
Latino immigrants, a large number of Latino non-citizens, perhaps out of fear of
losing certain services or status, made the decision to begin the naturalization
process” (Pantoja, Ramírez and Segura 2001: 731). An anti-immigrant political
context resulted in “defensive naturalization.” A similarly contentious political
environment has emerged in California and beyond as evidenced by continued
immigrant-focused initiatives and hostile public rhetoric from elected officials and
pundits, albeit this time triggering a more politically purposeful reactive
naturalization
7
.
In their study of Anglo and Mexican support for “core American values,”
Rodolfo de la Garza and his associates find that Mexican respondents were often
more individually oriented and more patriotic than Anglos. When explaining why this
is so, the authors state that “as the joyous tears shed at citizenship ceremonies

7
Gonzales (2008) discusses the consolidation of anti-immigrant politics at the local, national and
transnational levels.

24

indicate, immigrants who become naturalized citizens have undergone a major
transition with intense emotional overtones” (1996: 347). The presumption is that
legal immigrants who make the decision to naturalize do so out of patriotism to their
new country. This essay complicates this picture. The findings suggest that,
citizenship oath notwithstanding, these patriotic “new Americans” may in fact be
long-distance or diasporic nationalists
8
. In other words, ethnic attachment and
identification with the homeland do not cease or diminish upon naturalization, and
this is consistent with other studies (see Itzigsohn and Saucedo 2002). Unlike the
“failed assimilation” and “traditional assimilation” camps that focus solely on factors
endogenous to “Mexican exceptionalism” or the naturalization process exclusively,
this analysis also considers the recurrent external factors of an anti-immigrant
political context of reception. Additionally, the data has implications for earlier
research that found that new citizens are not always civically minded (see DeSipio
1996). Although they face a dearth of political information common to many
migrants, the respondents suggest that newly enfranchised Mexican immigrants are
likely voters.
Political Ethnography of a Citizenship Class
The data for this chapter come from seven months of ethnographic fieldwork
and intensive interviews conducted in a citizenship class in San Bernardino County,

8
Diasporic nationalism is expressed by migrants as attachments to hometowns and localities within
México. Hence, the term diasporic nationalism can be read as diasporic localism or regionalism.
Additionally, the term does not imply uncritical loyalties to the Mexican state. Most of my respondents
expressed disillusionment and skepticism toward the Mexican government, a sentiment consistent with
the idea that diasporic nationalism is not an identity entirely rooted in or fostered by the Mexican state.

25

from September 2006 to March 2007 and a follow-up visit in June of 2007.
Citizenship instruction was offered Monday through Thursday, from 6 p.m. to 8 p.m.
The venue was a small classroom that accommodated about twenty-five students.
However, attendance was usually around thirty-five and sometimes as high as fifty.
Although by a narrow margin, women often outnumbered men. This particular
citizenship course was based on continuous enrollment, with no actual beginning or
end date. The instructor was Benjamín, a naturalized Mexican immigrant for more
than ten years, in his late forties, who was interviewed in the sample
9
. Class
participants were mostly immigrants from México, but there were a few students
from El Salvador, Guatemala, and Honduras, as well as one from Perú and one from
Argentina.
Twelve respondents were interviewed, six men and six women. With the
exception of Benjamín and Felipe, who was interviewed the day of his citizenship
interview, all participants were potential naturalizers. The duration of the interviews
averaged around sixty minutes and followed a structured guide. Six interviews were
conducted on-site, during but separate from class instruction. The remaining six were
conducted at the home of Doroteo and Adela, the only married couple in the sample.
All interviews were conducted in Spanish.
Respondents, ranging in age from thirty to sixty-four, represented different
immigrant cohorts (for example, different time of arrival to the United States and
hence different experiences amid shifting political contexts). Occupations included

9
The names of all participants in this chapter were changed for purposes of anonymity.
26

housekeeping, maintenance, carpentry, construction, welding, and factory assembly
work. One respondent was retired. Ten respondents came from rural regions in
México (in the states of Guanajuato, Michoacán, Jalisco, Zacatecas, Nayarit), while
two came from large urban centers: Guadalajara and México City. Education levels
were generally low (elementary school) among the older respondents but slightly
higher for the younger migrants, reflective of the educational variance among
immigrant cohorts
10
. English proficiency was mostly low but ranged to intermediate.
All respondents were married (one was widowed) with children born or raised in the
United States.
How Do Mexican Migrants Experience the Naturalization Process?
Respondents emphasized how the naturalization process affected them in the
private sphere, in their family and personal lives. Interview and observational data
convey how the process was experienced emotionally and collectively in classroom
interactions. Returning students added to this environment by sharing their
experiences during the much anticipated and sometimes dreaded citizenship
interview, the decisive moment of the naturalization process.
The Private Sphere
Permanent legal residents who make the decision to begin the naturalization
process do not take it lightly and make it a priority to accomplish this goal. On top of
class instruction, several respondents studied using audio aids and other materials at

10
The 2005 Pew Hispanic Center “Survey of Mexican Migrants” found that 72% of respondents lack a
high school education, but the youngest and most recently arrived have higher levels of schooling than
long-term migrants.
27

home or work. Doña María (age sixty-one), for instance, stated, “I listen to a cassette
at home. I go over the questions and listen to the tape when I am at home.” Don Juan
(age fifty-two) relied on a “CD to practice the citizenship interview” when he was in
the privacy of his home. Others practiced their English with their U.S.-born children,
like Dolores (age forty-two), who exhorted her nine-year-old son, “Mi’jo, teach me
how to write in English. Speak to me in English at home. I have to learn.” Dolores
was so consumed by the naturalization process that she had “dreams about the
questions. I stay up late at night studying and I’ve had dreams about the immigration
officer. He tells me I did not pass. He tells me I have to come back.”
While the anxiety, fear, and intimidation involved in Latino naturalization are
well documented (see Alvarez 1987), these negative emotions are often assuaged by
encouraging remarks from friends and family. Don Felipe (age forty-six) recalled
some of this motivation: “You can do it,” his friends said to him. “Those who are
already American citizens would tell me ‘You have to accomplish it. If we did it, why
can’t you do it? You can do it.’ Thanks be to God, I passed my exam today,” he
remarked. Likewise, Rosaura (age thirty), who married a U.S. citizen, reported that
everyone in her family supported her attempt to naturalize. She said, “Everybody is
happy because there is now a possibility for me to help them,” signaling the prospect
of legalizing her parents and siblings. “I have heard nothing but good remarks from
friends and family,” said Beatriz (age fifty-four). “They tell me, ‘that is great.
Héchale ganas. You can do it.’” Finally, Adela and Doroteo (age forty-three and
forty-six, respectively), the only married couple pursuing naturalization in the sample,
28

were equally supportive of one another. When Doroteo was reticent to seek
naturalization and suggested Adela go at it alone, she replied:
“No, we are both going to do it. If I become a citizen, I don’t want you to
remain as a resident. I don’t want one of us to be higher and the other lower. I
want both of us to be equal.” More than anything, we are motivating one
another to accomplish this goal. I try to help him and motivate him to learn. I
tell him, si se puede.

Not everyone was as supportive, however. Adela and Doroteo decided not to inform
other family members about their attempt to naturalize, “so that in case we don’t pass,
they won’t make us feel bad.” “I don’t comment this to anyone,” said Amparo (age
fifty). Similarly, Don Juan avoided telling his co-workers, stating, “I am afraid to tell
them because they will tease me if I don’t pass the interview [laughter].” While in the
past naturalizers may have feared being labeled disloyal to México for seeking U.S.
citizenship, here it is fear of embarrassment at not passing the exam, indicative of a
shift in the popular conception of naturalization.
Potential citizens invested considerable amounts of time, energy, and money
in the naturalization process. Most respondents agreed that the naturalization process
required a huge sacrifice in their family and personal lives. “I have not missed time
from work but I have cut into my children’s time and many other things I have to do
around the house,” Rosaura remarked. “I get out of work, I cook, and I come to
class,” Amparo explained. Similarly, Dolores stated:
I wake up at 5 a.m., I clean my bathrooms and mop my floor, then I go to
work [housekeeping], I pick up my children from school, I begin to cook for
my husband once he returns from work. Then I bathe my children and I come
to class. Sometimes my back hurts but I keep going. Sigo adelante. That is the
only way.

29

Adela and Doroteo described a similar situation:
We are making a huge sacrifice. I get up at 4 a.m. each morning, my husband
at 5 a.m. I leave before he does and I try to make it home before he does and
wait for my children to get home from school. It is hard. But God willing, we
will make it. Tenemos que salir adelante.

On top of their long weekdays, students attended the citizenship course Monday
through Thursday from 6 p.m. to 8 p.m. Remarkably, Adela and Doroteo offered their
home for additional sessions on Friday evenings, suggesting the value that citizenship
has assumed in the lives of these immigrants.
Monetarily, most respondents felt they had paid a handsome fee (then $400
for the application alone). “It is a little expensive because of the application fee,
$400,” Rosaura said. To make matters worse, “you only have two opportunities. If
you do not pass in two attempts, you lose the $400,” she lamented. Together Adela
and Doroteo, paid double that cost. For some, the rising fees are a real impediment to
naturalization. Doroteo encouraged his brother to apply, “but he says he can’t come
up with the $400 fee. He is living paycheck to paycheck. It is not easy.” Dolores
agreed that the naturalization process was expensive, but said: “It doesn’t matter.
Even if we had to pay $1,000, so long as we become citizens, it is worth it,” a
sentiment echoed by most interviewees and indicative of the importance of
citizenship in their lives. Acknowledging she was fortunate to have applied before the
fee increased from $400 to $675 (effective July 2007), Beatriz stated, “I do not think
it is expensive because we are taking a very important step that I think is priceless.”
As the data will show, the value of citizenship in the lives of immigrants has
30

expanded beyond the quality-of-life benefits already noted in the literature, to include
an added motive of collective political action.
The Classroom

Without a doubt, the classroom was the most propitious site to get at the
question of how Mexican migrants experience the naturalization process collectively.
Academically, most students started off timid and performing low when it came to the
history and government content of the naturalization exam. Not surprisingly, English
proficiency was an obstacle. In the case of Doña María, she stated:
I am concerned because I still don’t know English very well. That is my main
concern. I have a hard time understanding what they are asking me. Of course,
in Spanish I understand perfectly. I know the material. But I have a hard time
when they ask me in English.

The fact that persons with low English language skills have decided to begin the
naturalization process suggests a sense of urgency to become citizens. Out of the
sample, Dolores was the student with the lowest level of English skills. Regarding her
decision to naturalize, she commented:
I hesitated until my sister-in-law told me that it was going to get more
difficult. There were rumors that after this January (2007) they were going to
require perfect English for citizenship and that is why I submitted my
application promptly. I thought, if I don’t do it now I never will and that is
why I am here.

Apparently, the federal government’s effort to make the naturalization process more
demanding has motivated eligible immigrants to seek citizenship immediately. If this
trend endures, we can expect the time lag between when Mexican migrants become
eligible to naturalize and when they begin the process to narrow.
31

Emotions and the Naturalization Process
The naturalization process has been described as one rife with “intense
emotional overtones” (de la Garza, Falcon and Garcia 1996: 347). My study reveals
that a great deal of emotions unfold collectively in the classroom. The most
memorable example was when two returning students shared their naturalization
interview experience with the rest of the class. The following is an excerpt from my
field notes on this occasion.
Pozole & Tears
Rosa and Sandra arrived carrying a large olla [pot] of pozole, tostadas,
beverages, and other treats. At this site, it is customary that students who take
their interview return immediately (most of them returning the day of) to share
their experience. The fact that Rosa and Sandra walked in with big smiles and
carrying treats made it obvious to the class that they had passed their
interviews and were now American citizens. Sandra had passed the day prior
but waited to come in with Rosa, who passed on this day. It was clear that
Rosa’s interview had been that day as she was dressed more formally than
usual. As the women walked in, the students jubilantly remarked “¡Pasaron!”
[you passed!] and they congratulated their former classmates. At this point, as
is customary on these occasions, the instructor asked the women to come to
the front of the classroom and share their experiences with their classmates,
who were eager and full of questions.
The first question coming from the group was “¿Quién te tocó?” [Which
officer did you get?] “Una Americana” [a white woman], Rosa replied. She
proceeded to tell in detail the course of her interview. “¿Tráes tu green card?”
[Do you have your green card?], the officer asked Rosa. “Estaba nerviosa” [I
was nervous], Rosa admitted. “¿Cuantas preguntas te hicieron?” [How many
questions did they ask you?], an impatient student asked. “Once” [eleven],
Rosa replied. The officer also asked Rosa to read and write a total of five
sentences. “Cuando recién llegué a esta clase no sabía nada” [when I first
came to this class I didn’t know anything], Rosa remarked. At this point, Rosa
began to cry. “Se me hacía tan difícil, pero el maestro nos levanta el ánimo”
[It seemed so difficult, but the instructor always gets our spirit up], she said as
she wiped her tears. The students agreed, sympathized, and cheered for Rosa.
“Dale un abrazo” [give him (the instructor) a hug], the students remarked.
They all cheered as Rosa and the instructor embraced. Rosa smiled and wiped
the remaining tears from her face. After sharing their thoughts and tears, I
returned to my duties of serving and distributing refreshments to the students,
32

who waited patiently in their neatly aligned desks. People chatted, joked,
laughed, and enjoyed warm bowls of pozole. “Parece cenaduría, como en
México” [it looks like a restaurant from México in here], somebody shouted
from the back of the room. Once everybody was served, Rosa handed me a
bowl; “come” [eat], she said. So I did. I sat and pondered about my project
and the wonderful people around me who made it all possible over pozole and
tears [Félix, “Pozole & Tears” Field Notes, 1/16/07].

This incident was as memorable for Dolores as it was for me, as she recalled
in her subsequent interview:
When somebody has his or her interview, I pray for that person. I pray, “Dear
Lord help them pass” because they are in the same position as me. I pray to
God that he gives luck to all of them, because at that moment we are all going
to be the same, just as nervous. All of the people who come and give their
testimony encourage the rest of us. They say, “Si se puede, si se puede” and
that is very encouraging. Do you remember Rosa? She cried and she told us
that she owed it to the instructor. I agree, we have a great instructor. And
when we saw her cry, all of us also cried. Because like she said, when she first
arrived to the class she did not know how to write, like myself. But she had
the support of her husband, as do I, and thanks be to God she passed. And all
of us are just as happy for her.

Such observational and interview data capture the collegial environment and
general rapport that characterized the classroom. As evidenced above, the anxiety, joy
and tears shed during the naturalization process are shared among the group,
suggesting that the solidarity and synergy of the classroom counteract and perhaps
trump the negative emotions that have long discouraged the process among Mexican
migrants.
It is important to highlight the instructor’s role in creating a welcoming and
vibrant learning environment for immigrants. During my follow-up visit, a younger
instructor replaced Benjamín, much to the dismay of the students. U.S.-educated and
hardly bilingual, the new instructor demanded that students speak English only.
33

Immediately, the vibrant classroom dynamic that made it such a productive learning
and cultural space diminished. Instead of being a conduit for “Americanization,” the
citizenship classroom can be a critical public space for the forging of a sustained
“oppositional counterpublic” where migrants negotiate and understand the
naturalization and political socialization processes on their own cultural terms. Given
that noncitizens are excluded from public politics, the citizenship class constitutes an
“alternative public sphere” for migrants to debate politics and new ideas about
democracy more broadly and the naturalization process specifically (Guidry and
Sawyer 2003: 276). As the following section illustrates, this citizenship class is a
counterpublic insofar as it is a space for the production of a counternarrative that
exposes the bureaucratic arbitrariness of the citizenship process. The production and
validation of these alternative sets of knowledge in the classroom create an
oppositional, rather than assimilative, relationship to citizenship and national identity,
since both are denied to many immigrants legally and in everyday social interactions.
When asked about relations in the classroom under Benjamín, Adela replied: “I think
we are like a family. We all help each other. Nobody will make you feel bad. I hope it
continues that way as new students arrive.”
Racial Knowledge and the Naturalization Interview
Despite its standardized format, citizenship applicants perceive the
naturalization interview as arbitrary and unpredictable. According to the accounts of
those who have experienced the interview, the outcome is largely determined by the
idiosyncrasies and prejudices of the officers. Some students are scrutinized; others are
34

in and out in as little as five minutes. This adds to the anxiety of the students who
await the interview and accounts for their desire to hear the experiences of others who
have completed the process. When asked about the officers, María replied: “Some
people say that they are nice, others say that they are mean. So, I don’t know what to
expect for my interview.” Rosaura felt that some officers were more discriminatory
toward individuals who were ill prepared or lacked English skills. Others who have
completed the interview offered more mixed messages:
I have heard different things. Some people say it is hard. Some say it is easy.
Some people say they do not really speak English and they passed it just fine.
Others who do speak English have not passed it. So, I have heard both sides.
Hard and easy.

Regarding the officers: “Well, some say that the person was not too nice. Others say
otherwise. I have heard both sides.” Adela echoed the unpredictability of the officers
stating: “One young lady said that out of ten questions she only answered three and
the officer let her pass. So, it depends on the officer.” Indeed, Benjamín often
responded to students’ anxiety over the interview by stating, “Every officer is
different, every interview is different.”
Negating Citizenship
This collective understating of the interview as subjective is largely predicated
on the view that the outcome is shaped by the race of the examiner. Tellingly, the first
question asked of Rosa was who interviewed her. There is concern among the
students about the ethnicity of the officers who administer the exam, as some are
reputedly more lenient than others. According to Don Juan, “there is one officer, an
Asian American woman, who is particularly strict. Several people have said this.”
35

Beatriz recalled these statements in her interview: “They speak badly of an Asian
American female officer. They say she does not pass anyone.” When asked whether
there were Latino officers, Juan replied: “Yes, there are Latino officers. They are
racist [laughs].” On this point, Don Juan was not alone. Multiple times during site
visits students remarked that Latino officers were customarily the hardest. When Luz,
a student not interviewed, failed her exam, students attributed it to the unjust Latino
officer who interviewed her. Reportedly, the first remark he made to Luz as she
entered was, “How many lies are you going to tell me today?” Students were
particularly dismayed about Luz’s rejection as she was among the students with the
greatest English competence and knowledge of the history and government content.
In contrast to Sandra and Rosa, who returned to share their experience, Luz did not
return to the classroom, perhaps out of shame or disillusionment.
Among her listed sources of anxiety over the interview, Dolores mentioned
her English and writing skills. “Unless I get an officer who is a despot, egotistical.
That has happened to a lot of people. Or a racist officer as well,” she added,
suggesting that this is a major concern that can ultimately determine the outcome of
the naturalization interview. Conversely, Dolores recalled hearing about “two people
who got a Filipino officer and they said they are very nice.” However, she concluded,
the best we can do is to be ready. The officers can tell when a person is well
prepared. Likewise, we can also tell how the officer is, how he looks at you,
how he speaks to you, how he treats you.

Finally, the gender of the officer and test taker play a role. These played out in
Sandra’s experience, as per my field notes. “I was interviewed by a Filipino officer.
36

He was nice to me. I would say he even winked at me.” Despite being a standardized
process, race and gender dictate a big portion of the naturalization interview and in
some cases the outcome. Given the nature of the naturalization interview in the lives
of immigrants, their experience may have lasting implications on their subsequent
views and incorporation in the host country. As Robert Alvarez suggested in a similar
study two decades ago, “New and potential citizens deserve a stronger and more
positive introduction to the governing institutions of the country” (1987: 347). In
response to such “inconsistent bureaucratic treatment,” the citizenship class enables
students to collectively navigate the arbitrariness and inequality of the naturalization
process, an experience that can potentially inform future political action (DeSipio
2006: 110).
Why are Mexican Migrants Becoming U.S. Citizens?
As Waslin points out, several of the factors historically involved in low Latino
naturalization include:
lack of outreach to eligible immigrants, confusion about the naturalization
process, fear of mistreatment by the U.S. immigration service, feelings of
disloyalty to the home country, the loss of property rights and other rights and
privileges in the home country, and a continuing desire to eventually return to
the home country (2005: 3).

Regarding future outlook and return ideology upon arrival to the United States, Don
Felipe, remarked,
I think that a lot of people who come, all of us who come, arrive and never
think that we will stay in this country. Usually, we all think that we will stay
for some time and then we will return. But we don’t have a deadline, a
specific date to return. We always think that one day we will return and in the
end, we don’t go back.

37

“I thought I was coming for five years and I have been here for fifteen,” said Beatriz.
On top of this, many Mexican immigrants eschewed naturalization out of fear of
losing rights in the home country. “In the past I have heard that a lot of people
thought they would lose their Mexican nationality by becoming U.S. citizens.
Therefore, they did not want to become U.S. citizens. But today I don’t hear much
about that,” recalled Rosaura. Don Juan provided further insight:
When I became a resident, a lot of people would say that persons who became
citizens would lose their rights in México. I am not sure if that is true. Now
the rhetoric has changed. Now they say that you don’t lose any rights in
México. I think you can now have dual citizenship.

When asked whether he knew individuals who do not want to naturalize, Jose Alfredo
(age fifty-five) replied, “Yes, there are a lot of people because they fear losing who
knows what. But that is not so. Now, you no longer lose your Mexican citizenship.”
Don Juan remembered popular conceptions of naturalization among his paisanos as
follows:
People used to say that if you went to México, you could not be there for more
than six months. After that, you had to return to the U.S. I am not sure if that
was true. In any case, most of us ended up living here in the U.S. and we only
return to México to visit and for vacation.

Yet another reason that dampened prospects for naturalization among
Mexicanos was the belief that “if you became a U.S. citizen you could not own
property in México.” However, Don Juan dismissed this and other myths:
But that is not true. It is in México’s interest for people to invest in property,
homes. A lot of people refused to become U.S. citizens in the past because
they thought that meant rejecting their rights as Mexicans. But, fortunately,
México has facilitated dual citizenship. So, this is no longer a problem.

38

Likewise, Jose Alfredo, who plans to return to Guanajuato once he retires, stated:
“Previously, an American citizen could not own property in México. They could not
own a house. They could not be an ejidatario and now you can . . . have land.” While
previously an ideology of return discouraged naturalization, México’s dual nationality
law seems to free up migrants who desire an eventual return to seek citizenship in the
United States (DeSipio 2006: 110).
When asked why they were seeking citizenship, most respondents
immediately listed the need to legalize relatives, secure tangible benefits
(employment, healthcare) and/or the right to vote. Don Juan and Benjamín, the only
two respondents in the sample who were already citizens, replied respectively: “The
motive is the right to vote but I have another reason that compelled me further, that is
to legalize my wife” and, “that was one of the reasons why I became a citizen,
because [my family was] here illegally. So in order to fix their papers, that was the
reason why I became a citizen sooner.” Indeed, family reunification is a major
component of the transnational migrant experience. To put it in Don Ignacio’s (age
sixty-four) words, “we are here but we are never complete. We are here and our
people are over there.”
Among the tangible benefits listed by respondents were health care, better
employment, and a pension. Dolores said she sought citizenship for benefits, a better
salary, and perhaps a “government job one day.” She also associated citizenship with
access to health care, which can otherwise be “taken away from you. But if you are a
citizen, they continue to help you.” Dolores lamented that her brother “can’t get
39

Medi-Cal for his children because they don’t have papers, except for his daughter
who was born here [in the United States].” She was grateful that her children, who are
U.S.-born, have basic health care. About her nine-year-old son’s speech impediment,
she stated that “the therapists say they will help him as long as he needs it. And it is
all because he is a U.S. citizen.” Lastly, Dolores recalled an anecdote about a friend
who took her elderly mother to the doctor and was denied treatment because she was
not a citizen. “I don’t want that to happen to me,” Dolores said solemnly. “I have to
think ahead. I don’t want to be a burden for my children.” Finally, many migrants
also thought ahead to their retirement. “Once I retire, I am going back to my
homeland,” Doroteo exclaimed. “But I want to make sure they send my check over
there, to La Barca [his hometown].” When calculating the benefits of being a
permanent resident versus a citizen, Jose Alfredo stated: “If you retire one day, and
you want your money sent to México, a sum will be deducted. On the other hand, if
you are a citizen, you get the entire sum with nothing deducted.”
When citizenship is sought to secure essential benefits and services, the
process can be described as instrumental naturalization. This is related but different
from Ong and Lee’s concept of defensive naturalization in that the latter is sought for
protection in an anti-immigrant context. Lastly, the data posit a reactive
naturalization that is more politically purposeful and perhaps more offensive than
defensive, described in the following section. The legal scholar Devon Carbado’s
term racial naturalization, an extremely important concept for how we think about
40

political membership and belonging beyond formal, legalistic categories, will be
discussed subsequently.
Finally, there is reason to believe that Mexican naturalizers “seek
enfranchisement as an act of political expression” (Pantoja, Ramírez and Segura
2001: 729). While it is not surprising that most respondents listed voting as a top
motive, and while self-reported intent to vote should be viewed cautiously as such
claims do not always materialize, this was a recurring theme that received ample
justification without much probing. Some interviewees were outright enthusiastic
about voting. When asked whether she planned to register, Beatriz exclaimed, “Yes, I
have received voter registration forms and I say, ‘when will I be able to fill you out!’”
On top of naturalizing in order to legalize his wife, Felipe stated he is also doing it
“for the right to vote because we do witness a whole lot of injustices and we need to
become a majority so that they can take us into consideration.” Felipe had
unsuccessfully attempted to naturalize in the mid-1990s. When asked why he waited
ten years to give it another shot, he replied: “Now is when things are getting hot, with
the whole driver’s license issue,” referencing the highly publicized bill proposed by
California senator Gil Cedillo, and alluding to the resurfacing of a contentious
political climate. When asked why she felt voting was important, Doña María replied,
“Well, because these are things that we have to do. That is precisely why we are
seeking citizenship so that we can all be the same or equal.” Rosaura echoed these
beliefs: “It’s like they say, the Latino vote counts a lot and perhaps we can make a
difference and help our people by voting,” again, signaling a desire to redress
41

community needs. When asked why he planned to vote, Don Ignacio, the only
respondent who was retired, replied, “They say that one more vote es la fuerza.”
This theme of Latino voting and collective political clout was perhaps most
remarkable in my interview with Juan. While Don Juan acknowledged that he sought
naturalization to legalize his son, he was also “aware of the needs of the Latino
community. I think it is important for Latinos to seek citizenship so that we can
exercise our rights, so that we can vote and so that we can be taken into
consideration.” Clearly, Don Juan’s decision to naturalize is indicative of this dual
stimulus: on the one hand, he wanted to legalize his son, and on the other, he had an
added political motive that he felt he owed to his community. He later generalized
this logic to other Latino naturalizers.
A lot of us are motivated to naturalize because of the discrimination that we
face. Elected officials discriminate Latinos frequently. Latinos have such a
strong presence here. Imagine if we were all citizens. We would have clout. If
we were to unite, like we did May 1st, that would be powerful. I think it is
good that Latinos are naturalizing. It is in our interest and in the interest of our
children.

Don Juan concluded by stating, “The way I see it is that by becoming a citizen I will
have more clout to defend the rights that many Latinos lack. I feel that it will give us
more authority to speak out for our rights.” Contrary to earlier research that found
immigrants who associate mostly with noncitizens to be less likely to naturalize, it
appears that because all respondents were formerly undocumented, they are in
solidarity with the millions of co-ethnics who currently have no legal pathway to
legal residence or citizenship in the United States and seem to imagine future political
action with community-wide interests in mind (see DeSipio 2006: 110).
42

Regarding the immigrant rights protests of 2006, although nobody in the
sample participated because of work or other obligations, most overwhelmingly
sympathized with the cause and several cited the protests as an additional impetus for
naturalizing. Felipe recalled feeling “terrible” when he encountered a pro-immigrant
march in San Bernardino that he was unaware of.
One day that I came here, there was a march that I did not know about and I
felt terrible. I thought they were only going to have them in Los Angeles, but
they also had one here. And when I saw the march proceeding here, I felt like,
all of these people, and I wasn’t even aware of it . . . But that time I did feel
terrible. I didn’t even want to go out because I thought they would say “why
isn’t this fool marching?” [laughter].

This echoes Don Juan’s earlier statement of a shared responsibility that they owe their
community. When asked whether the immigrant rights protests motivated him to
naturalize, Felipe said that on top of his urgent need to legalize his wife, the marches
“pushed me further to do it.” Don Juan, who was not present at the protests and who
had already made up his mind to naturalize prior to them, candidly stated, “Honestly,
no. I couldn’t be there . . . I had already made up my mind [to naturalize] long before.
But I thought it was great for the Latino population. It was a strong sign of unity.”
Other respondents echoed such opinions. Dolores remarked,
I did not participate, but my neighbors did. They were very excited to march.
If I could have, I would have been there too. I thought it was a very good idea.
It was a great cause, to ask for immigration reform. The more people we can
unite, the better chances we have of being heard.

Likewise, Adela and Doroteo were unable to attend because of work. “But if we had
the time, we would have gladly been there. Especially because it was a great cause. It
43

was very important for us Latinos,” Adela exclaimed. When asked whether the
protests affected her decision to naturalize, Adela replied assertively:
Yes. It motivated you. A lot of the people who marched do not have papers,
and those of us who do have them, we should not let them go to waste, and we
should not be complacent. We should strive to reach higher.

Clearly, there is evidence of a sense of collective action, solidarity, and shared
responsibility with migrants who are barred from participation in formal politics.
Doroteo, Adela’s husband, agreed: “I heard that a lot of people were becoming
citizens and that encouraged me even more. That motivated me further.” To borrow
from Guidry and Sawyer, the 2006 protests and subsequent migrant solidarity and
collective action have the potential to transform the meaning and possibility of U.S.
democracy and citizenship, in this case, via the legalization of millions of
undocumented immigrants and their families.
What Does Naturalization Mean to Mexican Migrants?

In contrast to studies that associate acquiring citizenship with political
assimilation, this data suggest that cross-border loyalties and attachments do not wane
upon naturalization. Benjamín, who was the citizenship class instructor and a U.S.
citizen for more than a decade, stated, “I think that we can take the [citizenship] oath
[of allegiance] but never be completely loyal. I think that you can never deny your
roots or origins.” When asked how she will identify upon naturalization, Rosaura
replied assertively, “Oh, well, Mexicana obviously. I will always be Mexicana. One
hundred percent.” Upon further probing, she elaborated,
Well, I don’t know, but I feel that, yes I am becoming a U.S. citizen, but I am
Mexicana. Even if I was told that I can no longer be Mexicana I will continue
44

to be Mexicana. That is what I believe. If the government were to tell me,
“you are no longer Mexicana,” well okay, they can believe that if they wish,
but I feel that my family is Mexicana. I am Mexicana.

Rosaura concluded,
To be Mexican is to be Mexican. Even if you become an American citizen,
you have it in your blood, in you, in everything. You have to say it [the oath],
you will say that you will renounce it, but you know that you cannot stop
being what you are.

Similarly, Dolores argued, “I am Mexicana. I will always be Mexicana.
Because of my roots. Just because I become a citizen doesn’t mean that I will stop
being Mexicana.” This question was seemingly as important for Adela, who
remarked:
We will never stop being Mexican. You always have it in your heart. When I
go to Tijuana, and I see the Mexican flag, I feel like crying, because we are
not in our country. When I see the American flag, I feel joy, but I don’t feel
the same way as when I see the Mexican flag. I think that even if you become
a citizen, you will never stop being Mexican. No matter what you say in the
oath.

While there is evidence of dual loyalties “under two flags” here, to use Michel Jones-
Correa’s language, Adela’s reaction to her native flag was more emotive than her
response to the U.S. flag. Upon further probing, she offered an interesting metaphor:
Well, when I am in the states, I can say I am a citizen. But when you are in
your country, all it is is a piece of paper that makes you a U.S. citizen, but in
reality you were born in México. And I think you are never going to leave
México. It is like a marriage. Even if you are married, you cannot forget about
your parents. It is very similar. Even if I become a citizen, I will never forget
where I came from.

Her husband, Doroteo, agreed, “I will continue being Mexican. The papers have
nothing to do with that. I will always be Mexican. Nothing can take that away from
me.”
45

The Prospect of Enduring Diasporic Roots

Furthermore, there is evidence that this apparent diasporic nationalism and
cross-border loyalties can have enduring effects. This is best represented when
respondents spoke about their children who were born and/or raised in the United
States. Felipe stated:
I want my children to never forget their roots. I don’t want them to forget
where they came from. There are some people who don’t want their children
to speak Spanish, only English. But in my eyes, it is better for them never to
forget their roots. Because this way, our children, if they are to one day make
something of themselves, if they represent us in some government entity, they
can do something for us because they are informed about the kind of life we
have, how we come here, how much we suffer to come here. Otherwise, they
will forget about their roots, and later on they could even be against us. So
perhaps my grandchildren would say, “throw out all those old people”
[laughter]. Because he is not going to be aware of his roots and he will not
sympathize with how much we suffer to come to this country.

Don Juan, who said his children self-identify as Mexican, stated, “Well, I
think they fight for their place in the U.S. and for establishing themselves in the U.S.
but they also feel that they are Mexican.” When asked why she identified her U.S.-
born children as Mexican, Dolores replied: “Well because their parents are Mexican
and because of their roots. The same way we were brought up as children, we raise
them in the same way.” When asked whether she thought her children would have the
same degree of ethnic attachment to México as she does, Dolores replied, “Yes, I
think so. I am going to instill that in them. That they have to go to México, and visit
their uncles and get to know all of México; it is beautiful.” Likewise, Doroteo and
Adela have four U.S.-born children. “They are Mexican,” Doroteo said assertively.
46

“If they are the children of Mexican parents, then they have to be Mexican. And they
have to maintain our customs from México and our roots.”
Racial Naturalization

Among respondents who said they would retain ties to México upon
naturalizing, there is evidence of what the legal scholar Devon Carbado calls racial
naturalization. Carbado defines racial naturalization as the social practice by which
“all of us are Americanized and made socially intelligible via racial categorization”
(2005). Effectively, Don Juan stated, “We will never stop being Mexican. That cannot
be taken away from you.” Among the reasons for this enduring Mexican identity is
the fact that “we will continue to face discrimination simply because we are Mexican.
Even if we become citizens, we will encounter prejudice.” Similarly, Dolores argued
that “a person could very well be a citizen but he/she is treated based on appearance.”
While Don Juan and Dolores implied that their phenotypic cues trumped formal or
legal citizenship, there is reason to believe that Mexican immigrants are not
“Americanized” in the way that black immigrants are. Conversely, Mexican
immigrants likely undergo what Claudia Sandoval calls racial alienization, the purely
exclusive corollary of racial naturalization, which makes ethnic Mexicans vulnerable
to detention, deportation, and state violence (2007; see also De Genova 2002).
Of course not everyone agrees on the point of enduring ethnic identifications
post-naturalization. While there was nobody in my sample who resembled this view,
Rosaura described a fellow co-worker who recently naturalized as follows.
There is one person at my work who became a U.S. citizen and he says that
although he was born in México, he is now one hundred percent American
47

citizen. He says that since he became a U.S. citizen he is an American. I
always argue with him. I would fight him if he weren’t a man [laughter]. I
don’t understand how he can be racist; I feel he is racist toward his own
people. I ask him, how can it be that you feel this way if you came here like
the rest of us did? You suffered like the rest of us. And now that you were
able to obtain citizenship, you should thank God, but that should not make
you feel that you are better than those of us who do not have papers. But he is
the kind of person who is narrow-minded. The kind that lets it get to his
head—the fact that he is a citizen gets to his head.

This discussion bears similarities to a comment made by Doroteo. With regard
to whether he will change upon naturalization, Doroteo replied assertively, “In my
opinion, I will be the same person, regardless if I pass or don’t pass. A piece of paper
is not going to change who I am.” Doroteo was aware that other migrants, like
Rosaura’s co-worker above, did not agree.
A lot of people think otherwise. They even change their name. They even use
American names. But I think that is wrong. It is not like you can change your
face. It is not like you can wear a mask. What are you going to do, wear a
mask? If I have money or don’t have money, I will continue being the same
person.

Most respondents actively retained their Mexican identity and
nationalism/regionalism upon naturalization and disapproved of co-ethnics who did
not. In this context, migrants’ enduring Mexican identity is a product of their
perception of how race and gender structure both the naturalization process and their
everyday life experiences in the United States more broadly.
Conclusion: Implications for Political Participation
As the opening Schwarzenegger epigraph illustrates, policymakers and
commentators in the United States vocally disapprove of Mexican migrant cross-
border identifications and loyalties. The institutionalization of these transnational ties
48

has evoked public outcries from observers bemoaning the fact that dual nationality
undermines national sovereignty and singular loyalty to the United States. An
alternative explanation suggests that for immigrants, dual nationality can be a means
to reconcile memberships in both their countries of residence and of origin, leading to
higher naturalization rates in the United States, and making dual nationality consistent
with membership in the American polity (Jones-Correa 2001). Regarding allegiance,
Don Juan stated, “By seeking citizenship I have to obey this country’s standards. It
would be contradictory for me to seek membership in a country whose principles I
did not agree with.” Dolores added, “Once you become a citizen you have to respect
the laws of this country.” Adela said naturalization is a commitment, “legally and
before God, that you will accept that oath. No matter what, we want to be in this
country, so we have to accept the laws the way they have them.” As these statements
suggest, ethnic attachment to the homeland post-naturalization does not necessarily
equate with disloyalty to the host country. U.S. commentators and policymakers who
demand loyalty from immigrants should focus on granting first-class citizenship to
ethnic Mexicans rather than the noncitizenship or second-class citizenship historically
conferred upon them regardless of nativity (see Gutiérrez 1995).
This chapter complicates the assertions that, regarding Latinos in the United
States, “a traditional pattern of political assimilation appears to prevail” and that “the
intention to become an American citizen increases identification with the United
States,” pointing to a sustained anti-immigrant context and discrimination throughout
the naturalization process (Citrin et al. 2007: 41). From the perspective of
49

immigrants, there is more to naturalization—understood as the legal rituals of U.S.
political belonging—than newfound patriotism and singular national allegiance (see
Kun 2007: 7-11). With regard to immigration history, this article suggests that the
decision to naturalize today cannot be understood as a sign of resettlement in the
United States or an indication that immigrant mobilization in U.S. politics comes at
the expense of participation in Mexican politics (or vice versa). These patterns have
implications for identity politics. In the twenty-first century, scholars will have to
fight the tendency to use the terms Mexican, Mexican American, and Chicano
interchangeably (see De Genova 2005).
As the data show, among immigrants who were once reticent to seek U.S.
citizenship, there seems to be a shift in favor of naturalization. Similarly, the newly
eligible also share a sense of urgency to naturalize in an immigrant-hostile and
increasingly precarious political environment. However, ethnic attachment to the
homeland does not always wane over time or upon naturalization. Naturalizers retain
cross-border identifications and attachments in a way that does not preclude political
engagement in their new country. To put it in Jose Alfredo’s words when asked how
he will identify upon naturalization: “If I am in the United States, I am an American
citizen. If I am in México, I am Mexican, upon entering. We can be both; they are not
mutually exclusive. There is nothing unlawful there.” Don Juan responded to the
same question, stating, “I will be Mexican, but I will have the rights of an American
citizen.” Just like migrants who were civically minded in their home country are
likely to be engaged in the host country, there is nothing to say that reactive
50

naturalization cannot drive political participation across international boundaries.
This raises an important empirical question: How does migrant political engagement
in one national context impact their participation in another? The following chapter
assesses the impact of Mexican migrant transnational engagement on their civic
participation in the United States.
51

Chapter 3
Mexican Migrant Transnationalism & Political Engagement in the U.S.:
Evidence From the 2006 Latino National Survey

International migration presents both challenges and opportunities for
contemporary American politics and democracy. Given the geographic proximity of
its source countries and sheer volume, migration from Latin American to the U.S. has
been at the fore of a national political debate. In popular and policy discourse,
Mexican migrants—the largest national-origin group—often bear the brunt of this
debate, with immigrant-targeting rhetoric ranging from accusations of a migrant
takeover of U.S. jobs and social services to tirades over “alien” disloyalty. Related to
the latter point, perceived patterns of “immigrant transnationalism” among Latin
American migrants in the United States (e.g. cross-border activities, loyalties and ties
directed at the country of origin) have prompted policymakers and political observers
to question whether these migrants are interested, capable and willing to participate in
American politics and society. Not only does proximity to the home country facilitate
transnational ties, but transformations in communication and travel technologies and
an increase in the prevalence of dual nationality laws have reduced the barriers and
costs for U.S. migrants to remain engaged in the cultural, economic and political life
of their communities and countries of origin (see Wong 2006 esp. Ch. 8; Jones-
Correa 2001; 1998; for single-country case studies see: Smith and Bakker 2008;
Coutin 2007; Levitt 2001; Laguerre 1999). These activities presumably have an
impact on migrant civic engagement and incorporation in the United States.
52

However, the prevalence, nature and consequences of these behaviors for
participation in the U.S. are not entirely clear.
Scholars of international migration have not reached consensus regarding the
relationship between immigrant transnationalism and civic engagement in the U.S.
On one hand, researchers argue that immigrant transnationalism—cross-border
activities ranging from sending remittances to voting in the home country—
diminishes participation in United States politics and society (Portes and Rumbaut
1996)
11
. According to this argument, the time, energy and resources invested in
these ventures are not invested in U.S. associations, civic volunteerism or elections
due to the greater “costs” associated with engaging in two national political contexts.
Conversely, other scholars argue that immigrant transnationalism and U.S. civic
engagement are not mutually exclusive. Participatory behavior in one setting can
provide the skills, interests and sense of efficacy necessary to civically engage in the
other (Wong 2006 esp. Ch. 8; McCann et al. 2006; Pantoja 2005). Yet another
perspective contends that transnationalism is the exception rather than the norm
among these immigrants and that neither transnationalism, as condition of being, nor
transmigrants, as distinctive class of people are commonly found (Waldinger 2008).
In this view, migrant transnationalism is seen as a residual effect of the migration
process, expected to wane over time as settlement in the host country occurs.

11
For a discussion of the negative consequences of dual nationality—an institutionalized form of
immigrant political transnationalism—on engagement in the U.S. see Cain and Doherty 2006 and
Staton et al. 2007.
53

Thus, the question remains open to empirical testing: how does migrant
engagement in home country affairs impact their participation in the U.S.? Most
large-N studies have approached this question cross-nationally, comparing across
national-origin groups. This is in spite of the qualitative literature on migration,
which suggests that the causes and effects of transnationalism play out at the local
level within sending countries, often unevenly. While it is clear that cross-national
differences exist due to institutional and other factors, less is known about variation
within specific countries. This chapter tests the impact of transnationalism on
migrant civic and political engagement in the United States among Mexican migrants,
the largest group of Latin American migrants in the U.S. Utilizing the state of origin
item available in the 2006 Latino National Survey, I conduct logistic regression
analysis to test the impact of transnationalism on migrant U.S. engagement for the
Mexican sub-sample only. By scaling down to the sub-national level of analysis, the
goal is to 1) control for nation-state-level differences between national origin groups
(e.g. diverse contexts of departure) and 2) uncover any sub-national variation that
may have been masked by previous cross-national studies of migrant transnationalism
and U.S. engagement. We can expect sub-national effects in the Mexican case,
because, as the qualitative literature reminds us, there is substantial variation in
migrant network robustness and historicity across different regions within México.
While municipal data is ideal to test for said variation, the LNS only allows us to
scale down to the state-level of analysis. Stated succinctly, the research questions
are: How does Mexican migrant engagement in home country affairs impact their
54

engagement in U.S. politics and civic life? Second, is there sub-national variation
when it comes to transnationalism and U.S. engagement by Mexican state of origin?
The chapter is organized as follows. First, I present a review of the emerging
literature on migrant transnationalism and U.S. civic participation. Second, I provide
a theoretical and empirical justification for scaling down to the sub-national level of
analysis and present the logic for my model. Lastly, I present the results and discuss
the implications of these for the prospects of comprehensive immigration reform in
the U.S.
Research on Transnationalism & its Limitations
Recent political science research has made important inroads regarding the
question of immigrant transnationalism and civic/political participation (DeSipio and
Pantoja 2007; Wong 2006; Cain and Doherty 2006; DeSipio 2006; McCann et al.
2006). Capitalizing on the availability of relevant items in large-scale surveys, these
studies construct measures of immigrant transnationalism such as: participation in
hometown or home-country associations, participation in home-country elections or
election-related activities in the period since migrating, sending remittances, visiting
the home-country, psychological identification with the home country among
migrants and plans to eventually return, and assess their impact on civic and political
participation in the U.S. Civic engagement is typically gauged by measures ranging
from involvement in a civic organization, to self-identification as an American, to
actual political action such as volunteering, contacting a government official,
registering and voting.
55

Researchers distinguish between immigrant socio-cultural transnationalism
and immigrant political transnationalism, where the former focuses on engagement in
the social and cultural fabric of the nation of origin and the latter focuses on
involvement or membership in the politics and institutions of the home nation. Some
studies have focused specifically on dual nationality in Latin America—an institution
of immigrant political transnationalism—and its impact on political participation in
the U.S. context, in some case reaching different conclusions (see Jones-Correa 2001;
Staton et al. 2007). Cain and Doherty (2006) test whether U.S. citizens with dual
nationality are any different from single-nationality citizens in their commitment to
civic duties such as voting or in their willingness to take advantage of opportunities to
contact or influence elected officials or attend a public meeting or demonstration.
Drawing on the standard political science cost model, which holds that participation
rates drop as costs increase, the authors suggest that because dual nationals must bear
the greater costs of being informed and actively engaged in two countries, their
involvement in the U.S. should be lower than those of single-nationality citizens. The
findings support the expectations of the cost model: dual nationality predicts lower
levels of registration and voting (2006: 103). While an important contribution to the
literature, this study focuses on one facet of immigrant political transnationalism—
dual nationality—and does so at a time when some Latin American countries only
recently had granted membership to their nationals abroad, rendering conclusions
tentative at best.
56

In order to test for the assumed inverse relationship between homeland and
U.S. political participation, Janelle Wong (2006) utilizes the 2000-01 Pilot National
Asian American Political Survey (PNAAPS), the 1999 Washington Post/Henry J.
Kaiser Family Foundation/ Harvard University National Survey of Latinos in
America and the 1989-1990 Latino National Political Survey (LNPS). Wong finds
that among Asian American immigrants, “the relationship between activity in
homeland politics and registration in the United States is not negative but neutral”
(2006: 183). This holds true for her comparable analysis of Latinos. Similarly,
McCann, Cornelius and Leal (2006) question the zero-sum logic of the cost model
discussed above, arguing that engagement in two political systems can be
complementary, with interests and attachments abroad fostering a deeper commitment
to U.S. public life. Since certain forms of political participation are known to be
habit-forming, the authors argue that immigrants who sustain an interest in politics
abroad may use this engagement as a path to political inclusion in the U.S. Drawing
on the 2006 Mexican Expatriate Study, a panel survey of Mexican migrants
interviewed in the U.S., the authors find that remote political engagement in politics
abroad is not a barrier to incorporation in the American context and that it may
stimulate interest in U.S. elections. While longitudinal data are ideal to capture the
effects of transnational participation, the authors are handicapped by sample size and
a limited case selection (San Diego, Dallas and North-Central Indiana).
In a cross-national study, DeSipio (2006) includes Dominican, Mexican,
Puerto Rican and Salvadoran migrants in his analysis of migrant transnationalism.
57

Because Cubans in the U.S. have limited access to the civic and political life of the
island-nation, they are excluded from the model. Puerto Ricans on the mainland have
the opportunity to establish and maintain “cross-border” ties like other Latin
American immigrants in the U.S. and are thus included (on this point see also
DeSipio and Pantoja 2007). DeSipio tests the following hypotheses: whether
transnational engagement in the civic and political life of the sending country reduces
the likelihood that immigrants will become involved in U.S. civic life or seek
naturalization; or conversely whether transnational engagement offers a resource for
immigrants who have engaged in home-country activities allowing them to transfer
the skills, networks and interests that they have developed to U.S. civic life and to
naturalization. Several findings are relevant for this chapter. First, few Latino
immigrants engaged in home-nation electoral or partisan activities, leading DeSipio
to conclude that political transnationalism is the exception rather than the rule among
most Latin American migrants. Lastly, it is important to note that respondents
reporting having experienced discrimination were somewhat more likely to be
organizationally involved in the U.S. and respondents who reported membership in
organizations focusing on the country of origin were more likely to be involved in
U.S. organizations.
In a study that specifies transnationalism as the dependent rather than the
independent variable of interest, Roger Waldinger (2008) discusses the prevalence
and determinants of “cross-state” social exchanges and attachments, but unlike
DeSipio includes Cubans and excludes Puerto Ricans from his model. Arguing that
58

transnational activities depend on the degree of immigrant socio-political
incorporation in the U.S., Waldinger reminds us that international migration is not
just a social but a political phenomenon, with states regulating movement across
borders and access to membership in the polity. Because not everyone can move
from “host” to “home” country and back with equal ease, transnational behavior
depends on the degree of migrant socio-political incorporation in the host country.
Thus, time in the U.S., language, settlement and legal status greatly impact the
likelihood of cross-border activities such as visiting or remitting funds to the
community of origin. Drawing on the 2002 Pew Hispanic Survey, Waldinger finds
support for the hypothesis that settlement decreases remittances and voting in home
country but increases travel and visits. Citizens are less likely than noncitizens to
engage in any of the three cross-border activities. While long-established immigrants
travel home less frequently, citizens are more likely to travel than noncitizens. In
contrast to DeSipio, Waldinger separates U.S. citizens in the model and focuses on
registering and voting in U.S. elections. It is unclear why Waldinger shifts focus on
what factors impact electoral participation among naturalized U.S. citizens, given that
he does not include transnational engagement as a possible predictor. While the
extant literature makes clear that naturalized immigrants engage more in the U.S.,
what is less clear is the directionality of transnational effects.
In a recent study, Gary Segura (2007) draws on the 2006 Latino National
Survey (LNS) to assess the impact of transnational ties and activities on a number of
U.S. civic and political engagement measures: political interest, organizational
59

membership, government contact, political knowledge, voter registration and turnout.
Segura identifies the two competing sides in the transnationalism debate as the “trade-
off” and the “transnational” perspectives. The “trade-off” view holds that “there is a
limited pot of political resources on which an individual and community can draw,
and any resources expended on non-US politics represent a net negative for engaging
the US political system” (2007: 2-3). Conversely, the “transnational” perspective
posits that: “Transnational political engagement… raises the level of political interest
and enlarges the pot of resources available for attention to all matters political, US
and home country” (2007: 3).
Segura puts forward a micro-economic theory of individual resource
“allocation decisions” to explain for migrant involvement in U.S. and homeland
politics. His theory begins with a series of fairly straightforward assumptions: 1)
individual economic, cognitive and temporal resources are limited and 2) these
resources are fixed, leaving few people with discretionary or “slack resources” (7).
Given these finite resources—or “budget constraints”—“attention to politics—any
politics—comes at the expense of other life matters” (7). Even if individuals’ total
available resources (i.e. “budget constraint”) increase, they still must make
“allocation decisions” as to which activities to devote their attention to—political or
otherwise. If an allocation decision in favor of politics is made, Segura argues, a
second allocation decision is necessary.
Whatever amount we have decided to devote to politics represents a new
budget constraint, and we must decide where to devote this attention. For
some individuals, they are deciding between national politics and state and
60

local concerns… For our purposes here, the allocation decision is between US
politics and the affairs and concerns of the ancestral homeland (8).

Still, the question remains: does attention to home country affairs come at the expense
of attention to U.S. politics?
Segura utilizes the LNS to test for the impact of transnational ties and
activities—operationalized as communicating with friends and family in the home
country, intent to return to live in the home country, sending remittances, visiting,
hometown association membership and paying attention to home country affairs—on
U.S. civic-political engagement, measured as political interest, organizational
membership, government contact, political knowledge, voter registration and turnout.
He controls for the standard demographic variables and for country of origin,
including Puerto Rican, Dominican, Salvadoran, Central/South American and Cuban
(despite their limited access to the affairs of the island-nation), leaving Mexicans as
the unexpressed category.
Segura presents three regression models with slightly different specifications.
First, Segura estimates the effects of transnationalism on measures of Latino U.S.
political engagement among the “universe of Latino adults” sampled in the LNS,
controlling for generation and citizenship status. In the second specification, Segura
limits the analysis to just the foreign born, who are more likely to be transnationally
inclined across most measures to begin with. In the third model, Segura focuses on
citizens alone and tests for two additional measures of U.S. political participation
available only to citizens: voter registration and turnout.
61

Overall, Segura finds mixed evidence regarding the effect of transnationalism
on U.S. civic-political engagement, with some predictors switching signs and others
dropping out entirely from one model to the next. The most consistent findings
across models were 1) the negative, but relatively moderate, impact of “intent to
repatriate” on U.S. engagement and 2) the consistently positive, and often large,
effect of hometown association membership and attention to home country affairs on
U.S. involvement. Segura summarizes the mixed evidence as follows.
Emotional and personal ties to [the] home country do appear to lessen the
commitment to US political and civic engagement… But the two most
patently political measures of transnational ties—HTA membership and
respondent self-reported attention to home country affairs—are both
positively associated with most measures of US engagement and often with
large and powerful effects… These results are generally supportive of the
notion that there is not a meaningful cost of transnational political engagement
to US political engagement. Rather, those attentive to home country concerns
appear to also be attentive to US concerns (20).

These findings notwithstanding, Segura expresses concern over the potential
negative consequences of transnationalism for Latino political empowerment in the
U.S. and suggests that large-scale transnational political participation “would exact a
terrible political price from Latinos in the wake of an inevitable backlash” (21).
Speaking to the moderately negative impact of the “myth of return” for U.S. political
engagement, Segura states, “While modest, it’s a loss of potential mobilization that a
minority population can ill afford” (21). With respect to migrants who are
transnationally active, he warns:
For example, thousands of Hometown Associations across the country send
millions of dollars of institutional remittances back to home countries… These
resources are not being spent to improve the very communities in which the
HTA membership actually lives, and represents a net drain on the resources
62

available for US political action. So while HTA membership is positively
associated with most measures of US engagement, it would be premature to
suggest that this means it is costless to the Latino political endeavor in the US
(21).

Mexican Migrant Transnationalism & U.S. Engagement: A Sub-national
Approach

Drawing on the LNS, this chapter replicates Segura’s analysis for the Mexican
sub-sample only. To date, studies have generally failed to exploit an analytically
useful feature of the LNS—the Mexican state-of-origin item that allows for a sub-
national analysis of transnationalism and U.S. engagement. There are a number of
advantages involved in scaling down to the sub-national level of analysis. By
focusing on Mexican migrants only, we are able to control for nation-level variations
in conditions of exit (e.g. political migrants versus economic migrants). Mexican,
Colombian, Salvadoran and Cuban migrants all faced different reasons for emigrating
and, consequently, encounter diverse political incentives, costs and opportunity
structures for engaging the affairs of their home countries post-migration. For
example, only 0.72% of Mexican migrants surveyed in the LNS identified political
turmoil as the main impetus for migrating, whereas 7.75% of Colombians, 17.87% of
Salvadorans and 62.75% of Cubans reported that they were escaping political unrest
in their homelands
12
. For this and other reasons, it is important to unpack
transnationalism & its effects at the sub-national level. Second, since migrants are
more likely to be transnationally inclined across most measures than subsequent

12
Although, this situation may be changing for prospective Mexican migrants under the Calderón
administration.
63

generations, it makes sense to exclude U.S.-born Latinos and specify the model to the
foreign-born only.
Hypotheses: Mexican Migrant Network Robustness & Historicity
Theoretically, I move away from Segura’s individual-level, micro-economic
allocation decision approach for a couple of reasons. First, migrants’ involvement in
homeland or U.S. politics is not solely a function of their available resources or
“budget constraint,” but, rather, is often mediated by their social networks.
Particularly for a population that operates in low-resource and low-information
contexts, migrants’ only recourse is often migrant civil society itself; namely other
migrants often from the same sending village, state or region. The body of qualitative
research on transnationalism shows that migrant civil society facilitates cross-border
practices ranging from sending remittances, repatriating a deceased loved one or
voting in home country elections. On the U.S. side, migrant social networks may also
be impacting—either positively or negatively—engagement in U.S. affairs. Research
on “spatial diffusion” and network effects posits that interpersonal networks are
crucial to the “diffusion of political information between citizens” (Hiskey and
Canache 2005: 261). While this research presumes that “the type of communication
that underlies this process is far more likely to take place in spatially proximate
locales,” international migrant circuits have demonstrated an ability to maintain
contact and cohesion between their places of origin and settlement, in spite of time
64

and space, in part due to innovations in communication technologies
13
(see Rouse
1991). I borrow from the concept of “spatial diffusion” to argue that once migrants
become interested and engaged in U.S. public life, resulting political information and
activities can spread to other migrants within that migrant circuit/social network.
Because these social networks are often delimited by migrants’ sending region, we
can expect to see variations in migrant involvement in homeland and U.S. affairs by
migrant sending state or region.
State of Origin as a Proxy for Mexican Migrant Network Robustness &
Historicity

Migrant network density is often a function of two characteristics: 1) where
migrants come from and 2) the longevity or historicity of migration within their
communities of origin (Mines 1981; Rouse 1992; 1995; Nichols 2006). Mexican
migrants coming from regions with a long history of migration can be expected to
have access to more established and robust migrant social networks. Conversely,
migrants coming from regions with a recent history of migration typically have less
robust networks and resources to rely on for engagement in homeland or U.S. affairs.
It follows that migrants from traditional migrant sending regions may have more
robust migrant circuits to turn to for involvement in home country and U.S. politics.
For this reason, migrant state of origin is used as an indicator of migrant network
robustness and historicity.

13
The notion of internally consistent “transnational communities” has come under critique for
overlooking the strained relationships that often make up these networks. For discussions of problems
of collective action within migrant networks see Guarnizo and Diaz (1999); Nichols (2006); Smith and
Bakker (2008).
65

The rich set of sociological, anthropological and historical community case
studies of migrant transnationalism allow us to develop a rough tripartite
categorization of migration historicity by Mexican state, ranging from classic to
intermediate to recent. Some scholars rely on Mexican census data, others on their
own criteria, for developing a “regionalization scheme” (see Lewin Fischer 2007).
The rough categorization used for hypothesis testing purposes in this chapter is as
follows. “Classic migrant-sending states” include Guanajuato, Jalisco, Michoacán
and Zacatecas; “Intermediate to recent migrant-sending states” include Guerrero,
Oaxaca, Puebla and Veracruz; while “Other” comprises all remaining Mexican states.
This tripartite categorization is admittedly rough as it collapses emerging migrant-
sending states with all other states. Analytically, however, this typology merely seeks
to convey the expected directionality of our hypothesis. That is, migrants from
classic migrant-sending states are expected to be more likely to engage in U.S. affairs,
while we remain agnostic as to how migrants from all other states (for which we have
less priors) will behave. The fact that these states remain in the analysis, as will be
explained in the following section, allows us to discuss effects post hoc, if any.
Data & Measurement
The LNS allows for a sub-national analysis of transnationalism and U.S.
engagement among the Mexican sub-sample. For Mexican-born respondents only,
the LNS asks: “Can you tell me, what state you were born?” Drawing on this
question, I test whether migrant state-of-origin has an impact on migrant engagement
in the U.S., measured as self-reported political interest, U.S. organizational
66

membership and government contact. While I build on Segura’s cross-national study
as an analogue to the sub-national analysis presented here, I am more interested in
actual migrant political action rather than in political knowledge, as the former can
often precede the latter, particularly for a population that operates in low-information
contexts and one that is known to mobilize in response to exogenous shocks, such as
perceived political threat. Because the dependent variables are dichotomous, data are
analyzed using logistic regression.
Dependent Variables
Political Interest captures respondents’ self-reported interest in “politics and
public affairs” and is coded 1 for very interested/somewhat interested and 0
otherwise. It is important to note that the question wording is ambiguous as to
whether this concerns politics in the U.S. or politics in the country of origin.
Nevertheless, I borrow from Segura and use political interest as the “lowest bar for
measuring engagement” in the U.S. (2008:11).
The next two outcome variables of interest are measures of migrant
involvement in U.S. political and civic activities. Government contact is a behavioral
indicator of whether or not the respondent has ever contacted a government official
on a matter of importance by calling, writing or attending a meeting. Government
contact is coded 1 for respondents who have engaged in such activity and 0
otherwise. As Segura reminds us, contacting elected and administrative officials is an
important indicator of engagement in U.S. politics, one that, strictly speaking, is not
confined to citizens only (11).
67

The third indicator of U.S. engagement, U.S. organizational membership, is
measured as participation in the activities of a “social, cultural, civic or political
group” and is coded 1 if the respondent belongs to one or more of these groups and 0
if he/she reports not participating in any such groups. Organizational membership is
an important indicator of migrant involvement in U.S. civil society.
These measures of U.S. engagement are modeled as a function of three groups
of independent variables. First, much like cross-national studies control for country
of origin, the models presented here include Mexican state-of-origin predictors that
allow us to test the migrant network robustness/historicity hypothesis. Given the
large N (3106), dummy variables for every Mexican state are included in the models,
with the exception of smaller states, which were collapsed into a single variable for
the sake of parsimony. States with N less than 30—which include Campeche,
Querétaro, Quintana Roo, Tabasco, Tlaxcala and Yucatán—were recoded into “Small
state.”
14
In each model, Michoacán, a classic migrant-sending state with moderate
levels of U.S. engagement at the bivariate level, is the reference category
15
.
The second group of variables consists of various items capturing migrant
transnational orientations and activities. As Segura reminds us, two are expressly
forms of home country engagement: HTA membership and attention to homeland
politics (12). HTA is coded one if the responded reports participating in a hometown

14
Initially, the model included dummy variables for every individual state (with the exception of the
reference category). A second iteration was specified to include the “Small state” variable and
outperformed the original, leading to the more parsimonious model presented here.

15
Comparing survey marginals for all major classic and recent migrant-sending states revealed that
Michoacán migrants approximate the mean vis-à-vis our dependent variables of interest. Michoacán is
therefore the unexpressed category in each model.
68

club, association or federation and zero otherwise. Transnational Attention captures
respondents’ self reported level of attention to home country politics and is coded one
for “a lot” or “some” and zero otherwise. If transnational engagement detracts from
U.S. politics, as the zero-sum perspective in the literature suggests, the effects of
these two variables should be negative.
The remaining measures of transnationalism include: transnational
communication (coded 1=at least once a year, 0=never); intent to repatriate (1=yes,
0=no); sending remittances (1=less than once a year+, 0=never); visiting (1=at least
once since migrating, 0=never); property ownership and voting in Mexican elections
in the period since migrating (1=yes, 0=no for both). It is less clear how these
predictors will impact engagement in the U.S. I also control for the usual
demographic variables (income, education, age, citizenship status, years in the U.S.),
and expect them to play out roughly in accordance with traditional SES-driven
models. A discrimination index is included as an additional predictor, as immigration
politics research has shown this to be a powerful mobilizing factor among Latino
migrants in the U.S. (Pantoja, Ramírez and Segura 2001).
Results
Logistic regression estimates are reported in Table 1. Mexican Migrant
Transnationalism & Civic Engagement in the U.S. While moderate, the results
appear to support the migrant network robustness/historicity hypothesis. Two of the
three models yielded significant state-of-origin effects, in some instances in ways that
were unexpected to the researcher.
69

Table 1. Mexican Migrant Transnationalism & Civic Engagement in the U.S.

Variable
Political interest Government contact US organizational membership
DF .362† .309 .141
(0.208) (0.230) (0.278)
Estado de México
.050 .509* -.140

(0.226) (0.253) (0.329)
Jalisco
.044 .372† -.037

(0.166) (0.194) (0.250)
Zacatecas
.443† .228 -.310

(0.227) (0.253) (0.343)
Small_state
.852† -.271 -.726

(0.465) (0.504) (0.660)
yrs_us
.014* .019** .003

(0.006) (0.007) (0.009)
Bilingual
.186 .186 .715***

(0.128) (0.131) (0.154)
naturalized
.465*** .546*** .561**

(0.123) (0.139) (0.185)
More_than_HS
.499*** .348*** .867***

(0.087) (0.101) (0.139)
Discrimination
.043 .241*** .149*

(0.055) (0.056) (0.070)
Child abroad
.287* .053 -.277

(0.130) (0.150) (0.222)
Trans. communication
.357* .366† .044

(0.161) (0.195) (0.226)
Trans. trip
-.217* .033 -.059

(0.101) (0.124) (0.162)
Intends to repatriate
-.212* -.135 -.074

(0.097) (0.107) (0.138)
Owns trans. property
.027 .144 -.144

(0.091) (0.105) (0.138)
Sends remittances
.015 .258* -.039

(0.099) (0.113) (0.139)
HTA membership
.098 .398† .759**

(0.216) (0.213) (0.243)
Att. to Mex. Politics
1.102*** .123 .137

(0.084) (0.103) (0.134)
Trans. vote
.082 -.494† .133

(0.233) (0.275) (0.298)
Constant
-.229 -3.733*** -3.428***

(0.459) (0.574) (0.749)
-log likelihood
3718.779 2982.257 1985.227
Chi - Square
408.068*** 390.808*** 365.949***
N
3106 3106 3106
70

With regard to political interest, the state of Zacatecas is positive and
significant, consistent with the author’s expectations. When it comes to migrant
activism, zacatecanos are extraordinarily organized into hometown associations that
have been active for decades, with large home-state federations in California, Texas
and Illinois. Partly a result of this activism, the state of Zacatecas has pioneered a
number of pro-migrant political reforms, including the “3x1” matching funds
program, whereby every dollar remitted by migrant associations for community
development projects is matched by a dollar from the municipal, state and federal
Mexican governments, and the “Ley Migrante,” which amended the Zacatecas state
constitution to reserve two seats of the thirty-seat state legislature for “migrant
deputies” (see Chapter IV). It is not difficult to imagine that these experiences
increase the overall level of political interest among zacatecano migrants, in México
and possibly in the U.S. If we understand political interest and action as transferable
from one national context to another, there is nothing to say that political interest in
home country affairs cannot be diffused to U.S. politics, particularly when
considering that “transnational attention” also positively predicts political interest in
this model.
Migrants from Distrito Federal (DF), México’s capital, also show a positive
and significant relationship vis-à-vis political interest. Although we were agnostic as
to how migrants from this region would behave, this finding is not at all counter-
intuitive. A population from an urban core that is often the center stage of national
politics in México, it is not surprising that DF migrants report higher levels of
71

political interest. To this we add the fact that the LNS was in the field in 2006, the
year of one of México’s most closely contested presidential elections which produced
a number of protracted post-election protests and mobilizations, mainly in México
City. Thus it is not entirely surprising that DF migrants would respond positively to
the question “How interested are you in politics and public affairs?” Again, the large
and statistically significant effect of “transnational attention” on political interest writ
large may be an indication that home country civic energies can be diffused or
transferred to U.S. affairs.
An unexpected finding is the positive and significant effect of “small state” on
political interest. This can also be due to the politically charged environment
described above, particularly when considering that five of the six states included in
this category yielded high levels of electoral support for presidential candidate
Andrés Manuel López Obrador, who many believe was wrongfully denied the
presidency. However, there may be more to this finding than a straightforward
domestic politics explanation.
For instance, it is important to note that some of these regions account for
México’s most recent international migrants to the U.S. According to Cornelius,
Fitzgerald and Lewin Fischer (2007), the state of Yucatán has recently emerged as a
significant source of U.S.-bound migration. Focusing on the municipality of Tunkás
in Yucatán and its satellite communities in southern California, the authors conducted
a survey of migrants and potential migrants as well as structured interviews with
“stay-at-homes,” or non-migrants. Ileana Beatriz Ruiz Alonso et al. (2007) focus
72

specifically on the question of political interest in the U.S. and México among this
“new” migrant population. They find that 54% of respondents were primarily
interested in Mexican politics, 25% were interested in U.S. politics and 21% were
interested in both (2007: 235). The authors define the latter category as the “political
binationals” or “the segment of Tunkaseño migrants who have developed attachments
to the U.S. political system while maintaining a foothold in home-country politics”
(233-234). Drawing on the theory that “involvement in home-country and host-
country politics is mutually reinforcing” the authors suggest that “as migrants spend
more time in the United States, their interest in the politics of the two countries will
rise.” Indeed the authors find that “binational political interest rises among our
interviewees from 18 percent among those with four years or less of U.S. residence to
26 percent among those with between four and eleven years in the United States”
(236). Income also seems to impact migrants’ likelihood of being transnationally
engaged. The authors state that “interest in the politics of both countries was much
more prevalent (29 percent) among high-income migrants, compared with only 13
percent of low-income migrants” (237).
At the multivariate level, the authors find that “a Tunkás migrant based in the
United States is 11.4 times more likely to be interested in the politics of both
countries than in the politics of Mexico.” Second, the authors report that migrants
interested in voting in the 2006 Mexican presidential elections were “77 times more
likely to be interested in the politics of both countries than in the politics of the
United States.” In sum, the multivariate model of binational political incorporation
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finds that a “Tunkás migrant who is incorporated binationally would be more likely to
have his primary residence in the United States, be contemplating voting in the 2006
Mexican elections, and fall in the high-income category,” suggesting that engagement
in home-country public affairs does not necessarily come at the expense of
involvement in the host-country, at least among a segment of this group of recent
Mexican migrants to the U.S. (239).
With regard to our second dependent variable of interest, government contact,
we also observe significant sub-national effects. Concretely, migrants from Estado de
México and Jalisco are more likely to contact government officials in the U.S. As
expected, Jalisco, a populous, classic migrant-sending state, is positive and
significant. Jaliciense migrants have high numbers of hometown associations in
settlement areas in the U.S. As this and other research has suggested, migrant HTAs
may function as a conduit for involvement not only in homeland politics but also in
U.S. politics. Consider the fact that HTAs are officially considered nonprofit
organizations under U.S. law and are thus precluded from taking partisan positions, as
collective organizations, in U.S. politics. In the experience of zacatecano migrants,
HTA activists created the Frente Cívico Zacatecano in part as a strategy to overcome
this constraint by U.S. law and engage more overtly in Mexican and U.S. political
affairs (Smith and Bakker 2008: 175). In the present analysis, HTA membership is a
positive and significant predictor of government contact in the U.S., as reported in
table 2. A robust migrant network, and the host of HTAs that comprise it, might
explain jaliciense migrants’ propensity to contact government officials in the U.S.
74

Interestingly, Estado de México is also positively associated with government
contact. Adjacent to Distrito Federal, Estado de México is an industrial-urban hub in
central México. As a result, any government contact mexiquenses had prior to
migration likely involved navigating complex urban bureaucracies (e.g. México city).
In turn, this may equip these migrants with the skills and sense of efficacy necessary
to contact government officials in the U.S., post-migration. The same can be true of
Jalisco, home to the sprawling metropolis of Guadalajara. This is vastly different
from the experience of residents of rural México, whose pre-migration contact with
the local state, as Jonathan Fox reminds us, is often limited and clientatlistic in nature
(see Fox 2007).
Regarding our third indicator of U.S. engagement, U.S. organizational
membership, no appreciable effects seem to play out along the lines of the migrant
network robustness/state migration historicity hypothesis. Instead, socio-economic
controls seem to tell the story. Not surprisingly, migrants who have a high school
education or greater, who are bilingual, are applying for citizenship or are already
naturalized are more likely to be involved in U.S. civic organizations. As decades of
research in American politics illustrate, it takes time, money, skills and resources to
participate in associational life (see Verba et al. 1995). The same appears to be true
for Mexican migrants. It should be noted however that self-perceived discrimination
in the U.S. is also positively associated with greater organizational membership
among migrants. As research in Latino and immigration politics demonstrates, in the
face of political threat, migrants are likely to mobilize and engage politically as a
75

strategy of community empowerment (Pantoja, Ramírez and Segura 2001;
Ramakrishnan 2005). With regards to transnational engagement, HTA membership
strongly predicts U.S. organizational membership. Regarding whether having HTA
membership as a predictor of U.S. organizational membership amounts to “putting
the same variable on both sides of the equals sign,” Segura states:
While this could have been a problem, oddly, the distribution on Social
Capital [labeled U.S. organizational membership in the present model]
includes all possible values, even among those reporting HTA participation
(which logically should have ruled out Soc Cap=0). HTA’s inclusion, then,
does not appear to have biased the remaining results (see Segura 2008: 16).

Indeed, transnationalism predictors produced positive effects across all three
models. Having a dependent child in the home country, communicating with friends
and family in the home country and paying attention to the affairs of the home
country are all positively associated with political interest writ large. The positive
coefficient of having a dependent child in the home country, a form of “private
transnationalism,” can be explained as a “stakeholder” effect. That is, if a U.S.-based
Mexican migrant has a child living in México, it is not surprising that he/she is more
likely to express political interest, particularly if the migrant parent intends to be
reunited with the child in the U.S. in the future. That paying attention to the affairs of
the home country positively predicts political interest in the U.S. supports the
“transferability” hypothesis presented in the transnationalism literature.
It is important to note that having made a trip to the home country and intent
to eventually repatriate both have negative, but small, effects on political interest.
The negative effect of having taken a trip to the home country is surprising,
76

particularly when considering that communicating with the home country and having
a dependent child there are positively associated with political interest more broadly.
The negative effect of intent to repatriate is consistent with the so-called “myth of
return” in the literature (see Jones-Correa 1998; Segura 2008). Although, for an
important exception to this trend see Chapter V.
With regard to government contact in the U.S., communicating with the home
country emerges once again as a positive predictor, this time along with sending
remittances and HTA membership. As discussed earlier, absent other community
organizations, HTA membership can often act as a conduit for migrant involvement
in U.S. affairs. Furthermore, that two of the most resource-taxing transnational
activities—sending remittances and participation in a HTA—positively predict
government contact in the U.S. contradicts the argument that transnationalism is
costly for U.S. engagement, irrespective of whether migrants sought to influence U.S.
domestic or foreign policy. It should be noted, however, that voting in Mexican
elections in the period after migrating depresses the likelihood of government contact.
However, opponents of transnationalism need to consider that only a minimal
proportion of Mexican migrants partake in Mexican elections post migration, before
suggesting that cross-border activities decrease U.S. participation across the board
(see Waldinger 2009).
With regard to the last outcome variable of interest, U.S. organizational
membership, only one of the transnationalism predictors yielded an effect: HTA
membership. The positive and moderately large coefficient of HTA membership
77

substantiates the claim that even decidedly home-country focused associations can
spur involvement in other U.S. organizations. This finding supports the contention
that HTAs can operate as a segue into U.S. civil society organizations and generally
supports the “transferability” hypothesis found in the literature
16
.
Conclusion
Replicating Segura’s analysis produced similar results at the sub-national
level with regards to the effects of transnationalism on U.S. engagement, but I
conclude with a different interpretation of the policy implications of these findings.
To recap, taking a trip to the home country and the intent to repatriate both negatively
impacted political interest, while voting in Mexican elections in the period since
migrating negatively impacted government contact. That is the extent of the “cost” of
transnationalism on U.S. engagement found in the present analysis. It should be
noted, moreover, that when it comes to voting in Mexican elections from the U.S.,
such a minuscule percentage of the migrant population mailed a ballot in 2006 that it
seems overblown to speak of a wholesale “cost” on the U.S. side. This is troubling
considering that the alleged “costs” of transnationalism can and will most likely be
used prima facie by the opponents of comprehensive immigration reform in the U.S.
On the flip side, having a dependent child in México, communicating with
friends and family in México, sending remittances, being a member of a HTA and
paying attention to homeland politics are all positively associated with different
measures of U.S. engagement. The critics of transnationalism argue that HTA

16
Again, see Segura (2008) regarding the issue of collinearity between these two variables.
78

membership and paying attention to home country politics is the province of a small,
“sociologically distinct,” segment of the Mexican migrant population: namely
migrant activists (see Waldinger 2009). While transnationalism does appear to be a
minoritarian affair, this shouldn’t preclude scholars from focusing on those migrants
who are transnationally inclined, particularly if concerned with how to increase
democratic engagement by Mexican migrants on both sides of the border.
Second, while moderate, the findings indicate that sub-national variation
exists when it comes to Mexican migrant transnationalism and engagement in U.S.
politics and civil society. The methods deployed here, however, cannot tell us much
about how and why these activities emerge and develop. In-depth political
ethnographies and oral histories are necessary to supplement our understanding of
how transnationalism and U.S. political engagement interact over the migrant life
cycle. Perhaps no other group of migrants more clearly embodies this duality than
“migrant deputies,” or U.S.-based migrants who have run for elected and appointed
positions in México, as the following chapter will illustrate.

79

Chapter 4

Transnational Politicians: Migrant Deputies and Mexican Party Politics

La autoridad se ejerce en función de servicio, jamás de poder.
Authority is exercised as a function of service, not power.
-Francisco García Salinas (1786-1841)

Introduction: “The Political Action Front of Mexicans Abroad”
In the months leading to México’s July 2009 congressional election, Salvador
Pedroza and Fabián Morales, two Chicago-based Mexican migrants, aspired to be
placed as “migrant candidates” on the proportional representation lists of their
respective parties: the center-right National Action Party (PAN) & the centrist (some
might say catch-all) Institutional Revolutionary Party (PRI). Both were proven and
qualified party militants. As president of the Illinois chapter of the PAN, for
example, Pedroza had been a staunch supported of Felipe Calderón in his bid for the
Mexican presidency in 2006. Morales, a Chicago realtor and hometown association
leader and activist, coordinated a personal meeting with the national leader of the
PRI, Beatriz Paredes, seeking endorsement for his candidacy
17
. In spite of their
efforts and qualifications, the PRI and PAN failed to provide either aspirant with a
migrant candidacy, leaving them out of the congressional race.
In response to what they considered an egregious act of political neglect,
Mexican migrant activists in the U.S. put aside their party affiliations to form the
“Political Action Front of Mexicans Abroad” with one goal in mind: to petition
political parties in México to endorse migrant candidates and thereby guarantee

17
Personal communication with author (May 2009).
80

migrant representation in federal and state legislatures. While the transnational
movement to gain migrant political rights in Mexico had gained important
concessions, including the right to vote in presidential elections from abroad, the
Political Action Front argued in a letter to Mexican political parties that migrant
enfranchisement was far from complete
18
. For one, the requirements for voting from
abroad were unreasonably cumbersome, and second, migrants lacked adequate
representation in México’s federal and state congresses, due in part to parties’ failure
to place migrants in electable positions on their lists or to endorse migrant
candidacies period.
In their letter, the Front demanded Mexican political parties provide migrant
representation arguing that, “social justice comes to fruition through the equal
representation of society in our country’s elected institutions.” The Political Action
Front made clear the high stakes involved in their call to Mexican political parties.
“Not only are our political rights at stake, but also our sense of belonging and loyalty,
our duties and obligations as Mexican citizens.” According to the letter, Mexican
democracy itself was at stake: “The implementation of democracy in México via
electoral processes will be fulfilled when anyone who is and identifies as Mexican
can vote and be voted into office, wherever they may be!” The Front’s claim was at
once directed at México’s political institutions and at civil society at large.
Political parties and society: we have the opportunity to go down in history as
the generation that ingrained human rights into our political institutions. Lest
we be judged like the earlier generation that deemed women and youth unfit
for involvement in México’s public affairs.

18
Letter furnished to author by member of the Political Action Front (May 2009).
81

The experience of the “Political Action Front of Mexicans Abroad” raises an
important set of questions regarding migrants’ ongoing involvement with Mexican
party politics. First, to what degree are México’s political parties incorporating
Mexican migrants, in discourse and in practice? Second, among those migrants who
have run for office, what have been their experiences with Mexican party politics and
the challenges to their transnational political trajectories? This chapter addresses
these questions by drawing on in-depth structured interviews with migrant deputies in
the state legislature of Zacatecas and with migrant candidates in the 2009
congressional election, each representing one of the three major parties (PRI, PRD,
PAN). In Spring 2009, I conducted interviews with the only two migrant candidates
participating in the 2009 election, Lupe Gómez (PAN) and Carlos Arango (PRD), in
Southern California. In June 2009, I conducted in-depth interviews with the two
“migrant deputies” in the Zacatecas state legislature, Rigoberto Castañeda (PRI) and
Sebastián Martínez (PRD). Additionally, I discuss structured interviews with local
party representatives and leaders from two of the emerging parties in Zacatecas, PT &
Convergencia, and draw on ethnographic field notes from Lupe Gómez’s campaign
events throughout the state.
The chapter is organized into five parts. The following section discusses a
number of counterfactuals, drawn from the experiences of parties in developed
democracies, to project what Mexican party politics might look like in the 21
st

century and considers how these developments might impact the prospect of migrant
engagement. Each subsequent section discusses a respective party in relation to
82

migrant candidates/deputies and explores issues of migrant party attachment and
policy priorities. The chapter concludes with a discussion of the internal and external
barriers to constituting an extraterritorial “migrant party.”
Single-Party, Predominant Party, Cartel Party or Multi-Party System? Mexican
Party Politics & the Prospect of Migrant Engagement in the 21
st
Century

In order to understand the challenges and possibilities of migrant involvement
in Mexican politics, it is important to discuss the nature of the transitioning party
system therein. In democratic and non-democratic systems alike, parties represent the
“main institutional channel connecting people with their government” (Anderson
2009). In México, parties have and will continue to act either as facilitators or
gatekeepers to the possibility of migrant political representation. Following Leslie
Anderson’s contention that “we can learn a great deal about new and developing
democracies through studying the histories of more established and consolidated
democracies” (2009), in this section I will: 1) consider a number of counterfactuals,
extrapolated from the experiences of party organizational development in
consolidated democracies, to project what Mexican party politics may look like in the
21
st
century and 2) discuss the likely impact of these developments for the prospect of
migrant political engagement. Specifically, with the rise of U.S.-style elections in
México, campaigns have become increasingly candidate-centered and party activity at
the grassroots level has begun to wane. Moreover, recently the party system in
México has shown signs of what in western European democracies has been
described as the “cartelization” of competitive party politics. As I discuss below,
83

either outcome will impact the prospects of migrant participation in Mexican politics,
although not always in ways that are expected or straightforward.
In the present context of post-PRI hegemonic politics, policymaking and
legislation require alliances and coalitions across party lines, unlike any other period
in post-revolutionary México. Under conditions of single-party rule, the Mexican
congress acted as a rubber stamp for PRI presidencialismo throughout most of the
20
th
century. As Manuel Pastor and Carol Wise have argued, with the removal of the
PRI from the executive and its gradual decline in Congress
19
, policymaking in
economic and other key policy areas will require greater statecraft and alliance-
building capacity on the part of Mexican leaders and parties (Pastor & Wise 2005).
To date, party alliances—to the extent that they have occurred—have generally
followed ideological lines, with the centrist PRI siding mostly with the center-right
PAN and the leftist parties coalescing into a broad front comprised of the PRD, PT
and Convergencia.
However, in the present campaign environment leading to the summer 2010
elections for several local and state-level offices, México is witnessing an
ideologically counterintuitive and perhaps unexpected set of alliances between its
parties. In the states of Durango, Hidalgo and Oaxaca, for example, the center-right
PAN and the center-left PRD have agreed to run together as an opposition bloc in the
upcoming gubernatorial elections, with the purported goal of dislodging the PRI from
power. In the case of Zacatecas, the leftist PT—an ally of the PRD in most

19
For an analysis of PRI decline in Mexican municipal elections see Hiskey and Canache (2005).
84

contexts—has split with the PRD and momentarily sustained negotiations with the
PRI in order to challenge what some local observers call the PRD “party-state.”
While their proponents justify these “opposition blocs” by their seemingly democratic
ends of power sharing and party rotation in office, their ideologically contradictory
nature may not sit well with a citizenry that is distrustful of its government and
political institutions. In Zacatecas, for instance, pundits and citizens are well aware
that the PRD-PT split has as much to do with ideology and policy differences as with
the personal antagonisms between current governor Amalia García and former
governor Ricardo Monreal, and their respective dynasties
20
. Recently, a local PRIista
commented that an alliance between the PT and the PRI would be “nothing more than
the return of the Monreal dynasty to the ranks of the PRI to continue their strong-man
rule,” signaling the belief held by many that these alliances have the sole purpose of
securing power for a given individual or party (Chávez Raigosa 2010). Local
academic Aquiles González Navarro puts it as follows: “The end of the hegemonic
party, the possibility to make it to power through other [parties] and the juicy budgets
assigned to these, have triggered a mix of interests that, effectively, have led to the
decline of party ideologies” (2009). Indeed, as Katz and Mair remind us, in many
cases parties can “write their own salary checks” (2009). While it is too early to tell,

20
Both come from political families in Zacatecas and both were PRDistas until Monreal’s desertion in
Spring 2009. Amalia García’s father was a renowned Zacatecas politician and her daughter is
currently a federal Senator (and many believe a likely future candidate for the state governorship).
Former governor Ricardo Monreal is also a current Senator and has two younger brothers in leadership
positions in Zacatecas: David Monreal is the mayor of Fresnillo, the largest municipio in the state,
while Saul Monreal is the state leader of the PT. As of this writing, David has entered the
gubernatorial race while the younger Saul is running for local congressman.

85

these alliances may have the unintended consequence of alienating voters, who
already see the Mexican political system as fraught with corruption, clientalism,
patronage and nepotism
21
.
Moreover, these alliances may be symptomatic of an early stage in the
development process experienced by parties in more advanced democracies. In
particular, two trends in party development in consolidated democracies may be
applicable to the current party system in México. First, many advanced democracies
have experienced a shift in party organizational structures and mobilization strategies.
In many consolidated democracies, political parties have gone from extensive rural
and urban machines to a tendency to withdraw their activities and presence at the
grassroots level. In the case of the U.S., Janelle Wong writes: “The party structure is
weak at the local level, and outreach strategies have shifted dramatically… The
potential for mass-mobilization efforts…has been overlooked in favor of party
activity confined primarily to the airwaves” (52). The decline in local party strength
in the U.S. was set in motion by Progressive Era reforms and persisted through the
1960s and 1970s (56). To this we add technological innovations that “increased the
importance of mass media marketing” (57). While there was a limited revitalization
of political parties at the end of the 20
th
century, this consisted of “technical and
professional sophistication rather than grassroots organization.” By the turn of the
century, Wong states, “personal contact by neighborhood party activists had become

21
A recent poll conducted by the México City-based daily El Universal found that 51.51% of the
3,372 respondents disapproved of alliances between parties with marked ideological differences while
34.55% approved and 13.94% found them to be irrelevant.
86

largely a thing of the past” (57). Overall, there is a weakened local party structure
and a shift in favor of mass-mediated, candidate centered campaign tactics. Speaking
to the experience of Western European democracies, Katz and Mair state it
summarily: “The Mass party is dead” (2009). With the rise of U.S.-style elections in
México, we may expect a mobilization vacuum to develop at the local level,
especially in rural communities.
More troubling for an unconsolidated democracy like México is the related
trend that as parties gradually move away from civil society they may move closer to
the state. In their research on parties in developed, mostly Western European,
democracies, Katz and Mair (2009) identify a second pattern related to the
diminishing role of parties at the local level: the “cartelization of ostensibly
competitive political parties” where “parties increasingly function like cartels,
employing the resources of the state to limit political competition and ensure their
own electoral success” (753). The cartel party is likely to emerge in political systems
“characterized by the interpenetration of party and state and by a tendency towards
inter-party collusion” (755). Conditions of cartelization allow for greater “inter-party
collusion or cooperation” (755), leading to a sort of depoliticization of party politics,
insofar as parties become less distinct in terms of ideology and policy positions (e.g.
PAN-PRD alliance in México). As Katz and Mair note, “Competition between cartel
parties focuses less on differences in policy and more—in a manner consistent with
Bernard Manin’s notion of ‘audience democracy’—on the provision of spectacle,
image, and theater” (e.g. PT-PRD split in Zacatecas and attendant PT-PRI
87

negotiations) (755). Ultimately, under conditions of cartelization, the cartel parties
form a “ruling coalition” that enjoys the resources of the state (758).
The recent, ideologically incongruent, alliance between the PRD and PAN in
México may be symptomatic of the cartelization process—at least in terms of
depoliticizing ideological differences between the two. It is difficult to imagine an
alliance between two parties that are ideologically antithetical on key economic and
social issues (taxation, abortion, same-sex marriage etc.), as a long-term strategy or as
a lasting electoral bloc. Rather, voters are likely to see these alliances as a short-term
strategy for the pursuit of power, or as former presidential contender Andrés Manuel
López Obrador has put it, as a “smoke screen” for narrow electoral ends. Moreover,
if elected, there is no reason to believe that either party will be as keen to the idea of
party rotation once in power. In fact, their electoral record since 2000 suggests
otherwise. Having defeated the PRI in 2000, the PAN was accused of resorting to
PRI-style electoral fraud in the presidential election of 2006 when it defeated the
PRD by a narrow margin. At the local level, the PRD—currently in power in
Zacatecas—was also accused of electoral misconduct when it won all four
congressional districts in that state in 2009 (see “Election Day” discussion below). In
addition to the risk of cartelization, Leslie Anderson points to two characteristics that
are particularly important for parties in an unconsolidated democracy: 1) whether the
party has an authoritarian past and 2) the degree to which the party is internally
democratic. In this case, both indicators cast a troubling shadow for the prospects of
democratization in 21
st
century México.
88

That said, it is unlikely that México will experience a return to single-party
rule in the 21
st
century. A more likely outcome is that México will transition into a
predominant/cartel party system. As Anderson, reminds us, either scenario is
injurious to the democratization prospects of an unconsolidated democracy (2009).
Yet, if the latter case materializes, it can open political opportunities for the creation
of new opposition political movements and institutions.
Katz and Mair note that cartelization creates fertile ground for the emergence
of “anti-party system parties that appeal directly to public perceptions that the
mainstream parties are indifferent to the desires of ordinary citizens” (759). If the
counterfactuals discussed above (i.e. party decline at the grassroots level,
depoliticization of ideological differences between parties) materialize in México,
then the political circumstances may be ripe for the formation of an opposition
“migrant party” that can 1) hold existing parties/alliances accountable and 2) attract
currently disaffected voters. As with any counterfactual, we must also consider the
alternative outcome that the “migrant party” itself may have the unintended effect of
further alienating voters, who may see this as simply adding more special interests to
an already verticalist, corrupt party system.
However, it is important to highlight the “migrant party’s” electoral
comparative advantages. First, unlike other third parties, it is a new party that
emerges from outside of México and is thus presumably distant from the corrupt
political culture of domestic elites. Therefore, its would-be militants and candidates
can campaign as political outsiders, a strategy that several migrant candidates have
89

deployed already (see “El Migrante as the Anti-Politician” section below). This can
prove to be an effective campaign strategy, considering that the majority of Mexican
citizens are distrustful of their country’s leaders and officials. Additionally, the
mobilization vacuum left by local party decline and party cartelization can also favor
the migrant party: the rural and urban poor are the segment of the population most
likely to sympathize with the migrant agenda of poverty alleviation, job creation,
economic development, education and public health. Geographically, the migrant
party might find a natural following in the heavy migrant-sending states of Zacatecas,
Jalisco, Michoacán and Guanajuato in central-western México and Oaxaca, Puebla,
Guerrero and Veracruz in the south; leaving large swaths of the industrial north and
heavily populated Mexico city out of its “natural” base.
To be sure, there are multiple internal and external obstacles for the “migrant
party” to come into existence. To begin with, migrants will have to overcome their
own internal conflicts that stall any effort at collective action. If it can get past this
point, the “migrant party” will need the financial resources and manpower necessary
to build a national grassroots following. However, while the challenges for the
migrant party are great, they are by no means insurmountable. In fact, if the
counterfactuals considered here materialize, the political circumstances may be just
right for migrants to get the party started.
The following sections return to the question of migrant representation in
México’s existing parties and explore questions of migrant party attachment and
90

policy priorities. The paper concludes by returning to the above discussion on the
implications of constituting a migrant party.
Reinventing the Party? The PRI & Migrant Deputies

Migrant Party Identification & Attachment
Given that the transition to a multi-party system in México is still unfolding
and the fact that migrant involvement with Mexican party politics is part of that
recent development, the degree of loyalty or attachment to a given party varies
considerably among migrants, with some ambiguous about their party identification
and others zealous partisans
22
. In order to tap into party attachments, each of the
migrant deputies and candidates interviewed was asked about their thoughts regarding
the implications of forming a migrant party. This serves as a proxy for party
attachment—those migrants who are strong partisans will likely not support the
formation of an opposition migrant party. Conversely, their counterparts who are not
as committed to an existing party might be more sympathetic to the idea of a migrant
party.
Take, for example, the experience of the local migrant deputy in Zacatecas
Rigoberto Castañeda, a committed PRIista. Castañeda—a long-time member of the
PRI—felt it was difficult to form a migrant party and suggested that, instead,
migrants should work within the existing party system. Castañeda explained his party
affiliation as follows. “Given the fact that you have the existing parties, and based on
my PRIista predispositions, is how I arrived at my conviction and at my party

22
Historical exceptions include cross-border political campaigns in support of the Partido Liberal
Mexicano (PLM) during the revolutionary period.
91

affiliation. My party chose me to be its representative under proportional
representation.” In Zacatecas, political parties must make concessions to migrant
candidates by law, since La Ley Migrante [Migrant Law] established a quota in
2004
23
. Castañeda’s comments imply that existing parties are a satisfactory and
sufficient mechanism through which migrants engage in Mexican electoral politics.
“That is how we [migrants] become involved in the politics of Zacatecas and in the
politics of México, through the parties, through our party affiliation.” Castañeda was
well aware that a migrant candidate needs party backing in order to make it into
office. “That is the way we made it here,” he said about his position in the Zacatecas
state legislature.
Migrant Deputy Policy Priorities
With regard to his policy work in office, Castañeda identified a series of
migrant “causes” as well as needs. When asked what motivated him to run for the
position of migrant deputy, he replied: “what motivates me is to continue working for
the migrant causes that have long been part of our struggle.” In fact, Castañeda began
his trajectory in migrant civil society as part of migrant hometown associations in
California in the early 1990s (see Smith and Bakker 2008). Castañeda described the
work of these organizations as “voluntary and altruistic,” aimed at benefiting
migrants’ communities of origin. As Castañeda pointed out, migrants have long been
coordinating projects in their hometowns with the goal of spurring economic
development and improving the standard of living therein (Fox and Bada 2008).

23
For a discussion of gender quotas in Mexican electoral and party politics see Hinojosa (2008).
92

Castañeda’s role as a migrant deputy, has been to “follow-up, support and strengthen”
such projects from “this new front” (i.e. political office). For example, as a migrant
deputy Castañeda submitted a policy proposal with the goal of “fomenting migrant
investments.” The broader objective of this proposed legislation is to create a safe
environment for those migrants who are interested in making investments in
Zacatecas
24
. The goal, Castañeda explained, “is to ensure that the migrant investment
is a success, so that he/she does not return defeated.” Lastly, Castañeda has worked
to stimulate migrant investments in social infrastructure and economic development
projects by providing oversight, transparency and quality control for these endeavors.
When they request it, I am here to work with them [migrants]. Take for
example the stalled construction of a dam in El Ranchito in the municipality
of Juchipila. Thanks to the assistance of this office and that of my party, we
have helped the migrants complete that project.

The Diaspora-as-District Approach
In the political discourse and policymaking of Castañeda and other migrant
politicians, the Zacatecas and Mexican diasporas emerge as an extraterritorial
constituency. Castañeda envisions his work on behalf of this constituency as follows.
As a matter of political participation, it is my job to provide information for
all of the [migrants] that I represent. I have to be in frequent contact with
them and let them know that I am here to help them by legislating. That is
my main objective. Additionally, my goal is to have an improved relationship
with them so that they are well aware that they have a representative in the
state legislature for any issue they may want to address.

24
For a discussion of how the Mexican government has construed migrants as potential micro-
investors see Smith and Bakker (2008) and Fox and Bada (2008).
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Interestingly, the work of Castañeda is not exclusively aimed at assisting migrants
with their activities within México but also with their civic, social and political
integration in the U.S. (for a discussion of how the Mexican government can aid
migrant integration in the U.S. see Délano 2009).
We have a field office in the U.S. for addressing migrant grievances, with a
full-time staffer in charge of this office. Through this office, we provide any
kind of support that may be needed. We gather migrant petitions there and
send them over here [Zacatecas]. In turn, we are providing a service for our
people. Take for instance issues of immigration status; we provide legal
assistance from Zacatecas. Later this afternoon someone is coming to see me
because he is trying to sponsor his family for legalization in the US but is
being charged the excessive amount of $5000 USD for the paperwork. I made
an appointment with him in my office here, and I am going to put him in
touch with my advisor in Los Angeles, California. He will provide my
advisor with the case number and my advisor will follow-up and we will
proceed to help them from there.

Furthermore, Casteñada has also reached out to California politicians for the
benefit of Mexican migrants therein. “As soon as I took office, I sent an official
communiqué to state senators in California and local politicians in Los Angeles, to
inform them about my new position and establish a working relationship with them.”
Castañeda submitted an initiative proposing that U.S. authorities accept the consular-
issued matrícula consular as an official identity document, one to which California
State Senator Alex Padilla was initially sympathetic. On top of this, Castañeda also
worked with Los Angeles City Councilmember Jose Huizar in order to deliver four
ambulances to the municipalities of Jerez, Villanueva, El Salvador and Tlaltenango in
Zacatecas. “Jose Huizar is from Jerez,” Castañeda explained, “ and he wants to do
something for his land.” On top of this, Castañeda also coordinated a visit to
94

Zacatecas by California State Senator Gil Cedillo. Castañeda concluded by
emphasizing the bilateral implications of these interactions:
This is proof that we can work together. This is proof that we can provide
ideas to senators and assembly members in the U.S. We can provide the tools
to understand the issues that affect our community so that we work to resolve
them.

Clearly, the interview with Castañeda suggests that migrant elected/appointed
officials envision their constituency as residing on both sides of the U.S.-Mexico
border: both in migrant communities throughout the U.S. and in Zacatecas proper.
Beyond Token Representation
To what degree has the PRI incorporated migrants into its party structure? As
a committed PRIista, it is not surprising that Castañeda believes that his party has
proactively recruited migrants. However, as discussed in the introduction, the
experience of Fabián Morales suggests that party discourse is not always
implemented in practice. Of the three major parties, the PRI was the least willing to
offer concessions to migrants, such as the right to vote in presidential elections from
abroad, in the late 1990s (Martínez-Saldaña and Ross Pineda 2002). Perhaps in an
effort to improve the party’s image, the national leader of the PRI, Beatriz Paredes,
made a campaign stop in Zacatecas during the July 2009 midterm congressional
elections. Addressing a large crowd in the migrant-sending municipio of Jerez,
Paredes emphasized the party’s commitment to stemming out-migration and made
emotional appeals to the women who often stay behind (author field notes, June
95

2009)
25
. While the PRI can strategically use migration in its rhetoric to reinvent the
party’s image, it remains to be seen if that will actually produce spaces for migrants
within the party, beyond token representation.
Leaving the Party? The PRD & Migrant Deputies
Since its inception in the late 1980s, the Party of the Democratic Revolution
(PRD) has been an important source of political opposition for the PRI, often
reaching out to migrants as part of its electoral strategy. As the major left-of-center
party in México, some political observers believe there is greater ideological affinity
between migrants and the PRD. In recent years however, the party has faced serious
internal strife that may impact its ability to appeal to the Mexican diaspora. The
section that follows will discuss the political trajectories of Sebastián Martínez,
migrant deputy for the PRD in the Zacatecas state legislature, and Carlos Arango,
proportional representation “migrant candidate” for the PRD in the 2009
congressional elections.
Like many of his fellow Zacatecans, the migrant deputy for the PRD in the
Zacatecas state legislature, Sebastián Martínez, is intimately familiar with the
experience of Mexican migration to the U.S. “I am the son of a former bracero,” he
explained in an interview, “my older brothers were all migrants. Their absence was a
big part of my family life.” At the age of 25, Martínez left Zacatecas for the U.S. to,
as he put it, “live migration in my own flesh.”

25
For an analysis of the political participation of women in high migrant-sending municipios see
Bravo (2009).
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Like fellow migrant deputy Rigoberto Castañeda, Martínez joined the
federation of Zacatecan hometown associations in north Texas, where he settled and
currently lives. Martínez said the following of Zacatecano/a migrants’ propensity to
organize.
There is a very unique characteristic among Zacatecanos—in fact I hardly see
other state-of-origin groups as organized as Zacatecanos. This degree of
social organization may even be unique on a global scale. Historically, you
had Irish migrants, but Zacatecanos have demonstrated their extraordinary
unity via migrant associations.

Martínez explained that it was the “needs that exist within the community” that
motivated him to join the Zacatecas federation of hometown associations in Texas.
Like many of his colleagues, his work within this migrant association served as a
pathway into Mexican politics: “My work within the HTA allowed me to venture into
the political sphere,” he explained. “In turn, that experience allowed me to take on
the responsibility of becoming a migrant deputy, based on my familiarity with the
needs of the community.”
The “Second Face of Transnational Citizenship”
Following the diaspora-as-district approach, Martínez envisioned “community
needs” in terms of migrant’s role in Mexican civil society and U.S. civil society.
Again, the diaspora-as-district concept implies that migrants are a constituency with
needs on both sides of the U.S.-México border. Smith and Bakker (2008) describe
migrants’ involvement in U.S. ethnic politics as the “second face of transnational
citizenship.” With regards to the needs of the community in the U.S., Martínez
stated:
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The principle need has to do with education. I left for the U.S. with a high
value for education. My work within the migrant associations in Texas
allowed me to see that the majority of our youth only obtained a high school
education. This did not make sense. In a first world country, schools, even
public schools, are in better condition than the ones we had in Zacatecas.
Therefore, there was a need to motivate students and their parents to make the
most of their educational possibilities. The future of our children depends on
it. That was the main need—to motivate folks to take advantage of the
opportunities they have in the U.S. Education begets a lot of positive
outcomes: money, development and the ability to live with dignity.

Far from being solely concerned with securing migrant loyalties to México, these
interviews suggest that actors within the Mexican government can also contribute to
migrant incorporation in U.S. society and politics (see also Délano 2009).
Migrant Deputy Policy Priorities
In addition to his concern with migrant issues in the U.S., as a migrant deputy,
Martínez’s policy priorities have also been México-focused. Martínez explained that
his work within the state legislature has always favored “migrants and the
communities within the state with a high migration rate. Typically these are rural
communities with high levels of migration.” With regards to public policies,
Martínez stated:
The purpose of our public policies has been to stimulate development, at all
levels, for example, through scholarships and other social programs designed
to benefit migrants. Programs focused on education, culture and sports for
example. We have established music schools in high- migration regions
within the state. We have built sports facilities, as requested by many of our
paisanos [migrant countrymen]. These policies are aimed at the regions with
a high migration rate, for example Jerez, Sain Alto, Sombrerete. In fact, there
are hardly any regions within the state that do not have high emigration. It is
virtually the entire state that is the target of these public policies. The entire
state is binational.

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Like other migrant officials, Martínez also prioritized policies of migrant investment
in Zacatecas. Martínez concluded by explaining that these policies have compelled
all government agencies and institutions, at the state level, to develop a plan of action
for providing attention to migrants
26
. “In almost every government agency, you will
find a space for migrants,” Martínez stated.
Partisanship
Martínez also provided insights with regard to the challenges of forming a
migrant party. “The possibility of a migrant party has always been on the table,” he
said. “However, I believe that you need solid bases in order for it to come to fruition
and for it to last and not simply be a flash in the pan.” In Martínez’s eyes, part of the
challenge of forming a migrant party has to do with issues internal to the migrant
community itself. “Politically, migrants are not very participatory, in the U.S. or
México, due to our labor market participation. To put it simply, we work a whole lot
and we devote little time to political life.” Internal and external obstacles
notwithstanding, Martínez did not rule out the possibility of a migrant party,
“Nevertheless, the possibility of a migrant party depends on having the right
circumstances at the right time; if the circumstances are there, then so be it.”
Martínez concluded his discussion on constituting a migrant party by stating: “It is
important to remember that one of the criticisms that migrants have of Mexican
politics is the existence of too many political parties that are run like businesses”
rather than legitimate political institutions that represent the interests of a sector of

26
For recent efforts to develop institutions for migrant affairs at the national level see González
Gutiérrez (2009).
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society. “To add another party to the system as migrants might be counter-productive
or at least contradictory to what we have been critiquing about Mexican politics.”
However, if conditions of cartelization materialize as discussed earlier, a migrant
party may prove successful if it emerges as an “anti-party system party.”
Finally, Martínez also provided insight into the relationship between the PRD
and migrants.
The PRD provides one alternative for migrants, just like the other parties do.
However, historically, the bases of leftist parties tend to come from the most
marginalized classes. We [migrants] fit this category: we became migrants
because there were no opportunities in our country, there were no jobs, there
was extreme poverty and there was an overall lack of development. The PRD
offers solutions to these problems that migrants face. The exodus of migrants
was a consequence of under-development in our communities. As a result,
there is an inclination towards leftist currents… You have to consider that for
many years we were governed by one party: the PRI. It follows that many
people who rejected the PRI were absorbed by a party on the left. This allows
migrants to align themselves with parties on the left rather than parties on the
right.

Martínez’ discussion suggests an ideological affinity between migrants, as a
displaced, rural/working class extraterritorial constituency, and the left-of-center
PRD. However, recent conflict within the party and the attendant desertions of
several of its members have led many observers to question its commitment to a
leftist ideology and policy agenda (for a discussion of the political development of the
party see Ozler 2009). Given the divisive internal dynamics, it will be important to
observe whether PRD-inclined migrants will become disillusioned with the party and
withdraw from politics altogether or realign themselves with another party.

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The View from Migrant Candidates
Aside from interviews with the two migrant deputies in the Zacatecas state
legislature, this chapter also draws on in-depth interviews with the only two migrant
candidates in the 2009 elections for México’s federal congress. This section will
discuss the political trajectory of the PRD proportional representation migrant
candidate Carlos Arango, a Chicago-based community activist.
A lifelong political activist, Carlos Arango has advocated for migrant political
rights in both México and the U.S. since the mid 1970s. Arango’s political activism
began with the México City student movement in the late 1960s. As a militant of the
most radical wing in this movement, Arango protested for student rights, labor rights
and the liberation of political prisoners in México at a young age. In the face of
political violence and repression from the Mexican state, Arango explained, “your
options were jail, death or exit.” Arango left for Los Angeles in 1974 where he
continued his community activism along side Bert Corona, the renowned Chicano
activist. Once in the U.S., his political work focused on an emerging migrant rights
movement. Subsequently, Arango moved to Chicago where he established Casa
Aztlán, a pro-migrant community service organization that remains in operation
today.
On top of his migrant activism in the U.S. Arango never left his connection to
Mexican politics. During the late 1980s, Arango was part of the political movement
that led to the formation of the PRD (see Ozler 2009). In fact, he had previously been
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placed as a migrant candidate on the party list, only to be replaced by a California
migrant, who served in the federal congress from 2006-2009.
In 2009, as the PRD migrant candidate for a proportional representation seat
within congress, Arango had a very clear political agenda, with several migrant
priority issues
27
. Most of the agenda focused on regaining or securing extraterritorial
political rights for Mexican migrants in the U.S. The first item was to grant migrants
the ability to register and vote directly in the U.S. for elections in México. Arango
described his activism around this issue as follows.
We have been working for migrants’ right to vote for some time now. Our
objective was to pass legislation that would really allow migrants to
participate in elections. What the Mexican congress ultimately approved was
what we have called a “partial vote,” whereby you have the right to vote but
you really don’t have a way to enact it. It is a right that you cannot exercise.
Take for instance the issue of voter registration in the U.S., which we did not
obtain. Prospective voters have to travel to México to register and then return.
That is the most costly vote imaginable. Secondly, you have to vote by mail.
A lot of migrants were not able to cast their votes via mail. So you see, there
are a lot of barriers. In other words, the law is designed so that the
extraterritorial vote fails. It is a law that tells you that you have a right to vote
but in practice you really don’t have that right.

Aside from extraterritorial voting rights, Arango also prioritized improving
remittance-sending services for migrants as well as reforming the North American
Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA) to include migration as a provision within the treaty
and lobbying the U.S. government to regularize the millions of undocumented
migrants living and working therein. On this last point, he said
the Mexican government has never negotiated the issue of migration with the
U.S. on equal terms. The reason for this is that the Mexican government does

27
An eleven-point “PRD Migrant Candidate Platform” was provided to the author by Arango on 25
May 2009.
102

not fully understand the migration issue. That is the problem. The political
parties don’t fully understand it.

Arango felt it was important to initiate bilateral negotiations with the U.S. regarding
immigration reform. “We can’t meddle with U.S. sovereignty, but we can certainly
negotiate with them” (for further discussion on how the Mexican government has
changed its diplomacy with the U.S. see Délano 2009b).
As a migrant candidate, Arango also followed the diaspora-as-district
approach in his policy proposals.
One of my goals, if elected, is to arrange spaces, especially in U.S. cities with
high migrant concentrations, where people can receive assistance with their
needs. There are a host of issues that people need assistance with and the
Mexican consulate pays no attention to them. In the absence of other
government institutions that they can turn to, the Mexican congress can
provide this service. At the very least we could gather their grievances and
process them… We can have a deputy visit, hold constituent meetings and
collect recommendations… This would be like a diputado movil like the
consulado movil… Binational politics is complex. You have to follow the
domestic agenda within México but you also have a whole lot happening to
our people over here [in the U.S.]

In general, Arango felt that there had been a rollback of migrant rights within
Mexican electoral and party politics. He described his second attempt as migrant
candidate as unfolding under even more adverse conditions than before: “now the
circumstances are even more adverse given the fact that parties do not want to
acknowledge migrants.” As the introduction to this chapter illustrates, there were
migrant partisans from the PRI and PAN, as well as migrants with no party affiliation,
who were left on the sidelines, with no candidacies or party endorsements in the 2009
mid-term elections. Even within his own party, the PRD, the role of migrants has
been adversely impacted.
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This is an unfavorable situation for migrants, even within the PRD itself. We
had won so much and we lost all of it in the last congress. We had won
affirmative action, we had won spaces for migrants. Now all of that is gone.
Part of the problem is that if you are not in México you can’t keep vigilance,

Arango stated, suggesting that it is difficult to keep the parties accountable and the
political process transparent from abroad. With migrants and Mexican civil society at
large growing increasingly disillusioned with their current parties, the circumstances
may be ripe for the formation of an alternative “migrant party”, as discussed earlier.
Arango provided an interesting view of his own party vis-à-vis migrant
deputies. Arango described his party as “a party of the left, sort of.” He continued,
“At the very least it is predicated upon issues that the left fought for. It is the closest
party to this ideal anyway.” On a more personal level, Arango stated, “I come from
the student movement and all of the movement activists are in the PRD or are now
critics of the PRD” (see Ozler 2009 for a related discussion). Arango concluded
candidly,
the PRD is not the best political institution, it has a lot of problems. It has a
lot of internal currents and interests. But at the end of the day it is the party
that ran López Obrador for the presidency.

With regards to the PRD’s view on migrants, Arango explained:
The PRD has an open space. By virtue of its own statutes, the party has open
spaces and it recognizes migrants. In fact, by Mexican electoral law, the PRD
exists in the U.S. It is a recognized entity there. The problem is that it lost its
political legs… Because we had five state committees which got collapsed
into a single national one throughout the U.S., which did not function.

Arango explained that domestically, the PRD is too consumed with its internal power
struggles to be concerned with migrants. “There are a series of struggles within the
party over different positions, over who controls the national executive committee,
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the political commission, over who selects deputies and senators.” When the party
confronts the issue of migrants, it is seen as simply adding more complexity to the
already strained internal party dynamics. “Migrants sure contribute a whole lot to
society, but politically the party is too preoccupied with all of this infighting to make
concessions to them.” While the parties often acknowledge migrants in their rhetoric,
they are not always vested in opening permanent spaces for migrants within their
power structures. Because migrant candidacies are subject to the political will of
parties and politicians, Arango insisted that it is important to secure a permanent
space for migrants. “We need to legislate a space exclusively for migrants. Rather
than fighting over the same pie, that pie should be distributed according to the
proportion of Mexicans residing abroad.”
Lastly, Arango also offered insights regarding the question of constituting a
migrant party, paying close attention to both external and internal barriers. Arango
described the challenges of forming a migrant party as follows.
First of all, is this migrant party going to be for México or will it be concerned
with the U.S.? That is the question. If it is for México, we can form a party
that is not officially registered. It would be a political party predicated on
migrant issues but it would not be a registered entity. I think we could get that
far. But even a movement of that nature would have its share of problems
because of competing ideologies. We may all be part of this party but at the
end of the day we each have a different vision or outlook. It would be more
like a front. Historically, the Partido Liberal Mexicano had a clear mission, it
was anarchist, it had a clearly defined ideology, it had a newspaper. Migrants
today do not have an internally consistent ideology. That is on the Mexican
side. On the U.S. side, this migrant party or bloc issue might be a good idea
because we are excluded from politics here. It would be a good idea to run
migrant candidates for congress and local politics in the U.S. This would be
part of a two-pronged strategy. That is binational politics.

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While migrant political mobilization raises a series of complex issues in México and
the U.S., there is no indication that the two cannot occur concurrently, as Arango
suggests. As the following section will illustrate, these migrants have the political
will and sophistication needed to democratically engage on both sides of the border.
Crashing the Party? The PAN & Migrant Deputies
Among progressive academic circles in Zacatecas, there was excitement that
the migrant Lupe Gómez was running for a single-member-district congressional seat
in the state but there was also an unspoken view that he had run with the wrong
party—the National Action Party (PAN). As México’s right-of-center party, these
observers felt there was a rift between the policy priorities of the PAN and the work
being done by migrants in the state. As the only party running a plurality migrant
candidate, however, the PAN was savvy enough to capitalize on its commitment to
pressing issues like migration and gender equality
28
throughout the course of the
campaign. This section draws on structured interviews with Gómez before, during
and immediately following his campaign as well as ethnographic observations from
his campaign events in Zacatecas.
Lupe Gómez left the small ranching village of Santa Juana in Jalpa, Zacatecas
for California at a very young age. Over the years, Gómez achieved important
personal and professional goals while in the U.S.: he obtained a college education,
became a naturalized U.S. citizen and established a successful business in Orange
County, California. Building on his ties to his hometown and state, Gómez also

28
Gómez’s alternate was a woman from the municipality of Jerez.
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became an active member of Zacatecas hometown associations in Southern
California. In 2001, he became the president of the prominent Federación de Clubes
Zacatecanos del Sur de California (FCZSC) (for studies of this organization and its
members see Goldring 2002; Smith and Bakker 2008). During his term as president
of this migrant association, among Gómez’s most celebrated accomplishments was
the expansion of the 3x1 matching funds program from a Zacatecas-based initiative to
one that would be implemented across the nation (see Smith and Bakker 2008). Like
other FCZSC leaders, Gómez’s work within this migrant association served as a
pathway for subsequent involvement in Mexican local, state and federal politics.
Aside from Carlos Arango who was a proportional representation candidate, Gómez
was the only “migrant candidate” in the country running for a single-member-district
seat in the 2009 congressional elections
29
.
Going into his campaign, Gómez had very clearly defined policy proposals,
both for the second federal electoral district in Zacatecas, which he would represent if
elected, as well as for the Zacatecas diaspora in the U.S. With regards to policies for
Zacatecas proper, Gómez prioritized education and economic development for the
municipalities within the second federal district in the state, a goal that he had been
working towards since he was a member of the FCZSC.
My focus will be on education and development. Education is important
because an educated society can prosper. We have to educate our youth so
that they can compete at a global level. We need our youth to learn different
languages, especially English. We need to train our youth in business

29
México has a mixed proportional representation and single-member-district electoral system. On
México’s mixed-member electoral system and the political representation of women see Hinojosa
(2008).
107

administration so that global companies can realize that our youth are well
trained and so they will bring their business to our state… We need to create
the right conditions for this; we need to create special funds to develop the
district that I am going to represent because that is the district that has the
highest out-migration rates due to unemployment. We need to focus
development efforts on this region… We need to create programs and
coalitions to attract resources from different places. We want to attract people
in the U.S. who are potential investors but before we can do this, as a
government, we need to create the conditions for this investment. The
government needs to do its part. For example, it can participate in a two-for-
one matching funds program, which is already in existence by the way. We
need to promote and improve it such that investors can have the confidence
that their money will be safe.

As a businessman himself, Gómez’s pro-investment vision is very much in line with
the pro-business, pro-trade preferences of the PAN. When Felipe Calderón was
campaigning for president of México, for example, he addressed the issue of
migration in his native Michoacán as follows.
[R]ather than have Michoacanos leave to work in a cannery in the Imperial
Valley or a factory in Chicago, I much rather that they stay here. I rather have
the cannery here, in the Michoacán countryside. I rather have the factories
here, where our people are (Calderón 2006: 59).

In addition to education and development for the district in Zacatecas, Gómez
also had some policy recommendations destined for Zacatecanos in the U.S. Gómez
suggested that the Mexican government has failed to deliver on its promises to
migrants in the U.S. “Government officials come to migrants to see what they can
get from them. I happen to believe that if we empower migrants, this is better in the
long run.” For one, Gómez suggested that the Mexican congress help the children of
migrants who are students in the U.S. (again, for a discussion of how the Mexican
government impacts its migrants’ prospects for integration into U.S. society and
politics see Délano 2009). Secondly, he suggested that the Mexican congress assist
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hometown associations in the U.S. to create multi-purpose community centers to be
used for the clubs’ events.
I think we can construct community centers in different cities in the U.S. This
would foment unity among Mexicans in the U.S. and this, in turn, will help
México in the long run. Mexican governors come here all the time and offer
crumbs in comparison to the millions that we are contributing.

Makings sense of Mexican Partisanship
As a prominent member of the FCZSC, Gómez had multiple offers to
participate in Mexican politics in the past. In his time as leader of this organization,
Gómez worked with different governing parties in México. “As a leader of the
organization, I had to work with whoever was in power,” he explained.
The purpose was to deliver the public goods, no matter what party was in
power. In my view, the party was Zacatecas. That experience allowed me to
observe how each of the parties works… Based on that experience, I chose the
PAN. Why the PAN? Well because the PAN was the party that opened its
doors to us. Suffice it to say that I am the only migrant candidate in the nation
today. The PRI did not consider migrants, nor did the PRD. They are too
busy fighting over public office. In México, public office is seen as a
profitable business. That is why México has not prospered, because that is all
that politicians care about. That is what is different between them and
migrants. Migrants are not after the money. Rather, we are getting involved
because we believe that we can do politics differently.

Like the PRD proportional representation candidate Arango, Gómez agreed
that Mexican political parties have not done enough to include migrants. “We have
20 million Mexicans living in the U.S. They should give us a minimum of five
congressional seats per party. But do you think they want to let go of their grip on
power?” Gómez suggested that migrants are agents of political development,
institutional change and democratization within México. “They fear us. If we return
to do politics differently, we are going to make them look bad.” Gómez, continued,
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“From the moment that we [migrants] began contributing to our communities, we
learned that the government was not going to do a thing unless we took the initiative.”
Alluding to entrenched anti-migrant interests in Mexican political institutions, Gómez
concluded as follows:
If we [migrants] do not return to México to try to change things, they will
never change… I hope that this gives way to a new political class of migrants,
who are socialized in the U.S. and who have learned how to run a democracy
differently… Many people have told me that the hope for the Zacatecano
people is to have a migrant return to govern Zacatecas. I don’t mean to get
ahead of myself but I hope that in our lifetime a migrant will return to govern
Zacatecas.

El Migrante as the Anti-Politician: Lupe Gómez hits the Campaign Trail
In his coverage of one of the first “migrant politicians”, journalist Sam
Quinones described the late Andrés Bermúdez as the “anti-politician” (Quinones
2007). A successor of Bermúdez himself, halfway through his campaign, Gómez
upheld the view of migrants as constituting a new political class in México. When
asked what the advantages and disadvantages of being a “migrant candidate” were,
Gómez explained, “The disadvantage is that my opponents have been campaigning
for years. I’ve been campaigning for five weeks. But the advantage is that I am not a
politician. I’ve never been a politician. I don’t make a living from politics.” With
regards to campaign strategy, Gómez said,
I am learning day by day. I try to offer the best of me. I maintain my essence:
a humble ranchero who left Zacatecas a long time ago and now has returned to
do things better than today’s politicians. I want the people to believe once
again in a politician. A politician who is committed to Zacatecas and has
proved it with actions, not with promises.

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In the course of his campaign, Gómez was exposed to negative campaigning,
or what he described as the “cruel and ugly side of politics” in Zacatecas. When
asked what the toughest campaign moment or experience had been up to that point,
Gómez replied “The most unpleasant moment was during the first debate, when
everyone attacked me. They directed unfair questions at me… Obscure legal codes
that not even lawyers could address.” Gómez perceived this as a strategy by his
opponents to discredit him in the public view as the migrant who is out of touch with
Mexican politics. “That was a very bitter experience. They tried to cast doubt in the
people’s mind that I am not Zacatecano like they are.” In fact, a common criticism
among those who oppose granting migrants political rights in México is that migrants
have become disconnected from the domestic affairs of the country (for a rendition of
these views see Fitzgerald 2000). Despite the gains on behalf of migrants over the
last decade, this antagonistic view is alive and well. During an informal conversation
I sustained with a local journalist and the running mate of the PRD candidate in
Gómez’s district, both expressed their belief that the migrant era had come to an end
and the migrant’s were out of touch with the day-to-day reality of México (author’s
field notes July 2009).
Despite the opposition from México’s dominant political class, Gómez
remained optimistic. “I am going to be the voice of migrants in the Mexican
congress,” he said. Gómez explained that his objective was to “strengthen migrants
over there, by making policy on their behalf here. I think that we can be a great
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team,” he said. “We are going to work with the migrant associations…I am part of
them.” Gómez concluded the interview on a positive note,
There may be some folks who don’t fully understand my campaign. But there
are also a whole lot of people who have believed in us. I began from zero and
within a month, we are ahead in the polls. We will win.

Election Day: Mexican Electoral Fraud—PRD-Style?
To the dismay of Gómez and his supporters, the election outcomes did not
favor him or his party in any of the federal electoral districts in the state. Amid
rampant accusations of vote buying and improper electoral conduct on behalf of the
state government, the PRD—the governor’s party in Zacatecas—won all four federal
districts. Defying most electoral forecasts, Gómez came in third behind the PRD and
PRI candidates. When asked what this election outcome meant for the PAN and for
migrants, Gómez replied, “This is a setback not only for the PAN but especially for
migrants because I was the only migrant candidate in the nation.” Gómez continued,
“this is a setback for democracy and a setback for Zacatecas and for México.” In
Gómez’s eyes, these elections were proof that democracy in México had not
advanced much and really remained in its infancy. So long as corrupt political
practices such as vote buying did not cease to exist, Gómez commented, “we will
continue without having the outcomes we want: security, peace, development.”
While some polls had him ahead leading up to the election, Gómez stated, “you can’t
beat a political machine and a government as corrupt as the one we have. One in
which hundreds of thousands of public pesos are diverted” for electoral ends.
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Electoral fraud notwithstanding, Gómez remained committed to his vision of
migrant political empowerment. Asked if there had been electoral mobilization on
his behalf among migrants in the U.S., Gómez replied,
we formed a support group but we have to work harder to make people aware
of how important it is to participate actively in order to change things… If we
really want to make a difference in México we [migrants] need to get
involved.

Gómez described the support group as
a collective of HTA leaders, not just from Zacatecas but from other states as
well, who are committed to changing things down here. Who want migrants
to be taken into account, and to be considered as part of the solution to
México’s problems.

When asked if these group members were PANistas, Gómez replied, “No I think the
support group over there is not wedded to any party. The only party is migrants
themselves… What we want is the public good for the entire nation.”
Regarding his future political objectives and orientations, Gómez stated that
he planned to continue working without a formal party affiliation. “I plan to continue
working without an affiliation. I will continue to work towards the same causes
within Mexican politics: development projects, the expansion of the 3x1 program,
scholarships and the implementation of a job-creation strategy.” In anticipation of his
trip back to the U.S., Gómez reflected on the election:
We witnessed an election manipulated by the state government. This
government is not willing to allow people to vote freely, without meddling
and buying their votes. There is no respect for people’s dignity here. But it is
up to the people to change all of this. I hope one day we have the political
consciousness to make those fundamental changes that are necessary for us to
take a new path.

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Indeed, anti-corruption was a recurring theme in Gómez’s campaign speeches. With
the slogan “Take what you CAN, but vote for the PAN”, Gómez often exhorted
constituents not to give into bribes from other parties. Despite Gómez’s efforts and
media campaigns informing voters about “el voto secreto” [ballot secrecy], vote
buying was seemingly rampant, as the election results appear to indicate
30
(for a
thorough discussion of Mexican clientalism see Fox 1994).
Livening the Party? México’s Emerging Parties and Migrant Deputies
PT & Convergencia
In addition to understanding the role of migrants in México’s three major
parties, it is important to consider their impact in the country’s emerging parties. This
section examines how the Labor Party (PT) and Convergencia Party—active since
1990 and 2000 respectively—envision migrants both as potential militants and as
party officials. It draws on structured interviews with the then Zacatecas state leader
of the PT, Saul Monreal, and then local congressman for Convergencia, Félix
Vázquez Acuña.
Saul Monreal, national political commissioner of the PT in Zacatecas,
describes his party as a leftist institution closely linked to social struggle, the working

30
One strategy of vote buying known as “voto carrusel” involves party operatives delivering pre-
marked ballots to voters prior to entering the polling place. Upon exiting, the voter must return an
unmarked ballot to the party operative, ensuring that the vote cast was the pre-marked ballot.
Members of Gómez’s campaign staff reported incidents of electoral fraud in multiple municipalities
throughout the campaign. In Valparaíso, for example, there were reports of truckloads of cement and
other goods destined for buying votes for the PRD. Reportedly, when Gómez’s campaign staff filed a
report with the municipal police, these were complicit, arguing that by order of the mayor’s office they
were to suspend any investigation into the matter. In Villanueva, opposition party operatives targeted
registered PAN voters, offering cash in exchange for their voter ID cards, which were to be returned
after election day (author’s field notes).
114

classes and the Mexican peasantry. The party emerged from popular social
associations such as unions and peasant organizations. Monreal claims the party’s
ranks are growing thanks to its “dual mobilization strategy”, which he described as
follows. The first is the “mass-based strategy” which is a bottom-up, grassroots
mobilizing strategy whereby party organizations operate in barrios and communities,
formulating social infrastructure and social policy. The second strategy is the
“electoral strategy” where the focus is strictly political: securing offices for the party
at the municipal, state, and federal levels of governance. The two approaches are
complimentary, Monreal argues, because during non-election years, the focus is on
the mass-based mobilization strategy. “The party is constantly working,” Monreal
stated, “like its name suggests. Not only in campaign years but also during non-
election years, the party is advocating on behalf of peasants, workers and students.”
In addition to these social actors within Mexican society, the PT has also
turned to Mexican migrants residing in the U.S. as a potential pool of party militants.
Monreal described the PT’s rapprochement with migrants as follows.
We have established dialogue with migrants. Previously, the PT did not count
on migrants in Zacatecas. The case of Zacatecas is unique for the party
because, as you know, there are a lot of paisanos who live in the U.S. As a
result, we have been opening up spaces within the party and giving them
plenty of attention. In fact, since I joined the party, the PT has extended to
Southern California. It has extended to Chicago. We now have PT
committees in the U.S., in places like Texas. We are working on
consolidating the party in more U.S. cities among our migrants. There is a lot
of enthusiasm around the party; it has been well received. We are currently
working on building a strong migrant base for the PT.

With regard to offering elected or appointed party positions to migrants,
Monreal replied somewhat vaguely, “of course we support them in this end. We are
115

in solidarity with migrants and at the appropriate time we will deliver on our
commitment to them.” When asked how the PT has attempted to recruit migrants
into its ranks, Monreal said the focus has been around a mutual concern over
development in Zacatecas. “Many migrants still have their families here and there is
a lot of poverty in Zacatecas.” Since the interview was conducted in the middle of
campaign season, Monreal made sure to deride the PRDista government (recall the
PT-PRD split discussed earlier). “There has been complete neglect on behalf of the
government since 2004 around that migrant concern, which is also our concern: the
development of neighborhoods and communities.” Monreal made the electoral
aspirations of his party very clear:
Migrants have been more than willing to contribute to local development. But
the state authorities have failed them. [Migrants] have implemented
infrastructure and other projects that have been stalled. In this sense, we have
been in solidarity with them and we have been more than willing to generate
such projects and advance toward the governorship. Let’s say it, the
governorship is the only mechanism to work effectively to this end, which is
reflected in our paisanos [migrants] and in their people who live here in
Zacatecas.

While it is not clear when and how the PT will allot positions to migrants, what is
clear is that the party needs them to make it to the governorship.
Like the PT, Convergencia can also be characterized as a leftist party. The
local congressman Félix Vázquez Acuña described his party as a leftist institution
concerned with social democracy. As such, Convergencia believes that the primary
role of government should be focused on social programs and public goods aimed at
the most marginalized classes. Vázquez juxtaposed his party’s position with that of
the right, which, in his eyes, is primarily concerned with stimulating the private
116

sector. By contrast, Convergencia believes that the primary concern of public policy
should be directed at the urban and rural poor.
As a leftist party open to political participation, Vázquez explained that
Convergencia “by its very principles, is sympathetic to the possibility of migrant
participation.” However, Vázquez identified an additional structural factor that
compels parties to endorse migrant candidates, namely the quotas established by the
Migrant Law of 2004. “In compliance with the electoral law of Zacatecas, in the
previous local elections, we included migrant candidates within our proportional
representation list.” As mentioned earlier, the Ley Migrante or “Migrant Law” in
Zacatecas requires parties to include “migrant candidates” in their party lists and
reserves two seats, out of thirty, for such candidates in the local congress. Vázquez
explained:
according to the rules of assignment, two out of thirty seats are reserved for
migrant deputies in local congress. Those are assigned to the first and second
place parties in terms of overall state votes. The two parties that obtained the
largest percentage of the vote were the PRI and the PRD, that is why the two
current migrant deputies are from those institutions (both interviewed above).

While Convergencia is sympathetic to the migrant cause, and while the local election
laws oblige it to include migrants in its party lists, the party is far from reaching the
vote threshold to successfully place its migrant candidates into office.
When asked what actions Convergencia has taken to attract migrants into its
ranks, Vázquez replied,
at the level of our national executive committee, my understanding is that the
party has coordinated meetings with migrant communities in the U.S. In
Zacatecas, I could point to more personal examples of constituency services.
There are many people who have migrant relatives in the U.S. who,
117

unfortunately, have died there. What we have done in response to this
situation is coordinate with the State Migration Institute in order to facilitate
the process by which the bodies are returned to the place of origin (on this
point see Chapter 5).

Vázquez acknowledged that “a more concerted action consists of coordinating
meetings in the U.S. However, our biggest challenge is limited economic
resources—that is what prevents us from having direct contact with migrants in the
U.S.” While Convergencia views migrant political participation favorably, it offers a
smaller pay-off to migrants in terms of electoral success. Furthermore, as a younger
and emerging party, any efforts at mobilizing migrants in the U.S. directly are
handicapped by limited party funding.
A Transnational “Migrant Party”: Challenges and Implications for Party
Building

As discussed above, the political clout of Mexican migrants in Mexican
domestic affairs, combined with México’s institutional failure to adequately and
sufficiently represent migrants, have led to debates about constituting an
extraterritorial “migrant party.” As this section will illustrate, there are both external
(i.e. institutional) as well as internal barriers to such an endeavor. For one,
constituting such a party would require reforms to Mexican electoral law, a goal that
would surely generate opposition from political actors in México but one that
migrants have accomplished in the past. Before such reforms can occur however,
migrants must first overcome the internal challenges of building such a party—
ideological factionalism between potential party leaders and widespread apathy and
cynicism among the migrant rank-and-file.
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According to Mexican electoral law, any political organization seeking to
become a registered political party can petition the Instituto Federal Electoral (IFE),
or Federal Electoral Institute, immediately following a presidential election
31
. In
order for a political organization to be in a position to petition for party status, it must
have established assemblies in 200 of the 300 electoral districts that exist nationwide.
Further, each assembly must consist of a minimum of 300 participants who willingly
have decided to affiliate with the party-in-formation. The membership of the would-
be party must be at least .24% of the registered voter pool in the most recent election
(currently, the number of registered voters in México is just shy of 80 million). Upon
meeting these requirements, which are confirmed and documented by IFE personnel,
the organization can petition for party-hood.
On top of the logistical problems that these requirements raise, there are also
institutional challenges to forming a migrant party. Like previous attempts to reform
electoral laws allowing migrants to run for office, additional reforms, including
possible redistricting to allow for a migrant party to exist beyond Mexican territory,
will certainly trigger opposition among political actors within México. As in the past,
the familiar trope of encroaching on U.S. sovereignty will likely factor into that
opposition. Regarding the possibility of creating a sixth extraterritorial district, my
interviewee at the IFE commented, “I have heard arguments in favor of such reforms
and I have arguments against them.” Not ruling out the possibility, he stated,

31
Author interview with director of the Federal Electoral Institute (IFE) in the II district in the state of
Zacatecas (July 2009).
119

“Ultimately, that is up to the legislators to decide. They are the ones who approve of
the electoral rules. We simply apply them.”
The second set of challenges to building a migrant party is endogenous to
migrants themselves. As the interviews with congressman Martínez and candidate
Arango illustrate, migrant leaders must reconcile their own ideological differences
before taking on the larger task of defining an agenda for the party. Second, there is
the challenge of mobilizing a party base among often-disinterested migrant
communities. Efraín Jiménez, a FCZSC leader, put it thusly, “I see the migrant party
as a possibility but a distant possibility. Primarily because there is a great deal of
apathy among Mexican migrants.
32
” Jiménez suggested that any attempt at building a
migrant party at this moment might be premature, “because we lack the infrastructure
and the consciousness. It wouldn’t work.” Jiménez felt that the idea of building a
migrant party was a good one, “but only after migrants reached a greater degree of
consolidation in their organizations.” In addition to institutional barriers, Jiménez
pointed out the internal challenges of building a migrant party. “You need the social
networks to be there and right now there is a whole lot of apathy.” Jiménez implied
that this was part of the political culture of migrants. “We decided to leave the
political system in México but, in some ways, we ended up reproducing it.” External
and internal challenges notwithstanding, Jiménez concluded with a sober account of
the prospects of constructing a migrant party:
I am not saying it is a bad idea, but it has to happen under the right
circumstances, when the bases are better structured. Not now. You have to

32
Author interview with Jiménez (December 2009).
120

realize that this is a one-time-shot. If you try to create it now and it fails, how
are you going to try to rebuild it? We have to do it at the right time, when we
have the backing, the power, then let’s do it. If not, don’t even try. We need
to keep the idea of the migrant party alive, but it is not going to happen
tomorrow.

With growing disillusionment toward parties on the part of Mexican migrants and
civil society at large, the time to get an alternative party started may come sooner than
some observers expect.
Conclusion
As this chapter has illustrated, political parties in México support migrant
representation in discourse but have generally failed to systematically incorporate
them into their power structures. In summary, the chapter finds that the PRI, as part
of a long-term strategy to reinvent itself, has symbolically incorporated migrants into
its rhetoric but has done little to offer candidacies or spaces in its party list for
migrants. While the PAN was the only party to field a migrant candidate for a single-
member-district in the most recent elections for federal congress, it seems to be
ideologically antithetical to those who envision migrants as a political force of the
left. By contrast, given its origins, the PRD may seem like an ideological ally for
migrants but currently faces profound internal cleavages that have adversely impacted
its electoral prospects. Moreover, México’s emerging parties like the PT and
Convergencia have attempted to recruit migrants as party militants but offer less of a
payoff to them in terms of electoral success.
The chapter also discussed the institutional barriers and potential implications
of constituting an extraterritorial “migrant party.” Like other marginalized sectors of
121

Mexican society—women, indigenous communities—migrants are not fully
represented in México’s political institutions. As a result, migrants have tentatively
aligned themselves with existing parties, leaving the debate around constituting a
migrant party an interesting political possibility for 21
st
century México. With recent
signs of party cartelization in México, the stakes of forming a migrant party become
even greater.
The interviews presented in this chapter also have important implications for
the broader research question driving the dissertation: How does migrant engagement
in Mexican politics impact their engagement in U.S. politics? In spite of the fact that
these migrants have affiliated with different political parties in México, and in some
instances consider each other to be political adversaries in that context, in the U.S.
they share striking political commonalities. In the U.S., the migrants interviewed
here are naturalized citizens, registered democrats and proponents of comprehensive
immigration reform. While they may disagree with their party affiliations and policy
preferences in México, there is one point on which they all agree: there is no
contradiction between their simultaneous participation in Mexican politics and U.S.
politics.
In their everyday lives, their involvement in Mexican politics is consistent
with their civic-political engagement in the U.S. When asked how holding political
office in México has impacted his civic and political life in the U.S., migrant deputy
Sebastián Martínez replied:
This experience has had a very positive impact. It has allowed me to develop
a deeper understanding of the social and political dimensions of public life. It
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has provided me with a framework to further grow in the U.S. It has allowed
me to develop businesses and educational exchanges… It has allowed me to
strengthen the bilateral relationship between México and the U.S. This
personal experience has been very enriching and it has taught me to value
civic engagement, for instance, the right to vote. In the U.S. many of us
cannot vote, so this allows those of us who can, to actively participate in
choosing our candidates and when possible, to vote in both countries. Not
every citizen has the privilege to vote in two countries, like we do, thanks to
our binationality, which ultimately allows us to be more committed to both
México and the United States.

Martínez alluded to the staying power of migrant cross-border political
participation.
I think we are privileged citizens to have the opportunity to cast our vote in
México and in the U.S. I think this is historic and we should pass this on to
our future generations so that they may reap the benefits of that privilege… I
dream that one day a Latino will be president of the U.S. I also dream that a
U.S. Latino will be president of México. My goal, as an ordinary citizen, is to
help shape that consciousness so that one day one of our children, of Latino
origin, will govern México and will govern the U.S. This is a constitutional
right that we have, by law. All we need to do is build that dream. All you
need to do is to construct that dream and say, si se puede.

In contrast to conventional wisdom regarding dual nationals, these migrants are
contributing to and enriching democratic life in both their country of origin and of
residence. Far from fitting the prevailing stereotype of Mexicans as the United
State’s “iconic illegal aliens” (see De Genova 2005; 2004), these Mexican migrants
are in practice exemplar transnational, and by extension, global citizens. The
following chapter will discuss one of the policy priorities of these migrant deputies:
the transnational practice of repatriating the bodies of deceased Mexican migrants
from the U.S. to their communities of origin in México.
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Chapter 5
Posthumous Transnationalism: Postmortem Repatriation from the U.S. to
México

As mentioned in the preceding chapter, among the policy priorities of migrant
deputies is the increasingly institutionalized—but little studied—practice of
repatriating the bodies of deceased Mexican migrants from the U.S. to their
communities of origin in México. Strikingly, this practice has not been confined to
migrants who die in attempted border crossings into the U.S. In addition to the
hundreds of migrants who die at the border each year, there are also thousands of
temporary, long-term and settled U.S. migrants who form part of this posthumous
return migration. Since 1997, the number of migrants who die trying to cross the
México-U.S. divide has averaged over 300 per year (Inda 2007: 148). By
comparison, posthumous repatriations have averaged around 10,000 annually in
recent years (Lestage 2008). The vast majority of Mexican migrant deaths occur not
at the border but inside the territorial U.S. as a result of work-related or vehicular
accidents, homicide, natural or other causes (Lestage 2008). There are a wide variety
of circumstances under which posthumous repatriations occur and the deceased
repatriates span the full gamut of legal statuses—undocumented migrant, legal
permanent resident, naturalized U.S. citizen. In some instances, it is a decision made
by the remaining family in the village of origin who, lacking legal entry into the U.S.,
want to see their loved one for the final time. Other times it is the decision of the
immediate family in the U.S., planning on eventually returning permanently to
México. Yet in other circumstances, it is the expressed desire of migrants in life to be
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returned to their community of origin in death, thus exercising more decision in the
matter.
For the students of México-U.S. migration who document the cross-border
flows of financial and social remittances and transnational politics, it should not be
difficult to accept this as yet another arresting practice of migrant transnationalism
(see for example, Rouse 1991; 1992; 1995; Goldring 2002; Fox 2005; Smith 2006;
Smith and Bakker 2008). However, for the skeptics of transnationalism this practice
raises a set of theoretical and normative questions. There is an insistent critique of
the transnationalism literature, which suggests that over time, migrants in the U.S.
experience “foreign detachment.” Sociologist Roger Waldinger makes a compelling
case that international migration is not simply a social phenomenon but a political one
as well. “States seek to bound the societies they enclose,” he writes, “they strive to
regulate membership in the national collectivity as well as movement across
territorial borders” (Waldinger 2007: 343). Correspondingly, “Nationals, believing in
the idea of the national community, endeavor to implement it, making sure that
membership is only available to some, and signaling to the newcomers that
acceptance is contingent on conformity” (344). Thus, the “bounded community” or
“container society” exerts a series of assimilatory pressures on migrants, leading to
foreign detachment over time. “[A]s the ex-foreigners nationalize, they accept and
internalize the social models prevailing among the nationals, replacing old country
with new country solidarities” (347).
125

In a more recent iteration, Waldinger further nuances his argument suggesting
that the degree and nature of “trans-state activity” depends on where migrants stand
on the trajectory of political or social incorporation. “Given the rise of massive state
apparatuses controlling population movements between states, not everyone can
move from ‘host’ to ‘home’ country and back with equal ease” (2008). Further
advancing his political caging hypothesis, Waldinger insists: “states ‘cage’ the
populations residing on their territory, constricting social ties beyond the territorial
divide, while reorienting the activities toward the interior.” In this view, settlement is
the end result. Over time, “ties to the home environment wither: the locus of
significant social relationships shifts to the host environment as settlement occurs.” If
this account is to be accepted, then the transnational practice of repatriating the bodies
of migrants who have died in the U.S., particularly long-term migrants, becomes even
more intriguing and worth examining.
How common is the practice of repatriating the bodies of migrants who die in
the U.S.? While posthumous repatriations appear to be a minoritarian affair—like
other forms of transnationalism—the numbers are not insignificant. Lestage
estimates that one out of every six Mexican migrants who dies in the U.S. is
repatriated to México (2008: 211). Figures from Mexico’s Secretaría de Relaciones
Exteriores (SRE) report an average of 30 deceased Mexican migrants repatriated
from the U.S. a day. From 2004 to 2006, the recorded transfer of deceased Mexican
migrants increased from 9,877 to 9,913 to 10,398, respectively. Mexican consulates
throughout the United States are responding to co-nationals’ need to repatriate their
126

dead daily, not to mention the self-help of hometown associations and informal social
networks in migrant communities. These patterns raise a couple of interrelated
questions. Why do Mexican migrants desire and realize a burial in their communities
of origin and what does this practice imply for dual loyalties and migrant ethnic
attachments? Second, who are the government and institutional actors involved—on
either side of the border—and what is their role and view of this practice? Drawing
on transnational ethnography between Los Angeles and Zacatecas, México, this paper
presents interviews with elected and appointed officials, unpublished data from the
Mexican consulate in Los Angeles and qualitative interviews with the families of
twenty deceased repatriates to provide preliminary answers to these questions
33
.
In the following sections I develop a cultural analysis to illustrate that
posthumous repatriation is a recurring theme in the transnational imaginaries and
cultural production of rural Mexican migrants. Second, I present data from
interviews with bureaucratic actors to document how the Mexican state has
institutionalized posthumous repatriations at the transnational, national, state and
municipal levels of governance, as part of its broader effort of rapprochement with its
diaspora. Lastly, I discuss the role of migrant family and social networks in the
cross-border process of repatriating cadavers.

33
Smith and Bakker define transnational ethnography as “an ethnography of places and their
interconnections rather than a place-focused ethnography of single locales” (2005: 131). As part of a
broader project that involves interviews with the families of deceased repatriates on both sides of the
border, this study constitutes a transnational ethnography. The interviews presented here are with
relatives of deceased repatriates in México.
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Understanding Posthumous Repatriation

“Culture of Departure,” Culture of Return

A sustained exodus over the last several decades in villages throughout
“immigrant Mexico” has set in place not only the social networks necessary for
emigration but also an entrenched “culture of departure” that has proved difficult to
break (Quinones 2007). A constant influx of dollars has made local economies
completely dependent on remittances to the extent that residents have few economic
alternatives other than leaving for the United States (Moctezuma 2003). Immigrant
wealth on display in their home villages in the form of homes and other goods entices
other villagers north. Journalist Sam Quinones chronicles how the homes that
migrants build in their communities of origin are a reminder to the locals of the
“difference between emigrating and staying put.” Every year, migrants return and
add to their homes, “intending to retire to them one day.” The homes, Quinones
observes, “are immigrants’ promise to return for good one day.” “Yet, amazingly,”
he writes, “few immigrants ever retire to them.” With urban jobs and school-age
children in the U.S., the trip home becomes increasingly difficult for these migrants.
Though few migrants keep the promise of return, “the dream nevertheless lives on,”
Quinones describes, “surreally filling Mexico with empty houses.”
Quinones’ statements resonate with the academic perspective on the “myth of
return
34
.” While Mexican migrants often express and plan for a return, scholars
suggest, few return for good, in life. However, as this chapter suggests, many

34
I take the term “myth of return” from a chapter by Michael Jones-Correa (1998).

128

Mexican migrants are indeed returning permanently, albeit dead, thus fulfilling that
dream posthumously. Because a return in life is uncertain, the desire for a
posthumous return to the community of origin is a recurring theme in the collective
memories, everyday exchanges and cultural production of rural Mexican migrants.
The following section describes how migrants express their desire for posthumous
repatriation in their music.
Music, Migration, Repatriation

An enduring desire for a return to their tierra—even after death—is a
recurring trope in the transnational imaginaries of rural Mexican migrants. While
posthumous repatriation involves private and kinship-based decision making
35
, the
sentiment behind this practice is a common theme in the cultural production,
imagination and the everyday exchanges of the Mexican diaspora. Mexican regional
music and its diasporan reproductions are a particularly rich social text where one can
find repeated references of a desire for a burial in México. Posthumous repatriation
and diasporic nostalgia are recurring themes in the lyrics of such popular artists as
Vicente Fernández and the late Antonio Aguilar, whose songs are ubiquitous in the
Mexican diaspora.
In a song entitled Mi Ranchito—a song not necessarily about international
migration but certainly about departure and conceptions of homeland—Vicente
Fernández describes the two as follows:

35
On the difference between public and private transnational practices see Itzigsohn and Saucedo
(2002).
129

Allá atrás de la montaña, donde temprano se oculta el sol, quedó mi ranchito
triste y abandonada ya mi labor… Ay corazón que te vas para nunca
volver,no me digas adios.

Over there, behind the mountain, where the sun sets,
is my sad little ranch and abandoned my labor…
Ay dear heart that departs to never return, do not bid me farewell.

Far from being mere romantic or pastoral language, Fernández’s lyrics capture
the nostalgia shared by many Mexican migrants who were displaced from their
agrarian lives in México’s destitute ranching states. In contrast to conventional
accounts of a voluntary labor migration, these lyrics illustrate the difficulty of
abandoning the community of origin and the loved ones therein. Like many of
Fernández’s songs, Mi Ranchito is a long-time favorite in Mexican regional music.
Tellingly, Cumbre Norteña, a Los Angeles norteño band comprised of U.S.-born
Mexican youth, recently covered the song and perform it regularly in nightclubs
throughout the city to audiences of recently arrived and U.S.-native Mexican youth.
Similarly, in their song Zacatecano, Conjunto Río Grande, a norteño band
similar to Cumbre Norteña but whose members are Zacatecas natives, describe the
reasons for migrating and subsequent diasporic pride:
Adiós amigos, adiós mi linda tierra. Me voy muy lejos, la pobreza me lleva...
Cuanta tristeza al dejar a mi familia,con la esperanza de darles mejor vida…
Hoy que me encuentro muy lejos de mi tierra, por un destino en un lugar
lejano, te juro hermano por Dios que no es mentira, que orgullo siento de ser
Zacatecano.

Farewell friends, farewell my beautiful land. I leave to a distant place,
poverty takes me away… How sad I feel to leave my family, with the hope of
providing them a better life… Now that I am far from my land, in a distant
place, I swear to you brother, how proud I am to be Zacatecan.

130

Again, these lyrics challenge the notion of Mexican migration as an
autonomous process by pointing to rural poverty as the condition of exit.
Additionally, the song conveys the recurrent nostalgia for the local homeland (in this
case Zacatecas), as well as the invigorated ethnic pride migrants experience when
they are displaced from their land. While the members of Conjunto Río Grande
reside in Zacatecas, their music is popular in the Zacatecan diaspora and they often
perform in migrant communities in cities like Los Angeles, Dallas, Denver, Chicago
and elsewhere. Not surprisingly, Conjunto Río Grande and the L.A.-based norteño
bands like Cumbre Norteña take after one another and share their musical repertoire.
In this manner, musical forms between cultural actors in México and the diaspora
synergistically interact around notions of homeland and identity.
In addition to the recurrent themes of diasporic nostalgia and attachment,
specific references to posthumous repatriation are not uncommon in Mexican regional
music. To cite one of Vicente Fernández’s most known songs, México Lindo y
Querido:
México lindo y querido, si muero lejos de ti, que digan que estoy dormido y
que me traigan aquí…Que me entierren en la sierra, al pie de los magueyales.

México beautiful and adored, if I die far from you, let them say I am asleep
and have them bring me to you… Bury me in the sierra, by the maguey plants.

Here, Fernández makes a specific reference to posthumous repatriation that
also invokes pastoral imagery. To connect this to Mi Ranchito, these lyrics suggest a
posthumous return to the rural landscape that was initially abandoned. While
Chicano historians such as Gilbert González and others have borrowed directly from
131

these lyrics to argue that “Mexico lindo” immigrants have historically been at the
whim of government-orchestrated nationalism and thus politically demobilized at the
interest of the Mexican and U.S. governments (1999), I argue that migrants’
attachment to their homelands represents an autonomist connection that develops free
from—if not against—the influence of the Mexican state, such that migrants’ loyalty
is to their local political communities not necessarily their government
36
.
References to posthumous repatriation occur across the different genres of
Mexican regional music. From the corrido sphere, the late Chalino Sánchez sings:
Adios rancho de Las Milpas, del estado de Durango. Nunca te voy a olvidar,
yo siempre te he recordado. Cuando muera me sepultan, ayá en mi rancho
adorado.

Farewell rancho Las Milpas, from the state of Durango. I will never forget
you, I have always remembered you. When I die, bury me in my beloved
ranch.

Here, we see a similar diasporic memory and longing for the home locality. In this
corrido the homeland is specified beyond the state level to the particular rancho,
indicative of migrants’ tendency to identify primarily with their patria chica
37
.
The following excerpt is from a song by Los Invasores de Nuevo León,
characteristic of Monterrey’s norteño genre:
Estoy tan lejos de esa tierra tan querida, de mi familia que me espera en
Nuevo León. Ahora estoy preso, sentenciado de por vida y mi salida será con
rumbo al panteón… Solo me queda soñar con mi linda tierra… No me
arrepiento de todo lo que me pasa, por la esperanza de querer vivir mejor.

36
See Omar Valerio-Jiménez (2002) for a discussion of how these local attachments and identities
were historically constituted contra the central Mexican government.

37
For a personal exposition of this point see Gustavo Arellano’s semi-autobiographical Orange
County (2008).
132

Solo quisiera que el día que yo me muera me sepultaran en tierra de Nuevo
León…

I am so far from that beloved land, from my family who awaits in Nuevo
León. Now I am imprisoned, sentenced for life and my release will be to the
cemetery… All I can do is dream of my beautiful land… I don’t regret
everything that happened to me, all for wanting a better life. I only wish the
day I die, I be buried in Nuevo León soil…

Like the previous selections, this passage makes reference to a “beloved” local
homeland and family left behind. Additionally, this song alludes to the racialized
criminalization that migrants encounter in their pursuit of “a better life” in the U.S.
In this song, the protagonist is literally and symbolically imprisoned. This scenario is
symbolic in that the U.S. itself acts as a prison for many undocumented migrants, as
Waldinger has argued. However, neither the protagonist’s immediate cell nor the
U.S. militarized border can effectively constrain his ability to “dream of my beautiful
land” or his desire for a posthumous return to Nuevo León, as a final wish.
Lastly, in a more commercial vein, Los Tigres del Norte make reference to
posthumous repatriation as follows:
Como el águila en vuelo, como la fiera en celo desafiando fronteras
defendiendo el honor, he pasado la vida explorando otras tierras para darle a
mis hijos un mañana mejor. Si la muerte me alcanza en su loca carrera,
envuelto en mi bandera que me lleven allá. Que me canten el himno de mi
patria diez meses o me muero dos veces si me entierran acá…

Like the eagle in flight…defying borders, defending honor, I’ve spent my life
exploring other lands to provide my children a better future. If death meets
me in its frantic race, draped in my flag, I ask that I be taken over there. Sing
my country’s national anthem ten months or I will die twice if I am buried
here…

As this section illustrates, a desire for a posthumous return to the community
of origin is a recurring theme across several of the musical genres of rural Mexican
133

migrants. While posthumous repatriation involves private and kinship-based decision
making, the sentiment behind it is popularly expressed in the collective memories and
cultural production of the Mexican diaspora.
Gendered Accounts of the Homeland?
It is important to consider, however, that these accounts of the rural
community of origin may be a function of “gendered memory” (Goldring 1996). In
other words, recollections of the rural landscape of origin are informed by the social
relations and gender dynamics therein, producing contrasting return ideologies
between male and female migrants. To this we add the transformative effect that
international migration can have on gender norms and ideologies within Mexican
migrant families (see Hondagneu-Sotelo 1994). From the perspective of female
Mexican migrants, for example, memories of the village of origin are associated with
the surveillance of women and the social sanctions reserved for behavior deemed
deviant from rancho/rural normativity (Goldring 1996: 311). In the U.S., moreover,
women’s entry in to the labor force and their increased recourse to social-institutional
outlets for redressing issues such as domestic abuse, are among the factors
challenging men’s patriarchal authority in Mexican migrant households. Important
life-cycle events experienced in the U.S. also seem to consolidate settlement for
migrant women therein. As Goldring states,
being a mother in the United States tends to strengthen ties to the country—
women who migrate are likely to bring their children to the United States or
have children there. As children grow up and go to school in the United
States, they too will most likely remain, marrying and raising their own
families there. Women said it is very important to them to be near their
children and grandchildren (313).
134

This and other factors partly explain why migrant women envision their futures in
the U.S.
“Gendered memory” also partly explains male migrants’ divergent return
ideologies. In Goldring’s and other ethnographic studies (Rouse 1992), Mexican
migrant men envisioned the U.S. as a site for work and increasingly settlement, while
they viewed the community of origin in México as a site to visit for leisure, relaxation
and eventually retirement. Unlike women, most men in these studies expressed a
desire to permanently return to México, upon retiring. The factors described above,
whereby male’s influence over the micro-politics and gender norms of the family
diminishes, may partly account for the desire to return. Related to this point, male
migrants remember the rural community of origin as a place where they are free from
the social and spatial discipline of life in the U.S.—free from the boss, the clock and
the criminalizing gaze of U.S. law enforcement agencies. Additionally, the village of
origin also offers the opportunity for male migrants to recreate and partake in
traditional rural cultural activities—coleaderos (Mexican rodeo), peleas de gallos
(cock fighting) etc. Whether desire to return constitutes nostalgia for reclaiming male
migrants’ diminished ranchero masculinity or, conversely, their ethno-territorial
identities—which are bound up in gender, class etc.—is open to debate.
Nevertheless, the argument of gendered analyses of transnationalism is well taken:
“The romanticization of rural place is belied by women’s experiences there and
should be guarded against to the extent that it privileges some voices and plans for the
future while ignoring others” (Goldring 1996: 323).
135

In the following section we will discuss the view of the bureaucratic actors
involved in the process of repatriating cadavers from the U.S. to México in order to
trace how the Mexican government has institutionalized this practice at the
transnational, national, state and municipal levels of governance.
Transnational Ethnography: I. The View from Institutional & State Actors
The Transnational Level: Mexican Consulate—Los Angeles, CA
38

Interviews with bureaucratic and state actors at the transnational, national,
state and municipal levels of governance proved useful in understanding the logistics,
requirements, politics, economics and culture behind posthumous repatriation. At the
transnational level, a joint interview with the Consul in charge of administering these
repatriations and the public relations director at the Mexican consulate in Los
Angeles, California revealed that this is the first of fifty consulates to offer a
subsidized program whereby Mexican families who are financially disadvantaged can
receive material assistance to repatriate their dead. In order to facilitate this process,
the consulate has partnered with six mortuaries in the county. The Consul described
the development of this program as follows:
Each consulate has diverse needs. I don’t have the same demands as the
[consul] in Calexico, Chicago, Atlanta or Salt Lake City. Here [Los Angeles],
given the demand and thanks to the General Consul’s efforts, a partnership
was established with several mortuaries in the county. This is the only
consulate with such an agreement. Thanks to this agreement six funeral
homes in the county have offered a basic service at a very low cost. This
basic package includes a coffin made of compressed wood, processing of all
documentation necessary for the repatriation, embalming and transportation of
the body to an international airport.

38
The information for this section is from the author’s interview at the Mexican consulate in Los
Angeles (March 2007).
136

Unlike Lestage’s interpretation, which suggests that these repatriations occur as a
result of the Mexican government’s efforts to institutionalize them (2008), the Consul
describes posthumous repatriations as a diaspora demand that emerges from migrants
and their families; one to which the consulate subsequently responds.
In order to qualify for this subsidized program, “the applicant must prove that
he/she is financially disadvantaged and cannot cover this cost,” the Consul stipulated.
“Aid is authorized for Mexican nationals,” he added.
Part of the requirements is to accredit the identity and Mexican nationality of
the deceased. Those are the two fundamental requirements: identity and
Mexican nationality. Identity can be established by an official document
belonging to the deceased and nationality can be established with a birth
certificate, Mexican passport, a declaration of Mexican nationality or even a
certificate of Mexican naturalization.

When asked about dual nationals, the Consul responded, “so long as you come to me
and prove that the deceased is a Mexican national, not an American citizen, I can
provide the aid.”
Regarding the politics behind this program, the Consul provided a detailed
account. In 2004, the Mexican congress provided consulates with funds specifically
designated for subsidizing posthumous repatriations. Under this arrangement, the
“central authorities” established a spending cap for the aid destined for repatriating a
body.
No consulate can provide more than $1,500.00 [USD] in financial support for
this end, except for exceptional cases. What are those cases? Well, for
example, if there are two or more deaths in the same family, in which case the
financial cost for the survivors is too great. Under such circumstances, the
appropriate consulate solicits authorization and the central authorities decide
whether financial assistance will exceed the established amount.
137

It was apparent from the Consul’s tone that the legislation allocating aid
specifically for posthumous repatriation was not well received by all policymakers
involved, a point we will return to later in the analysis:
There may be officials who prefer to invest these funds elsewhere. Some have
inquired, “why invest in the dead instead of on migrants who are still alive?”
A lot of money is invested in these repatriations. In 2004, out of the 120
million pesos authorized by congress, 55 million were designated for the dead.
It does not make sense. Half of the budget to transfer the dead? That money
could be utilized to facilitate legal processes.

México’s Ministry of Foreign Affairs has been committed to assisting
posthumous repatriation since the 1980s, according to the Consul. “However, the
budget was limited then. If an applicant received $200.00 that was generous.” Again
making reference to the increasing demand, the Consul added,
But the issue became more and more salient. And of course, it also matters
how some legislators or state governing bodies view this issue. If legislators
have made it an issue to allocate 50% of the consulate budgets exclusively for
posthumous repatriation, then so be it.

This comment suggests an important role played by certain legislators, likely those
from high-emigration regions in México, a point we will return to in the interview
with the late federal congressman Andrés Bermúdez.
Regarding the large sum devoted to posthumous repatriation, the consulate
provided the following data. In 2005, the consulate in Los Angeles assisted a total of
216 families repatriate a deceased loved one, spending $277,636 USD. Additionally,
the overall number of bodies repatriated with and without financial assistance from
the Mexican Consulate in Los Angeles during 2003-2005 increased from 1,344, to
138

1,361 to 1,418 respectively. Again, these figures reflect those repatriations that
received financial assistance form the consulate and those that did not.
Regarding where posthumous repatriation happens more often, the consulate
provided the number of deceased repatriates by state of origin for the years 2004-
2007. Not surprisingly, high-emigration states such as Jalisco and Michoacán were
near the top of the list. However, other traditional sending regions such as Zacatecas
were relatively lower. This could be a function of mortality rates or, more
interestingly, it can also be an indication of socioeconomic status and/or immigrant
incorporation in the U.S. In other words, as the Director of Public Relations
suggested,
it also depends largely on the amount of time spent in the U.S. by Zacatecans.
For instance, there may be a lot of Zacatecans who no longer have links to
Zacatecas and thus are buried here. Not everyone wants to be buried over
there because the whole family is now here.

Considering an alternative explanation, she stated, “or perhaps Zacatecans have
enough money to repatriate their dead without support from the consulate.” While
this chapter is an initial attempt at addressing this question, the idea that burial site
may be an indicator of migrant loyalty/attachment merits further consideration.
When asked about the motives behind posthumous repatriations, the Consul
responded,
Some say “it was his/her last wish to be buried in the community of birth”…
but I believe that one of the reasons why they do not bury them in the U.S. is
simply the cost. It is much more expensive to bury them here.

The view that the decision to repatriate a cadaver is the result of a simple cost-benefit
analysis is at odds with the cultural framework presented in this chapter, as expressed
139

in the interviews with the relatives of deceased repatriates. The following section
scales down to the state-level of analysis and focuses on two institutions central to the
process of repatriating cadavers: the state’s international airport and the state
government migration institute.
The State Level: General Leobardo Reynoso International Airport—Calera,
Zacatecas
39

Indicative of the Mexican government’s effort to institutionalize this process
at the state level, in January 2008 public health authorities in Zacatecas appointed a
full-time medical doctor to the state’s international airport to oversee and administer
the arrival of cadavers on international flights, making this the first international
airport in the country with such an arrangement. The doctor described the nature of
his work as follows:
…over the course of the last six months we have coordinated with the airport
authorities, through committee meetings, and we requested that we receive all
official medical documents concerning every cadaver that arrives at this
airport. Previously there was no such coordination or no established process...
Now there is a commitment on behalf of the actors involved in carrying out
these repatriations and those receiving the cadavers. Thanks to our committee
meeting and our request per the Zacatecas public health services, they are now
following these guidelines and honoring the commitment on behalf of the
agency that processes these repatriations.

The doctor also described the work of the different actors involved in the
international process of repatriating a cadaver:
The transfer of the body is coordinated by a foreign funeral agency, via the
consular network which approves of the participating funeral agencies and the
persons in charge of preparing the preservation of the body. Thereafter, the
body is transferred from the place of death, which is often their place of

39
Information for this section is from author’s interview at the Zacatecas international airport (June
2008).
140

residence abroad, back to the place of origin, which in most cases is here in
Zacatecas or in a neighboring state like Durango or any other state that may
not have access to an international airport. Finally, from this airport we hand
the body over to a local funeral home.

Upon arrival at the airport, the doctor and his staff expect that each cadaver have the
appropriate medical documentation, ranging from the death certificate to the funeral
that prepared the preservation of the body. “We also corroborate that the body is
transported in an appropriately sealed container so that it can leave the airport to the
cemetery.”
Although the international airport in Calera, Zacatecas has taken a leading role
on this matter, the doctor said “we still have challenges to overcome and actions to
consolidate.” Ideally, the doctor detailed, every cadaver should arrive along with a
series of documents accrediting not only the death certificate but also “a signature
from the preparer and the procedure they followed for the preservation of the body.
In this manner, they are in some ways guaranteeing that the body will not arrive in a
state of decomposition.” Regarding this documentation, “some are very thorough,”
he said, but most are not.
All cadavers should arrive with the necessary documentation, they should not
simply arrive and hand them over to me. They should first furnish all of these
documents, including the note from the Mexican consulate, the certificate
from the embalmer and an official document from the doctor who certified the
death. Only upon reviewing these three key documents should I authorize the
exit of the cadaver from the airport and its transfer to the cemetery. This
should be the process for the reception and exit of each cadaver. But it rarely
happens this way. In some cases many of these documents are missing. I
need these three documents as per the official procedure of repatriating
cadavers. This should be consolidated not only in this country but in every
country and in every state of this country. This is fundamental for public
health and for the repatriation of cadavers.

141

My informant suggested that the increasing institutionalization of this
transnational practice is in large part due to the efforts of the Mexican government.
When a paisano dies abroad and there are no resources for the autopsy, the
embalming of the corps, its repatriation to this airport and to its place of
origin, part or all of the costs are absolved and the process on the U.S. side is
expedited. It has been the prerogative of the governor of Zacatecas, Amalia
Garcia, that when somebody dies in the U.S. the state government assist the
family members here who otherwise might not have the resources to repatriate
their loved one for burial in their place of birth.

As my interviewee described, and as we will see in greater detail in the following
section, the Zacatecas state government has invested considerably in this process.
I think this is due to the sensibility of two key actors: the gobernadora Amalia
Garcia Medina and the director of the health services in our state to take
proactive action to guarantee the health of our citizens in Zacatecas and
beyond.

The Cultural Logic of Posthumous Repatriation

In contrast to my interview at the Mexican consulate in Los Angeles, my
respondent at the international airport in Zacatecas had a very different opinion
regarding the reasons why migrants and their families repatriate their loved ones who
have perished in the U.S. Whereas my informants at the Mexican consulate
suggested a simple cost-benefit calculation, the doctor in Zacatecas felt the reasons
were profoundly cultural.
There is a popular proverb that says that where you bury your bellybutton, that
is where you ought to grow, reproduce, die and be buried. As a result of
international migration, however, which is a multi-causal phenomenon due to
economic or ecological factors, people are displaced. However, to leave a
loved one in a distant place once he or she is dead, would be like never
accepting their death. People here say, “I want to see him/her to know for
certain that he/she is dead.” It is a common experience of mourning to not
accept death. Having the corps before you helps relatives accept death. On
the other hand, this also allows them to share the last moment with the body,
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the velorio [wake] attended by the deceased’s family, friends and neighbors
before burying him/her in the land of his/her birth; often times next to the
tombs of his ancestors, father, mother or brothers. In some cases, when a
body was buried in a place other than his place of birth, there have been
family disputes over this.

My respondent substantiated his observations with the nature of his work.
We have worked not only behind our desks, we have worked for many years
in the field. We know the collective sentiment of the people, the cultural
beliefs that they cherish during this process of immense loss and pain. I have
seen people crying for their deceased loved one to be repatriated, and they
continue mourning until they bury the body and they continue crying for days
thereafter. They do not accept the person is dead until they have the body
with them.

Discrimination After Death?

Upon reviewing the death certificate data, my interviewee came across some
striking inconsistencies. For instance, he read from the file of a forty-one year old
deceased repatriate, “the cause of death is pending, under investigation. It is
important to follow-up on these cases. It is absurd that the cause of death remains
unknown while he has already been repatriated and buried.” When I shared that I had
encountered many death certificates in my archival research in which the cause of
death was “pending investigation” he added,
that is not right. What happens in the U.S. is that the doctor who is certifying
the death often times is reluctant to give a diagnosis in fear that his judgment
may be refuted down the line. Instead, the doctor simply states “pending
investigation.” We need to have a definitive cause of death. If it was due to
intoxication, what kind of intoxication? Under what circumstance? But
determining the cause of death is sometimes time-consuming and practitioners
don’t want to keep deceased migrants in refrigeration; that is costly. They do
not want to incur such costs with dead people who are not from their country
and who lack an insurance to cover such costs.

143

Overall, “out of 56 repatriates, six did not have a clearly stated cause of death—either
it was pending investigation or it is unknown.” This raised normative and ethical
questions from the Doctor’s perspective.
For each cadaver that perished in the public domain and who does not have a
clearly specified cause of death, this bears a connotation of responsibility on
the part of the doctor who accredits the death certificate. If the family
members are not satisfied, there ought to be a legal procedure to recur to.

Instituto Estatal de Migración—Zacatecas, Zacatecas

My interview with the director of the State Migration Institute (IEM) in
Zacatecas revealed the degree of policy convergence and increasing coordination
between the Mexican federal and state government with regard to posthumous
repatriations. According to Robledo, “the state government and the federal
government have the same policy regarding the repatriation of cadavers.” As stated
earlier, the federal government provides support via the Ministry of Foreign Affairs
and its consular network in the U.S. Correspondingly, Robledo explained, state
governments have followed suit and attended to this “social exigency concerning the
repatriation of cadavers.” Again, a bureaucrat central to the process of repatriating
bodies interprets this as a demand that emerges from migrants and their families on
both sides of the border, not as a process that begins with the Mexican government’s
institutionalization efforts as Lestage’s analysis suggests (Lestage 2008). At the
transnational level, the director of “Tu Tierra en Tus Manos,” an insurance company
in the U.S. that offers a “repatriation certificate” to migrants in life
40
, had a similar

40
In México, the bank Banorte recently began advertising a similar service.

144

interpretation. The director offered a detailed account of the policy changes
regarding these repatriations. During his administration, Vicente Fox held a meeting
with a group of Mexican migrants in the U.S. to learn about their major social and
economic grievances. Reportedly, these migrants demanded policy change in the
following three areas: 1) the legalization of migrants in the U.S.; 2) the high cost of
sending remittances from México to the U.S.; 3) the high cost and bureaucratic
complexity of repatriating their deceased loved ones to México. While a changing
political opportunity structure certainly facilitates this transnational process, most of
the state and institutional actors interviewed in this study recognized this as a demand
that emerged from migrants and their families. In turn, the Mexican government at
all levels—transnational, federal, state and municipal—has increasingly responded to
this demand over the last decade or two. In the view of Robledo, it is also a demand
that “is gradually increasing year after year.”
“From Non-intervention to Institutionalization
41
”

In response to this demand, the State Migration Institute in Zacatecas, like the
Mexican government at the transnational and national levels, has taken steps to
institutionalize and streamline the process of repatriating deceased migrants by
establishing a bureaucratic protocol. IEM has made an effort to systematically
document these repatriations on a case-by-case basis. “In this office,” Robledo
shared, “we have statistics for years 2005 and 2006, including cause of death, which
show an annual increase.” In 2005, IEM attended to 54 repatriations in the state

41
This subtitle is taken from a chapter by Alexandra Délano (see Délano 2006).
145

whereas in 2006 the figure increased to 76. Prior to 2005, the numbers were less
reliable, again indicative of the recent efforts to institutionalize the process of
repatriating deceased migrants. On record, IEM shows 14 repatriations for year 2004
although Robledo suggested that the figure was closer to 36 and probably around 30
for 2003. “I was appointed to this office in November 2004 and that was all we could
document because we did not have prior records or data”, suggesting that the earlier
groups of civil administrators had not thoroughly streamlined, institutionalized or
documented these repatriations since the IEM was founded in 1999.
As per the protocol, “and as a matter of principle,” Robledo explained, “as
soon as family members walk into this office seeking aid, the staff immediately
contacts the family in the U.S., in the presence of the party who is seeking
assistance.” Second, the staff contacts the corresponding consulate in the U.S. “We
don’t leave it for another day, we attend to this issue at that very instant,” Robledo
continued. “This is an issue of principle and humanitarianism because death is a
severe matter,” he concluded.
Robledo emphasized that the state government of Zacatecas has established
clearly defined criteria for administering posthumous repatriations.
The gobernadora [Amalia García Medina] determined that we provide all the
assistance possible. The earlier protocol required participation from four
parties: the participation of the family of the deceased repatriate, the
participation of the consulate, participation from the municipal government
and from the state government.

When Garcia Medina took office, she streamlined this protocol by eliminating the
role of the municipal government, “due to the delay in providing funds on its part and
146

the conflicts this would generate.” Thus the governor streamlined the protocol into
three contributing parties: “contribution from the family, from the consulate and from
the state government” via IEM. Robledo mentioned that there are exceptional
circumstances under which family members can go directly to the governor who can
then determine how to redress the relatives of the deceased repatriate(s). In large
part, these cases would be determined according to the “magnitude and social impact”
of the repatriation(s). “For example, in case of collective deaths,” Robledo explained.
Under these circumstances, the governor may determine to cover most or all of the
costs based on her own judgment. When it is a border death, the SRE covers the cost
of the repatriation in its totality. Exceptional cases notwithstanding, the point is that
there is an institutional “mechanism to provide assistance for families who seek it,”
he emphasized.
These “exceptional” cases of collective deaths, as Robledo suggested, often
provide state actors the opportunity to respond in ways that can be widely construed
as humanitarian. “When there are collective migrant deaths, say for instance a car
accident in the U.S., this becomes news and this news takes on a different
connotation,” Robledo stated.
For us [IEM], there is no difference administratively speaking. Relatives seek
assistance from us in the same way that anybody else would. But when we
are talking about collective deaths, the matter becomes politicized by
municipal presidents and other officials and it becomes newsworthy. It
becomes of political interest and you see the intervention of deputies,
municipal presidents, and even the press requesting assistance, in some cases,
before the family has sought us out.

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“What is very clear in the state government, thanks to the gobernadora,” Robledo
emphasized, “are clearly defined institutional procedures for repatriations.”
Robledo concluded the interview by returning to the point of
humanitarianism. “There is an administrative predisposition during this difficult
process for families, that is deeply humanitarian on the part of the public servant.
There is profound humanitarian conviction here and it shows in how we deal with this
process administratively,” he emphasized. The irony of course, is that historically the
Mexican government has failed to sufficiently address the structural causes of
migration (e.g. poverty alleviation, job creation).
The Federal Level: Andrés Bermúdez
Policy Tracing
In order to understand posthumous repatriation at the federal and municipal
levels, I interviewed Andrés and Serafín Bermúdez respectively. As migrant
elected/appointed officials, posthumous repatriation was a priority on the Bermúdez
brothers’ policy agendas. At the time of my interviews, the late Andrés Bermúdez
was a diputado migrante in México’s federal congress representing the second district
of the state of Zacatecas while Serafín occupied his former position as mayor of
Jerez, Zacatecas. As federal congressman, Andrés Bermúdez lobbied for an
additional 12 million pesos on top of the already existing funds destined for
posthumous repatriation in January 2007. When asked what his fellow congressmen
made of his proposal to funnel more funds for repatriating the bodies of deceased
migrants to México, Andrés replied: “Many of them did not agree with the destination
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of these funds because, to put it simply, they do not know what it means to be a
migrant,” he responded.
They need to know what it is like to be a migrant. What it is like to have your
son, your brother or your father’s body arrive so that it can be buried in his
colonia or pueblo along with his other family members,

signaling the gap between Mexican rural migrants and the elite political class that
governs their country.
As a migrant himself, Andrés knew first hand what the process of posthumous
repatriation was like. In 1992, Andrés and his eldest brother José suffered a car
accident in Oregon. José was fatally injured and before dying requested to be buried
in Jerez, along side his parents. The lyrics of a posthumous corrido capture this as
follows:
Adiós hermanos queridos: Pancho, Serafín y Andrés. Mi esposa Petra y mis
hijos ya no los veré otra vez. Les encargo que me lleven a sepultar a Jerez.

Farewell my dear brothers: Pancho, Serafín and Andrés. My wife Petra and
my children, I will not see you again. I ask you to take me to be buried in
Jerez.

Andrés described the process of repatriating his brother’s body to Jerez as
emotionally draining and bureaucratically cumbersome. For this reason, “We made it
an issue to facilitate and speed up the process of repatriating a body,” he said.
We spoke with Mexican airlines so that they can prioritize the space for
transporting cadavers. Having a cadaver in an icebox is an ugly feeling… For
a mother to know that her son is dead but not know where he is or if he is
frozen somewhere… this is why it is best to speed up the process.

At the municipal level, Serafín Bermúdez agreed stating:
There ought to be three contributing parties for this process—the federal, state
and municipal governments. Even if it is a minimal contribution, there ought
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to be some aid because the families, on that side or here, do not have the
resources to transfer their dead.
42

When asked why migrants wish to return to their land even after their deaths,
Andrés responded:
Every migrant, from the moment we depart, from that very instant, we think,
“I am going to return. I will return rich, I will return different, I am going to
help my colonia, I am going to help my mother.” We miss our land so much
that when we are in the United States, we ask each other, “hey, if something
were to happen to you, where do you want to end up?” “Well, I want to return
to my land. I want to be where my parents are; I want to be where my
children are. I want to know that I returned to my pueblo. Alive or dead, but I
want to return to my pueblo.” Some unfortunately return in a casket. But
their last wish was to be in their land. And that is exactly what we are trying
to help them do.

Like the lyric analysis presented earlier, this excerpt captures migrants’ nostalgia for
their land and describes their dreams of return migration. To connect this to the
gender analysis discussed earlier, Bermúdez seems to imagine the deceased
repatriates as males and frames his policy work around this issue with emotional
appeals to the grieving mothers. Additionally, Bermúdez suggests that in the context
of emigration, when a return in life is uncertain, migrants’ desire for a posthumous
repatriation is commonly expressed in everyday conversations and exchanges.
Bermúdez felt it was important to spread the word about the funds at the
Mexican consuls to repatriate bodies home.
Now that you are here, I want it to be known that there are funds available at
every consulate. The easiest step for people in this situation is to go directly
to the consul and to tell them that there is money there to take my loved one
back to our land. We have to get the word out otherwise the consulate keeps
whatever funds are not used at the end of the year.

42
Author interview with Mayor Serafín Bermúdez, Jerez, Zacatecas, May 2007.
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Clearly frustrated with the vacuous deployment of migration as a political issue,
Bermúdez concluded on the following note:
I am here to represent my people. I always tell [elite politicians] that in order
to do away with migration, they need to have been migrants themselves. I am
tired of hearing políticos talk about migration this, migration that. Know it,
live it, in order to do away with it. Nobody can do away with that which they
have not felt.

Like the preceding chapter suggested, Bermúdez’s remarks imply that migrant
elected officials may be better suited to address certain policy issues in
México.
Transnational Ethnography II. The View from Migrants and their Families

Jerez
As a region with a long history of emigration to the U.S., the migrant-sending
villages in the municipio of Jerez have developed strong transnational social networks
over time. These migrant networks prove to be an important mechanism in
facilitating cross-border activities ranging from sending remittances to repatriating a
deceased migrant. In the absence of such robust networks, an institutionally complex
process like repatriating a body can become even more cumbersome for the relatives
involved. This point emerged in my fieldwork in the migrant-sending rancho of Los
Haro, a community that has witnessed multiple posthumous repatriations over time
(for a history of this community and its migrant network in the U.S. see Nichols
2006). The following group interview with the family members of a deceased
repatriate illustrates the central role of migrant social networks.
Respondent 1: Several migrants from Los Haro who have died over there
[U.S.] have been buried there. I think this is due to the fact that previously the
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migrants who were over there did not know how to proceed in these
circumstances. There was nobody to guide us on how to complete the
paperwork. We were helpless. It was like the world was crashing down on
us. Today there is a lot of raza [migrants]…
Respondent 2: [interjecting] who offer a helping hand…
Respondent 1: …they are young migrants who were born here [in Los Haro]
but they speak English well and they guide us...
I: Were there folks who helped you guys with the repatriation process?
Respondent 2: Yes, they are folks who have lived through similar situations,
and they already know what action to take, they have some experience and
they all come together to help and guide us on how to proceed.

Migrant social networks can provide information and also resources necessary
for repatriation. A woman in Los Haro who lost her youngest son in an automobile
accident while on his way to work in Napa, California gratefully acknowledged this
point.
The people over there helped us… they helped us with money. A lot of folks
donated money, including my son’s boss, my nephews and all of our people
who reside over there. They all raised money and helped out so that we could
bring my son back. May God bless them. Without their help, it would have
been very difficult to bring my son back.

The solidarity characteristic of migrant networks manifests itself in multiple
ways when a migrant dies in the U.S. and is subsequently repatriated to the
community of origin
43
. Because they have established communities on both sides of
the border, it was not uncommon for Jerez migrants to hold two vigils when a migrant
died: one prior to repatriation and one following when the body arrived to the
community of origin. Another interviewee in Los Haro, whose son died in the U.S.
from health problems, described the U.S. vigil as follows.

43
This is not to suggest that migrant networks are internally consistent. For a discussion of strained
internal dynamics and problems of collective action within “transnational communities” in the
Mexican context and beyond see Nichols (2006), Bakker (2007) and Guarnizo and Diaz (1999).
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A lot of people showed up over there. The service was held in a big chapel. It
was full of people—his friends, acquaintances, and others all closely united.
The woman who was saying the prayers said “this young man was a good
person, a good friend. It shows from all the people who are present.”

The solidarity around a migrant’s death in the U.S. was also expressed
transnationally, as it was also common for folks in the U.S. to accompany the body
back to México. Such was the case described by another man in Los Haro whose son
was murdered at his workplace in Colorado, who said that one of his son’s co-
workers traveled to attend the burial. “As well as another one of my sons who was
over there,” he explained.
This issue was further discussed in my interviews in the neighboring ranching
village of El Durazno. When discussing the comparative costs of repatriation versus
burial in the U.S., one interviewee whose twenty-one-year old brother died in Los
Angeles, California due to health complications, suggested that while the cost of a
funeral and burial in the U.S. is greater, you have to account for the collective
expenditures of the people who make the trip to México for the burial of the body.
“It’s not just the cost of repatriating the body, you have to account for the costs of the
family members who come.” When asked who followed the body from the U.S. to
México, he recounted, “Within the family it was my mother, my father, plus four of
my brothers, that is six, plus a brother-in-law, seven total.” In my interviews in the
village of El Cargadero, this pattern was particularly striking. With entire nuclear and
extended families relocated in the U.S., there were often considerable amounts of
people who made the trip for the repatriation and burial of deceased migrants. One
interviewee recalled that when his son’s father-in-law perished in the U.S., all of his
153

children came. “It must have been 15 or 20 people,” he recalled. He added, “but two
months ago, one of my sons died over there and 52 people came. Ten of my children
who reside in the U.S. came and all of their children and grandchildren… the entire
airplane was full.”
This section illustrates the important role of migrant social and family
networks in providing support for posthumous repatriations—material and moral. It
is important to note however that no matter how robust these networks, certain
migrants are barred from returning due to financial and legal constraints. In my
group interview in Los Haro, respondents said that while it was typical that people
return along with the deceased repatriate, it is usually those “who have the means to
go back,” alluding to legal reentry into the U.S. When asked whether there was
anybody who wanted to travel to México but was unable to, my respondent in El
Durazno stated,
yes of course there were. One of them was my brother’s wife who could not
leave the U.S. for legal reasons and others who were in the process of
regularizing their immigration status but had not yet attained legal permanent
residence. And also there were some nephews who could not come because
of the costs.

Another man in El Durazno whose son died in a vehicular accident in Van Nuys,
California in the early 1980s responded to the same question with a clear recollection,
“Nobody came. My in-laws could not come because some of them didn’t have
papers and others because their jobs did not permit it. Back then there was a lot of
work… that is why nobody came.”

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Río Grande
The municipality of Río Grande is comparable to Jerez in population size and
migration intensity but the families there had a qualitatively different experience with
posthumous repatriations. While Jerez is a historic migrant-sending region, Río
Grande is a much more recent source of international migration to the U.S. Among
the more recent Río Grande migrants—particularly those who were undocumented—
the process of repatriating a body proved considerably more difficult institutionally
and financially. When a migrant circuit is in formation or non-existent, migrants
have little or no established social network to rely on for support. The bureaucratic
and financial hardship of repatriating a body in such low-information contexts was
expressed in my interviews in the Río Grande villages. On top of the personal grief,
one respondent in Las Esperanzas described the process of repatriating an extended
relative as fraught with “countless sacrifices.” The surviving children of the deceased
repatriate had gone into debt to finance the repatriation and were still paying off the
costs at the time of the interview. Likewise, in Las Piedras, one respondent stated,
“two of three of my family members who have perished in the U.S. were brought
back. Sadly, my father stayed over there because we did not have the resources to
bring him back,” alluding to the financial and institutional capacity needed for
repatriation. A second respondent in Las Piedras whose son was murdered in
Houston, relied on his sister, who has a visa and happened to be visiting her daughters
in Texas at the time of the homicide, for assistance with the repatriation from the U.S.
side. One interviewee in El Fuerte put it thusly: “los mojados [the undocumented]
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have no assistance whatsoever except for that offered by all the other mojados who
reside over there.”
Even with less established migrant networks, the Río Grande respondents
relied on strategies of self-help for processing and financing the repatriations of their
loved ones. Aid for repatriation often came from relationships that had been
established in the U.S. with other individuals from their hometowns and beyond. One
woman in El Fuerte who lost two of her sons from smoke inhalation when a fire
consumed their living quarters said it was their friends in the U.S. who helped
repatriate them to their village. “Their friends took care of everything” she said,
“[My sons] had many friends, they were very friendly.” In addition to coordinating
the repatriation from the U.S. side, two friends accompanied the bodies for their
funeral in El Fuerte. In the nearby village of La Almoloya, a woman whose son was
murdered in Texas was grateful to the persons who assisted with his repatriation.
When I asked her if the aid came from individuals from La Almoloya who reside in
the U.S. she replied, “people from all over the place helped us, may God bless them.”
While Río Grande as a whole is an emerging site of mass international
migration to the U.S., I did encounter a smaller subset of long-term and established
migrants in my interviews in La Almoloya. Among the more established migrants
who had attained legal permanent resident status in the U.S., there was a qualitative
difference in the process of repatriating a deceased migrant whereby the bureaucratic
and financial burdens were considerably reduced. One woman in La Almoloya
recounted the repatriations of several migrants in her immediate and extended family.
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About her brother-in-law’s migration experiences, she said “he left for the other side
from a very young age. Initially he would migrate undocumented but he later
managed to legalize his status as part of the amnesty.” Widowed at an early age with
no children, he lived with some of his nephews in Texas, where he worked until
retiring at the age of 65. He visited La Almoloya one to two times a year for a few
weeks at a time. According to my interviewee, “when he was on his deathbed he
asked that they not leave him over there [in the U.S.]. He wanted to return even
though he had lived in the U.S. and had a mobile home there.” After all, she
concluded, “his wife, his parents, his two children are all buried here,” suggesting that
family and kinship ties also factor into migrants’ desires to return. Upon his death,
several of his nephews coordinated the repatriation. Once it was arranged, “seven of
his nephews along with their families” accompanied the body for burial in La
Almoloya.
Additionally, her son had two repatriations in his immediate family: both his
wife and his son died in the U.S. and were repatriated to La Almoloya. A long-term
migrant to the U.S., her son married a woman from his native La Almoloya and had
three children. Initially, his family lived in La Almolya while he migrated to the U.S.
seasonally. Once he regularized his status, he was able to sponsor his wife and young
children for legalization. Thereafter, the family moved to the state of Washington
where the father worked on a ranch. Tragically, the twenty-year-old son perished in a
car accident in 2003 and was repatriated to La Almoloya, as was agreed upon by both
parents. When his mother developed cancer thereafter, she expressed her wish to die
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in La Almoloya, so she could be buried close to her son. As her condition worsened,
she became confined to a hospital and was not allowed to travel to México for
medical considerations. “She said that if all she had left was a few days to live, she
wanted to return to México but she was not allowed to return.” There was no other
choice but to await her death in the U.S. and repatriate her posthumously. If this had
been an undocumented family or one with less robust migrant networks to turn to for
aid, the repatriations may have been considerably more straining financially and
emotionally. Lastly, it is also important to note that the main impetus for this
repatriate was a desire to be close to her son, suggesting that ties to kinship and place
may play out differently depending on the gender of the migrant.
Conclusion: Transnational Afterlife

This chapter has discussed the sustained and increasingly institutionalized
transnational practice of sending the bodies of deceased Mexican migrants from the
U.S. to the their hometowns in México, from the perspectives of state actors and
migrants and their families. Far from being an apolitical trans-state activity,
posthumous repatriation has profound political implications for both México and the
U.S. In contrast to Waldinger’s argument that the assimilatory pressures exerted by
U.S. society and government eventually lead to migrant settlement, this paper
suggests that such political forces and constraints have not contained the Mexican
diasporic imagination or the attendant transnational practice of repatriating the
remains of deceased migrants to be inhumed in their communities of origin. At least
for a considerable minority of migrants, who very well may have been settled in the
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U.S. for decades, cross-border loyalties live on and often materialize after death.
When the institutions of migrant incorporation are perceived as discriminatory and
punitive in the receiving context, it is no surprise that cross-border identities, loyalties
and orientations persist even among migrants who have become settled and politically
engaged in the U.S. (Félix 2008).
With regard to the Mexican state, posthumous repatriation simultaneously
represents a crisis and an opportunity. On one hand, it constitutes a potential crisis
because posthumous repatriation is a public reminder of the Mexican state’s failure to
provide livelihood for its migrant citizens who now return deceased. Or, capitalizing
on its recent “heroic migrant narrative” (Smith and Bakker 2008), posthumous
repatriation can present an opportunity for the Mexican state to canonize its deceased
repatriates like fallen soldiers into its “ghostly national imaginings” (Anderson 2006).
As Claudio Lomnitz states, the political “deployment of death and the dead” and the
“nationalization of an ironic intimacy with death is a singularly Mexican strategy”
(Lomnitz 2005).
For the scholars of “transnational life” who suggest that transnationalism may
die with the first generation of migrants, this paper suggests that the cross-border
movement of the dead, or transnational afterlife, is an important corollary. Like
other forms of cross-border activities, posthumous repatriation can perpetuate
transnational ties among surviving members of the deceased repatriates in the U.S.
and may in turn increase their interest in the public life of their communities of origin,
possibly converting an act of socio-cultural transnationalism into a pathway to
159

subsequent political transnationalism. To put it in the words of Octavio Paz, perhaps
Mexicans’ “cult in death” is at once a “cult in life” (1997).
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Chapter 6
Conclusion
Drawing on a mixed method research design, the preceding chapters have
sought answers to the following questions: What are the contextual, institutional and
individual factors that drive migrants to politically engage in their country of
residence and of origin? How does engagement in one political system impact
participation in the other? Most research in political science addresses the question of
migrant transnationalism and political engagement using surveys that capture
individual-level data on migrant attitudes and behaviors at a single point in time.
These studies often conclude that participation in one political system comes at the
expense of participation in the other (for a discussion of the negative impact of dual
nationality on migrant attachments in the U.S. see Staton et al. 2007). Instead, my
dissertation ethnographically traces transnationalism at different stages of the migrant
political life course, beginning with the “political baptism” (naturalization in the U.S.)
and ending with repatriation to México after death. By focusing on the role of
political institutions throughout this process, my research seeks to understand how a
changing political opportunity structure conditions migrant cross-border activities and
loyalties (“state-led transnationalism”), without losing sight of how migrant interests
and demands often impact those political institutions in the first place (“migrant-led
transnationalism”) (see Goldring 2002).
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As a matter of structure, this dissertation focuses first on migrant engagement
in U.S. politics and, subsequently discusses their involvement in Mexican politics.
This organizational structure reflects the assumption that a substantial portion of
Mexican migrants—having pursued their exit option from what was until recently a
corporatist single-party state—were likely not predisposed to politically engage pre-
migration. Consider the following survey marginals from the LNS. Among the
Mexican sub-sample, fully 82% of respondents reported having no political activity
or affiliation when asked “Before you came to the United States, how active were you
in a political party, a political organization, or in any other type of organizations such
as labor unions, student organizations or paramilitary organizations?” Furthermore,
less than 1% of Mexican migrants reported migrating for explicitly political reasons
(see Chapter 3). Rather than focusing specifically on the few migrants who bring a
“political suitcase” with them (see Wals forthcoming), my study design captures
those migrants who may be politically disengaged and illustrates how they can
become politically active over the course of their migration experiences.
To this end, my chapter “Becoming a (Transnational) Citizen: Mexican
Experiences of Naturalization” (see Félix 2008) uses ethnographic methods to
document the narratives of Mexican migrants who are in the process of becoming
naturalized U.S. citizens. Like earlier research on Latino Politics, this chapter finds
that Mexican migrants are mobilized to naturalize in response to an anti-immigrant
political climate in the U.S. (Pantoja et al. 2001). Unlike previous studies however,
my ethnographic research allows me to link the institutional discrimination that
162

migrants encounter throughout the process of political enfranchisement to enduring
cross-border attachments and loyalties to their country of origin post-naturalization.
Far from being an impediment to engagement, ethnic identification and attachment to
the homeland post-naturalization may drive migrant political participation on both
sides of the border, which takes us to Part II of the dissertation.
The second half of the dissertation illustrates how migrants impact economic
and political development, democratization and changing conceptualizations of
citizenship and national identity within México. My chapter “Transnational
Politicians: Migrant Deputies and Mexican Party Politics,” examines the implications
of recent political reforms allowing Mexican nationals residing in the U.S. the ability
to run for local and national office from abroad by conducting in-depth interviews
with current “migrant deputies” in the state legislature of Zacatecas, which recently
established a migrant quota, and with “migrant candidates” in the 2009 Mexican
congressional election (see also Smith and Bakker 2008; 2005; Fox 2005). With
regards to Mexican party politics, this chapter finds that each of the major parties
(PRI, PAN, PRD), as well as some of the emerging parties (PT, Convergencia),
endorse migrant political representation in discourse but few have done much to offer
candidacies or appointments for migrants within their power structures. The chapter
also discusses the institutional barriers and potential implications of constituting an
extraterritorial “migrant party,” which may be an important challenge to the
consolidation of a cartel model of politics in 21
st
century México. With regard to
migrant cross-border engagement, this study has implications for recent research on
163

dual nationals, which finds them to be less attached to the U.S. By actively
contributing to democratic engagement on both sides of the border, the migrants
profiled here emerge as exemplar transnational and, by extension, global citizens.
The final chapter provides an in-depth discussion of one of the policy priorities on the
political agendas of these “migrant deputies”: the repatriation of deceased Mexican
migrants from the U.S. to México.
Drawing on the subnational comparative method, “Posthumous
Transnationalism: Postmortem Repatriation from the U.S. to México”, connects the
role of migrants in Mexican electoral politics to the realm of cultural politics. This
chapter discusses the sustained and increasingly institutionalized transnational
practice of repatriating the bodies of deceased Mexican migrants from the U.S. to
their hometowns in México (Lestage 2008). Far from being an asocial practice,
migrants’ desire for a posthumous return and burial in their homelands is popularly
expressed in the memories, music and everyday exchanges of the Mexican diaspora.
Drawing on extensive archival research, unpublished figures from the Mexican
consulate and structured interviews with Mexican bureaucrats, this chapter documents
how the Mexican state has institutionalized this process at the transnational, national,
state and municipal levels of governance. Like other diaspora affairs, this chapter
traces how the Mexican government’s position regarding posthumous repatriations
has changed from a “policy of having no policy” to one that is highly institutionalized
(Cano and Délano 2007). By focusing on this particular transnational practice, this
164

chapter seeks to contribute to the literature on migrant transnationalism and to our
understanding of México’s evolving state-diaspora relations.
Having critically discussed several of the processes by which Mexican
migrants engage in host and home country politics, it is important to highlight the
policy implications of the findings presented in this dissertation. Migrant political
representation continues to be an intensely debated issue in academic and policy
circles on both sides of the border. In conclusion, I will discuss policy
recommendations for migrant political incorporation in the U.S. and México
respectively.
Policy Implications for Comprehensive Immigration Reform in the United States
With debate over comprehensive immigration reform simmering under the
Obama administration, a review of scholarship on international migration reveals
competing recommendations for policy makers. Both the scholarly advocates and
critics of migrant transnationalism have identified continuity and change between the
migrations of the turn of the 20
th
and 21
st
centuries. Roger Waldinger has argued that
one of the distinctive features of 21
st
Century migration is that it has unfolded under
circumstances of increased tolerance for ethnic difference in the U.S. (2003),
suggesting that today’s “is a more relaxed political and ideological environment”
(2007b: 342). According to Waldinger,
the unitary political culture of the last era of mass migration, when founding
groups dominated the state and defined political identity, has given way to
pluralism, in which ethnic succession at the highest levels of the polity is
admired as confirmation of the American creed (2007b: 345).

165

The Civil Rights revolution and concomitant forces have ushered a transition from
“melting pot to multiculturalism,” such that today’s international migrants have
greater leeway to self-identify as ethnic or “hyphenated” Americans. Moreover, this
“shift from melting-pot to multiculturalism,” Waldinger argues, “has legitimated the
expression of and organization around home country loyalties” (342). To this we add
a longer pattern of foreign policy influence on the part of migrant communities,
Waldinger posits, pointing to the ethnic lobbies of Italy, Israel and Ireland in the U.S.
Yet this putative tolerance for transnationalism in U.S. government and social
institutions is certainly not reflected in the political norms that govern the legal
process whereby migrants become naturalized citizens. In these political institutions,
rather, American identity continues to be politically construed in singular terms, with
migrants expected to sever home-country ties and loyalties. As Waldinger states,
“Although overtly racist views have disappeared from the political and cultural
mainstreams of the rich democracies, newcomers are still expected to shift
attachments from the old to the new home” (2007a: 140). While some have argued
that the today’s is a “post-racial” or “post-ethnic” U.S., Americans continue to be
adamantly “externally exclusive,” as Waldinger puts it. “National identity continues
to serve as a source of primary affiliation; as of this writing the political, external
component of American identity—the national ‘us’ versus the alien ‘them’ beyond
the borders of the U.S.—is very much alive and well” (2007b: 345).
Indeed, this is reflected in the state institutions that govern immigrant political
incorporation. To this day, the naturalization oath of allegiance archaically reads: “I
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hereby declare, on oath, that I absolutely and entirely renounce and abjure all
allegiance and fidelity to any foreign prince, potentate, state, or sovereignty, of whom
or which I have heretofore been a subject or citizen…” As Nicholas De Genova has
argued, “nativist parochialism” and attendant “hegemonic projects of ‘American’
national identity and attachment” have only intensified in the aftermath of the events
of September 11, 2001 (2007: 421). Given the transnational predispositions of
today’s migrants, any integration effort needs to reconcile American national identity
with transnational ties and solidarities, especially when these involve migrant
democratic engagement in more than one national-political setting, as this dissertation
has suggested (see Chapter 4).
Yet Waldinger grants these state institutions a great deal of credit. Waldinger
cites Alba and Nee to ague this particular point: “Most significant is the change in the
‘formal rules of state organizations (53; italics in the original)’: the ‘institutional
mechanisms extending civil rights to minorities and women have increased the cost of
discrimination…’” (2007b: 343). He goes on to state,
As opinion seems to have moved far away form the unitary view prevailing at
the time of the last mass migration, it seems unlikely that state institutions will
be used as instruments of coercive Americanization... If anything, the view
that membership in the American people and in the minority are compatible
probably entails a somewhat expanded role for the state in maintaining or
supporting ethnic differences, cultures, or languages (2007b: 358-360).

This view is starkly at odds with the bureaucratic inconsistency and institutional
discrimination that many migrants experience throughout the process of political
enfranchisement. Specifically, the very political institutions that govern the process
of migrant naturalization are seen as discriminatory, arbitrary and intimidating by
167

many “candidate” Americans, as I have argued in Chapter 2. For a migrant
incorporation effort to succeed in the 21
st
century, greater awareness of
transnationalism needs to be ingrained into the political institutions and norms that
govern the integration process (see Délano and Félix 2010). As Nicholas De Genova
has argued in a different but, nevertheless, related critique of citizenship in the post
September 11 U.S.:
In light of the myriad and diverse travesties of the Homeland Security State, it
seems urgent that critical social and political inquiry relinquish any residual
allegiance to state power as such, and thereby reinvest itself in an unrelenting
interrogation of the liberal conceits and complacencies that adhere to the very
notion of citizenship,
and here I add the qualifier of singular nation-state citizenship, “as the presumptive
framework for our practices of freedom” (2007: 440-41).
Policy Implications for Migrant Political Representation in México
With regard to migrant participation in Mexican politics, this dissertation
suggests that migrants may be strategically positioned to redress key domestic and
foreign policy issues, more so than their non-migrant political counterparts, who have
generally failed to adequately address pressing problems such as poverty, inequality
and insecurity in México. This account is at odds with the view held by many critics
of migrant political empowerment in México, who contend that migrant candidates
lack electoral viability. By now it has become abundantly clear that, at the local
level, migrants and their associations in the U.S. have proven to be contributors of
economic development in rural regions throughout México (Fox and Bada 2008).
Therefore, allowing migrants to hold key positions in local governments can
strengthen the links between municipal authorities and migrant associations abroad,
168

considering that migrant elected officials have preexisting working relationships with
hometown organizations in the U.S.—transnational connections that non-migrant
domestic actors typically lack at the local level. With regard to emerging policy
issues such as violence and insecurity, migrant candidates have the strategic
advantage of transnational/international appeal. Take the candidacy of the late
Andrés Bermúdez for instance, whose campaign garnered the attention of
international media and scholars, essentially globalizing the politics of the
municipality of Jerez (see Quinones 2001; 2007; Bakker and Smith 2003; Smith and
Bakker 2005; 2008). In the face of issues that are beyond the capacity of the local
state, the weight of the transnational/international community can be an important
policy recourse, one that domestic actors have scantly been able to invoke in México
(although see Keck and Sikkink 1998, Bob 2005 and Perla 2008 on how domestic
actors can make international appeals).
The fact that México’s government institutions have failed to adequately
incorporate and represent migrants constitutes a huge political missed opportunity.
México’s political parties are a case in point. As Chapter 4 illustrates, México’s
parties have generally failed to institutionalize a permanent space for migrants within
their power structures, typically administering migrant candidacies on an ad hoc
basis. In an interview, the Los Angeles-based zacatecano migrant Carlos Sifuentes,
who at the time was considering enlisting himself as “migrant deputy” candidate for
the summer 2010 elections, stated: “all [Mexican] parties have stifled migrant
participation. All of them, not one, not two, not three, every single party has placed
169

candados [“locks” or restrictions] that have made it difficult for migrants to run for
office.” Sifuentes emphatically stated, “Migrants should have the full right to be
governors, senators, local congressmen, federal congressmen, mayors etc… We have
all the right to do so.” When asked whether it has been migrants or parties who have
taken the initiative to reach out to one another, Sifuentes replied,
Unfortunately it has been us [migrants]. The more restrictions parties have
the better, in their eyes. When migrants try to enlist in a party’s ranks, they
send you to the back of the line. Why are we going to settle for such positions
if we have the same rights as Mexican citizens? We probably even have
greater capacity and skills than the persons in front of us.

Alluding to the idea—like many of the interviewees in this dissertation have—that
migrants are agents of political change and democratization in México, Sifuentes
stated: “What we need are individuals with the skills necessary to better manage
México’s situation, not the compadrazgos [cronyism] of yesterday. We live in a
more open and just democracy now.” When asked why he believed parties have not
prioritized migrants, Sifuentes argued: “They [parties] fear migrants because they
know we have able candidates. They fear losing access to the spoils of office that
they have controlled for so long,” suggesting that migrants represent a pool of
potential political competitors that can contribute to México’s democratization
process.
However, the struggle for migrant political incorporation is far from complete.
According to Sifuentes. “Migrants have lost their political legs. All we have [at the
state level] is two migrant deputies. We can’t call that a democracy.” Sifuentes
emphasized, “We ought to have five, or six migrant deputies per party. If that were
170

the case, even our children would be interested in contributing to México”, implying
that migrant political transnationalism can potentially outlive the first generation.
“Otherwise, we are going to lose this connection…If we had an institutionalized
space, we would not lose the migrant connection.” However, migrants will have to
continue to push for reform: “If [migrants] do not continue to fight, this is going to
fail,” Sifuentes concluded.
When asked about non-migrants in México who argue that migrants are “out
of touch” with the day-to-day reality of México and therefore should be barred from
participation in Mexican politics, Sifuentes responded vigorously: “I would gladly
debate those individuals who espouse such inaccurate views. Some migrants are not
involved in Mexican politics; they are not interested. But if they were to debate with
me, they would find that they are mistaken.” Suggesting that migrants have been
politically re-socialized in the U.S., becoming increasingly interested in U.S. and
Mexican politics, Sifuentes stated: “We like to read, we like to stay informed about
Mexican life, from abroad. We don’t need to be inside to keep abreast of domestic
affairs.” With regard to his political involvement in Mexican politics pre-migration,
Sifuentes admitted to being cynical and disengaged: “our conception of politics back
then was: ‘only those who are hand-picked by them [read the PRI party-state] will be
elected.’” Extending his newfound political outlook to the rest of his fellow migrants
in the U.S., Sifuentes argued, “But that is only because we allowed that to continue
for so long. It’s time to open our eyes. Not only Carlos Sifuentes but also the 12
million Mexicans who are in the U.S.” If México’s political parties continue to
171

endorse migrant candidacies strictly on an ad hoc basis rather than systematically and
democratically, migrants have expressed the political will to create alternative
institutions for their political representation, namely a “migrant party” (see Chapter
4). While the prospects for such a party are uncertain, what is clear is migrants’
growing discontent with existing parties and elected officials. As Sifuentes
concluded, “I’ve been following Mexican politics very closely… and I have seen the
poor performance of our elected officials… How can we expect México’s situation to
improve if we don’t have competent officials?” As the findings in this dissertation
suggest, insofar as migrants constitute an important extraterritorial constituency,
Mexican political parties ignore them at their own peril.
¿Suma Cero?
44
Migrant Transnationalism and Political Engagement in the U.S.
To date, there are competing empirical findings regarding the question of
migrant transnationalism and political engagement in the U.S. between the qualitative
and quantitative scholars of international migration. By combining both
methodological approaches, the analyses presented in the foregoing chapters strive to
allow U.S. immigration policymakers to understand how Mexican “transnational
citizens” can contribute to democratic engagement in the United States and in
México. For those who see this kind of transnational engagement as a normatively
desirable outcome, the political barriers remain high. In the U.S., national identity
and belonging continue to be politically construed in singular terms. In México,
migrants are persistently seen as undeserving or unworthy of political representation.

44
The subtitle is Spanish for zero-sum.
172

Rather than thwart migrants’ ability to engage in both national contexts—which
appears to be the dominant trend in both the U.S. and México—policymakers should
look for ways to provide institutional mechanisms and incentives to enhance such
participation.
This dissertation also has implications for Latino politics scholars who fear
that migrant engagement in México might detract from the “Latino political
endeavor” in the U.S. (see Segura 2007). By envisioning citizenship and political
engagement as zero-sum, these accounts underestimate migrants’ transnational
convictions and potential. To construe citizenship in singular national-political terms
is to reify De Genova’s related critique of citizenship, which sees it as “a distinctly
political technology for the fragmentation and alienation of human productive powers
and creative capacities” (2007: 442). In contrast to the zero-sum perspective, this
dissertation suggests that migrant activism will alternatively shift from one national
context to the other, depending on where the political stakes are higher, at both micro
and macro levels. If, for instance, the remaining villagers in the community of origin
are in need of a clinic, migrants in the U.S. will direct their collective action to
delivering that public good. Analogously, if impending legislation threatens to
criminalize immigrants in the U.S., migrants will take to the streets in droves. In
either case, our political institutions and norms should promote not hinder such
activity.
173

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Asset Metadata

Creator Félix, Adrián (author)

Core Title Transnational (after)life: migrant transnationalism and engagement in U.S. and Mexican politics

School College of Letters, Arts and Sciences

Degree Doctor of Philosophy

Degree Program Politics

Publication Date 06/30/2010

Defense Date 04/28/2010

Publisher University of Southern California (original), University of Southern California. Libraries (digital)

Tag international migration,Mexico-U.S. migration,OAI-PMH Harvest,transnationalism

Place Name Mexico (countries), USA (countries)

Language English

Contributor Electronically uploaded by the author (provenance)

Advisor Ramirez, Ricardo (committee chair), Hamilton, Nora (committee member), Hondagneu-Sotelo, Pierrette (committee member), Wong, Janelle S. (committee member)

Creator Email adrianf@ucla.edu,adrianfe@usc.edu

Permanent Link (DOI) https://doi.org/10.25549/usctheses-m3165

Unique identifier UC1174694

Identifier etd-Felix-3803 (filename),usctheses-m40 (legacy collection record id),usctheses-c127-355978 (legacy record id),usctheses-m3165 (legacy record id)

Legacy Identifier etd-Felix-3803.pdf

Dmrecord 355978

Document Type Dissertation

Rights Félix, Adrián

Type texts

Source University of Southern California (contributing entity), University of Southern California Dissertations and Theses (collection)

Repository Name Libraries, University of Southern California

Repository Location Los Angeles, California

Repository Email cisadmin@lib.usc.edu