"When I left New York for Madrid, starting a new life with my then boyfriend, I was definitely looking at the world through rose-tinted glasses. Despite being the daughter of migrants from the Caribbean, it seemed like a relatively easy choice to settle into undocumented status once my tourist visa expired, all in the name of love and adventure. I understood that my US passport conferred many privileges that would buoy me."
"I met the eyes of an officer who demanded to see identification. Had I not visited a lawyer the day before, who advised me never to speak in Spanish to the police, and had I not been a young mixed-race woman with skin nowhere near as dark as the men being rounded up around me, then the rich Spanish life I have grown into starting a family here, sitting on the village school's PTA, swapping baked goods with my neighbours might never have existed."
"What troubles me is that as I saved my own hide by speaking to the police officer in perfect English she assumed I was a university student I have no idea what became of the men who were rounded up. I was too spooked to look back as I walked away from the encounter. The difference between their passports and mine meant everything, then as it does now not least back in my native US."
I left New York for Madrid and settled into undocumented status after my tourist visa expired, drawn by love and adventure despite Caribbean migrant family roots. After a painful breakup I found myself isolated and wandered into a police raid on manteros selling counterfeit handbags. A prior lawyer's advice to speak only English, and my lighter mixed-race skin, likely spared me detention while darker men were rounded up. I fled the scene too shaken to learn their fate. Memories resurfaced when Pedro Sánchez's government announced a plan to regularise 500,000 undocumented people, offering relief and reduced deportation fears.
Read at www.theguardian.com
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