 Eso es lo que yo quiero. The kind that kids look up at with this face. Sin que digan lo que tengo que pensar o quién tengo que ser. In my village, I'm sure. I'm going to have secretaries, me coffee and the newspaper, and jive me to important meetings. I'm going to have expensive cars. Lamborghini. Brother in San Antonio. Y que lleguemos todos bien. May God watch over our journey. And bless it with His blood. Camina! She looks at me, she holds my hand, and says, tomorrow, tomorrow at night, is when you'll be able to catch it. Not before, or the others had to pay her. But not me. She also gave me something to eat. La bestia mueres. It eats an arm. Oh, un pie. Y dormir a malado. Yo voy a usar mi cinto. Yo no me voy a dormir. Come with me chips. Or guns. Or just a robot. O la migra. And they send you back to your country. And the police rob you. Or the cartels rob you. They rape you. Por quidnapote mata. Pues por lo pronto me voy a amarrar con mi cinto. Porque se te ca... I've seen it. Wish I hadn't. Been doing this for about four years now. You know, we've received testimonies of people seeing their loved ones fall off and die because of these branches. So doc, all right? The past few years, they ride alone. I mean, those that you see that make it to the U.S. live through hell. Can't think about the odds or else you wouldn't be able to do it. You know, 40% will die as a result of murder or kidnapings. And those are the ones that never make it. They die on their way. And many, well, they try over and over again determined to get across. To me, it's simple. They're living in extreme violence and these countries more than half the population want to leave. If these dangers won't keep people away, what will? Nothing. Until the situation changes in their home countries, people will risk their lives to get away. Thank you. Great job. In power, I'm sorry, but we cannot. To the blow in our nation's demand and actions have caused on its children amnesty. This crisis is Obama-made. Look, these children do not appear to be malnourished or physically abused and they do not appear to be afraid. They have had a refugee crisis. Some people want to make this a refugee crisis so that the U.S. is forced to take these children in and resettle them. The descendants of those that are trying to shut it behind them. These children do not meet the definition of a refugee Listen, the foundation to this crisis are the markets in the U.S. for illegal drugs and the sale of guns to the armors who supply the gangs with their weapons. Now we can continue to treat the symptoms, but it would be better to implement a cure. Our war on drugs is responsible for crime and bloodshed in both Mexico and Central America. Do you remember the 80s when we funded mercenaries and sent our military into Central America? Most of the Hispanic population now in the U.S., they for the most part have not assimilated and most have not become productive members of society. Want to destroy the drug cartels? Legalize all the drugs. Maybe. We need to train these children how to fight them. They need to intervene and wipe out the narcos in Mexico and Honduras. How do we convince American citizens that their drug use, abuse causes death for not only them, foreign citizens and our all military people? Yes for those kids. Our drug prohibition is fueling the problem. The underlying problems are the weak will to escape reality through drugs and the liberal elite to enable them. That's with coming illegally to the United States undoubtedly to steal a job from a U.S. citizen that they would abandon their own kids. Give me your guns used by those gangs our purchase in the U.S. We systematically destroy the local culture in many Central American countries and our search for cheap labor as well as for drugs. In the 1980s, Robert Reagan chanted $500 million free and illegally sold weapons to Iran from the Contrast Fight against the Nicaraguan Sandinistas. Today I'm going to invoke the Statue of Liberty's offer of refuge to the poor and tired. Please wake up to the modern American welfare state. Our nation simply cannot afford to allow failed Latin American economies to export their poverty to the United States. The CIA orchestrated and invaded 200,000 deaths. There's a nasty bit of common playing out here and we as a nation have sins to account for. We are not innocent. Look, it's easy to make humanitarian gestures especially if one is not paying a personal price. We have enough gang problems in the 1990s. Even though those people pass right through that country and right here. Why? Because Mexico profits on the transit of illegals but makes it absolutely clear that undocumented Central Americans will not be allowed to stay in Mexico. Come on. These children are our future doctors. Children will be our future doctors and teachers. 100 years ago you could do exactly what these children are doing today. Fully a horrible situation, arrive on our border and come into the United States. It is at least as dangerous with all the gangs and drugs in East LA where many of these children are going to end up anyway. This is economic immigration illegal to steal our jobs. I am ashamed small issue of children from Central America fleeing across our southern border on political terms rather than humanitarian ones. Maybe you don't what ancestors used to come here legally. Actually our immigration laws were changed in the 1920s by the people who did not like the millions of Jews and Italians that crowded into New York City. I mean many of our ancestors would be turned away today. It is a real tragedy that many of the great grandchildren of the Ellis Island immigrants have contributed so much to America. Turn their back on the nation of immigrants that welcome their ancestors and attack these children even as they eat bagels and pizza. What these children are doing is no different from what our ancestors did. New York Times. July 13th, 2014. Comments from Sonya Nasaria's article The Children of the Drug Wars. A refugee crisis, not an immigration crisis. Disenforcement. ICE. Come this way. A Mexican, anyone appearing to be a child will receive mandated TV Protection Reauthorization Act. Screening. Once she, he is determined to be an unaccompanied child migrant she, he must be transferred to an office of refugee resettlement. All within 72 hours. Set a security setting possible and verification is required. Fill this paper up. And this. And this. And this. And this. Sister, brother, aunt, uncle, cousin, family friend. No boyfriends or girlfriends. There are seven different types of O-R-R facilities but over 80% of them are simple shelters with little ability to cater to special needs. Dad, mom. And you're sponsored. You'll be released only to the proper sponsor. The primary goal of the staff is to reunify the child, youth, with family. The children fit to almost a year depending on the complexity and the history of the case. Most take three to six weeks. And over 80% of the youth will be reunified in the U.S. Less than 10% will be deported. Staff, sirs. Immigration cases. If they do not attend them. In his hands. So this can only be interviewed very carefully, especially my mother. It depated towards the money my family has saved for many years. The connection man will be a passport. Seventeen. Fort. In the passport. I am 22. I look older than 17. I flew from Sudah, Brazil. Then when I swelled, we crossed the Amuzon River here. And Amukonda slid right by me. That was one of the worst moments I had. They are 17 feet long to the borders of Colombia. There were different connection men. I could always tell when a connection man I needed was me. They look a certain way, you know. Very tired but strong and with eyes. They seem to have eyes all around their head. In Colombia, I spent 13 hours on a boat. There were 20 of us and I hate boats. We made it into a Panama and spent two days there crossing the jungle. From Panama, we made it into Costa Rica, Nicaragua, Honduras, Guatemala. I thought it would never end. So many of us just marching, just going and going through land and water, halting, humid, the leaves, the size of cars. Hang my shirt to dry on a branch. And in the morning, it would be more wet than before. The very different this land might. Many asked us what our destination was. We said, the U.S. They let us go. They did not want us to stay. Connection men all along the way. Altogether, it cost my family $15,000. In Tijuana, I could see the U.S. It was a dream to be so close to have traveled so far. It's a God post. It moved close to me. I felt like I was floating. It was floating towards me. Everything my family hoped for, right there. I stepped across into the United States. I was still that same person, but I think I expected to turn into a prince at that moment. Something like that, something magical. I turned myself into Boda Patul and I told them I was 17. The officers, they questioned me and took me to the office of a refugee and resettled. It was all very serious with them. They all looked bored and insidious. But I smiled. I was so happy. They found a shelter in San Diego that had a bed for me. I stayed there for a few weeks. I met young men like me, but I was the one who traveled for them, they couldn't believe it. They contacted my uncle Jamal, who lives in Chicago. Uncle Jamal came to get me. I waited for my twin sister, Sahar, who followed three weeks after I left. My uncle Jamal told me she drowned in Colombia. At Anemulani it means fast, fun, sweet, carry on with me. I'm going to take care of your queen. We left to defend ourselves. We took everything we had. We walked. Carreteras Nuevo Laredo Reynosa, Tu Mariano Matamoros. That's where the migras put us up. I lost him down to 16 September. Carretera, Camargo Ensenada, Camargo Olmos, Santa Cruz Ensenada, and finally to South Pete Diaz Avenue. After over 15 hours of non-stop walking, I hid in a trunk under a mound of earth with only a straw to help me breathe and enter into the United States. I crossed from Nogales to Arizona. I didn't see light for 16 days. It took us to shower. The sun came through the windows and it stung our eyes. It is nicer than where I was last. We cry all night. I'm used to it. One night, one of the teachers, well, we call them teachers, but they're like prison guards, not teachers. Really? She's saying, why are you mess with us? One night, one of them came around and told us they're going to huge earthquake in all of Central America. What? We cried all night. They do that to me. I'll punch them. No, you won't. Soy de Andores. I am from Fuerta de Cajuta, El Salvador, Chicago. Chicago, Guatemala. Aquí estamos. I can't believe that I'm here. I miss my sabuelos. I miss my mother and brothers. I'm going to see my mother for the first time since I was two. She's going to kiss my face. I don't know when I'll see mine again, but I'll find a way. I'll find a way to bring them. I miss my best friend Julieta and my family, of course. But you'll see. We'll be like sisters here for a little while at least. How long will we be here? And before they come, yes. It depends. Maybe a few days. Maybe a month. I've never been outside my garage. It's a small village by the water. One day, our mayor found a head, a severed head on his horse tail. That was it. My mother packed my things the next day. I've seen worse than that. We get one call each day. One to our family back home and one to our family here in the U.S. Make sure you tell your family that you're eating well and being treated well. Make sure you say that. What do we do here? The social workers check on us. We play. We have lessons like to learn English. I learned how to be in an interview. Some girls come and do games with us. They are nice. They go to college in the shelter. I like this one game where we list what we hope for the future and draw it. They say it is a life map. Hurt you? Not here, no. We're safe here. How do you know that? You've got faith. We haven't been through all of this for nothing. God is watching over us. Not always. Cook looked at me. Does he sleep here? No, he doesn't and he wouldn't hurt you. I saw something. I can't stop thinking of it. You have to leave it behind. Forget what you've seen. Look at that. I know, but... No, it's fascinating. She was very weak and I helped her. She was so... After she gave birth, her baby away. What do you mean? Who did? They can't do that. The guards. The father came and just took the baby. I was behind the glass of the detention room when it happened, so I couldn't reach her, but... I saw it all. The father didn't even... Look at her. She took the baby in his arms and walked away like it was a loaf of bread. How did you know it was the father? She told me earlier that her husband was coming to get her back. Something must have happened. The night the baby was taken, I heard screams howling all night long, and suddenly it was very quiet. We're here. We're here now. You come from one of the worlds deadliest cities, San Pedro Sula Andores. It's like a war there. You can't walk in the street without feeling scared. Anything can happen. The gangs, they threatened me and my whole family. They ordered me to join and they told my family that they would kill all of us if I didn't obey. My friend, Julieta, well, she had the same problem as me and she chose to join. I made her a promise. We promised each other that we'd both get jumped together. We were both so scared and... it was a way of getting through it like a team. But I left her. I never showed up. My family, they insisted that I leave. They quickly got the money together. It was all the money they had saved. And my relatives saved too. I couldn't let on that I was leaving. If anyone found out, well, then that would be it. It happened to my cousin, Jorge. They split his throat at school because somebody let out that he was going to leave the gang. I had to keep quiet. We had to keep quiet even to Julieta. I wanted to stay and just disobey my parents. A part of me wanted to go through with it, you know? I never saw Julieta before I left. I don't know what happened. She's okay. And I know she needs me for what I did. And I do too. But I can never go back. If they send me back, well, then I'd be like my cousin, Jorge. I can do it! Everything in English, please. I was very bad. I liked it. English, boys. That's good. I don't like cilantro. What do you mean, cilantro? Cilantro, huh? The student. This is the first class. Primera clase. Okay? Coming to your new class. Hello. What is your name? Your next. Adrián. Que voy dejame. My name is Adrián. Good. Very good. And then you would say... ¡Somaricha! ¡Somaricha! Stop, boys! Stop it. Adrián, you would say... I am new to this school. Excellent. Very good, Adrián. Very good. Well, no one is going to let you enter like that. Very good. Ian. I first met Adrián when he was 17 years old. He was living in a shelter in San Francisco. Adrián had left an abusive father, a crack addict mother, and survived on what little he sold from a stall in Guatemala City's colonial district. The stall, though, was shot at by gangs when he had refused to give them a cut. He had witnessed robberies, stabbings, shootings, and had had enough. So he took a bus to the Mexico-Guatemala City border. There, he crossed the Suchate River by inner tube. Then he stole a bike and pedaled to the city of Tapachula. He walked 150 miles north. 150 miles north, making sure not to go near La Rosera. La Rosera, that's the scrub land known for migraine kidnappings and assaults, right? Yeah. I slept on the doorstep of a church and I saw that the migraine shelter had burned to the ground. Do you have any gum? I think so. Oh, so Adrián, what happened next? Well, in the town of Arriaga, I got our la vestia. Look, hadn't you heard the horror stories? What, the people got their body parts sliced off? They slipped while trying to jump on the boxcars? Or fell off while sleeping? Yeah, yeah, I heard it right. I knew the stories about the guys to look out for, time on with machetes and guns. The kidnap was sent by the gangs. Oh, and the Mexican police. And none of that scared you? It's not even conceivable. How long were you on the train? I rode into Guadalajara. Christmas night, I slept on a sidewalk. Got back on, rode into Monterrey. Were they attacking with a machete because I'm gay? Surprised? Kind of hard to surprise me. But the green nail polish was a clue. Kelly. Oh, excuse me, Kelly green nail polish. So you were attacked and... I ran. I ran and ran and ran until my feet were bleeding. That was the worst. Like for anything, shoes, food, clothes, I sold. I sold for that very good. I kept going, but I northed it. I northed it. Northed to the border at Nuevo Laredo. Yeah, and when I couldn't get across, I moved backwards. Backwards? 450 miles south to San Luis Pueblo, see? 200 miles west to Guadalajara before heading another thousand miles... Wait a minute, wait a minute, what? I mean, one way's blocked, you go around and you find another. I mean, what was I going to do? Just turn back? No, I'd come too far. You went north. To the son of that desert? I made it. But they caught me right away. But at least the shooters didn't get me. Shooters? Yeah. You know, some on the U.S. I'd try and shoot us while we're crossing. Some kind of game. They didn't get me, though. Because you're invisible. Okay, okay. So Adrianne, tell me, what's life like for you here? Gets the shelters to my stuff, all right? I hate them. Well, do you have any friends? I'm not here to make friends. All right, so what are you here for then? I don't know. Soon I'll be old enough to live on my own. School's boring, you know, but I guess, you know, has some moments. Any plans after that? I want to go to cosmetology school. Good, good, that's good, Adrianne. Um, just one last question I kind of have to ask. Adrianne, what are those bruises that I see on your neck? Those aren't bruises. They're hickeys. So this, this is what you came here for, the American Dream. I'm not here for the American Dream. I just, I just wanted to get far away. According to the reports, your government is studying the possibility of economic and military support and assistance to the present government. The government junta and especially the armed forces and security forces have resorted to repressive violence, producing a total of deaths and injuries much greater than under the previous military regime. The junta and the Christian democrats do not govern the country. That political power is in the hands of unscrupulous military officers who know only how to repress people and favor the interests of the Salvadoran olivarchy. I hope that your religious sentiments and your feelings for the defense of human rights will move you to accept my petition. Thus avoiding greater bloodshed in this suffering country. Capítulo 4, aquí. Chapter 4, here. Bullshit. Who is your father? I've already said. Yes, yes, you've said a businessman, but that's a lie. We all know he's no businessman. Please, oh, God, please, listen. I really don't know why you're here or what you want. Who is your father? If you want money. We don't want your blood money. Listen, you've made a mistake. No, no, no, we most certainly did not. I'll give you anything you want. Who is he? Please. Who is your father? God, all right. Before he was a businessman and a general, he was a general a very long time. Yes, he was. A Salvadoran general. Is that all you wanted? Okay, so can I leave now? Large Bishop Romero. Who was he? I don't know. I guess a martyr. You know who killed him? Please, I'm an American. Salvadoran. I was born here. I don't know. I don't know or you don't want to know. That general, the one who ordered Romero's assassination, killed tens of thousands of innocent people. Seventy-five thousand people, Salvadorans, died in that war. What does that have to do with me? Us avoiding greater bloodshed. Us avoiding greater bloodshed in this suffering country. On March 24th, 1980, one month after writing this letter, Romero is assassinated while giving mass. To this day, the person who gave orders is walking freely. As is the general who ordered the death of four American knights. And the general who murdered 200 mostly women and children gathered peacefully in a plaza on San Salvador. And hundreds and thousands of others. That's just El Salvador. I'm innocent. Not with that last name. You're saying that I'm responsible for some atrocity that I never knew about, that my father committed? That's ridiculous. Hey, Nouris, I'm not excusing you from responsibility. That war happened before I was so formed. We're not responsible. Who is? Those people. Those killers. Get them, not me. I mean, why do you care so much? It was ages ago. We want you to publicly condemn your father and the crimes he committed. We want an apology. I am not my father. What those people did over 35 years ago has nothing to do with me. Who I am, what I do now, that letter was to Jimmy Carter. Why don't you hunt him down, torture him? What about the people who elected Jimmy Carter? Why don't you kill all of them? And Reagan's family, how about that? We want justice. Oh, that's what this is. This is justice. You can't decide to pass down crimes like this from one generation to another like this. I'm not in the States. I've lived a regular life, normal American life. I don't even speak Spanish. Why should I be blamed for the things that he did? Why should I? I'm my own man. I've got my own dreams. Clean slate. My life is a clean slate. You're asking me to turn my back on everything I've known? How can I do that? What are you going to do to me if I don't? Are you going to kill me? How different are you then? It wasn't me. I didn't do anything. I'm innocent. I didn't do anything. I didn't do anything. I thought you were something. You were something, gal. I thought he would be here to help us. You said that he was the only one that we could trust, that he knew the way that nothing could go wrong. I'm always waiting now. What do we do? We've been lied to. Nothing my mother's waiting for me. She's worried. I can't go back. They'll kill me. I don't stand a chance out here. Oh man, what are we going to do? How could I have been so stupid? He abandoned us here. Took what he needed and left us to die. No. He's lost in a torment. He refuses to follow rules or orders. He makes up his own rules and he gives orders. He's a fighter. He's a survivor. He's hungry. He's thirsty. He's poor. He's alone. He's cocky. He's a foreigner. He's a citizen. He's a liar. He's a recipient. He's a snake. He's an eagle. He's sitting in the corner on the floor. When he calls I tell him I'm fine. I can feel their breath on my neck during the phone call. They laugh and take his money. Money that's meant for my comfort, for my school, for my protection. Nightmares I can't get away from. Things I did. I hide. And it's safe here but I can't stay. The priest says that all will be forgiven but is this kindness real? I can't stay. I have to run. I have to get away. The shed he raised high above me. My mother screams. My baby sister crying. Behind me. He was always the better runner but his scarf got caught on top of the wire fence. His eyes strayed towards me. They hold me back. I can't help. They laugh at him swinging. My face. He was singing in his car. Warehouse of metal and darkness. Sweat pouring over me for long hours. Being tossed around like a rag. No more. I'm 16. And I'm ready to take on the most terrifying adversary. I am ready to sacrifice myself for others. I know how to fight. I know how to persevere. I can take it. I can take anything. I am backed into a corner, caught between wars, fighting my way out. I raise myself up all on my own. I am a secret. Atheist. Hungry. Resilient. Intelligent. Generous. Faithful. In my class, ahead of the pack, ready to gamble it all. Somos persistentes. We're trustful. We're unstoppable. We are leader. We are tough. Tenemos visión. We are unbeatable. Somos el futuro. We are the future. Tenemos grandes sueños. El futuro.