PUSH BACK:

U.S. DEPORTATION POLICY AND THE REINCORPORATION OF

INVOLUNTARY RETURN MIGRANTS IN MEXICO∗
Christine Wheatley
Department of Sociology
The University of Texas at Austin

Introduction
Throughout its history, the United-States/Mexico migration system has
been characterized by temporary, cyclical migration patterns and a tradi-
tion of voluntary return migration to Mexico (Durand and Malone 2002;
Roberts 1995). However, since the 1990s, we have witnessed a dramatic
increase in both permanent settlement of Mexican nationals in the United
States and deportations of Mexican nationals from the U.S. These dual
trends suggest that deportees now constitute a much larger proportion
of total return migration to Mexico than in previous decades (Masferrer
and Roberts 2009). The 1996 passage of the Illegal Immigration Reform
and Individual Responsibility Act (IIRIRA) has made it significantly eas-
ier to deport non-U.S. citizens (see Hagan, Eschbach and Rodríguez 2008;
Rodríguez and Hagan 2004) and accounts for the nearly ten-fold increase
in deportations since its passage, with Mexican nationals representing
the vast majority of deportations. Of the 387,000 persons deported in
2010, 282,510 were Mexican nationals, representing 73 percent of the total
number of deportations (U.S. Department of Homeland Security [USDHS]
2011).
Despite these trends, few studies have focused on deportation to
Mexico and the impacts it has on Mexican deportees—defined here as
Mexican nationals who return to Mexico due to formal deportation (having
undergone a deportation hearing) from the United States. A vast body of
literature theorizes and documents causes and processes of out-migration
from Mexico to the U.S., (see, for example, Bean, Edmonston, and Passel
1990; Cornelius 1978; Hernandez-Leon 2008; Massey et al. 1987; Massey
and Zenteno 1999) as well as processes of incorporation of immigrants in
the U.S. (see for example, Hagan 1994; Portes and Rumbaut 1994; Portes

∗ I gratefully acknowledge support from the Andrew W. Mellon Foundation Graduate

Research Fellowship in Latin American Sociology for this research. I thank researchers at
the Centro de Investigaciones y Estudios Superiores en Anthropological Social (CIESAS)
Occidente in Guadalajara, Jalisco, Mexico, particularly Agustín Escobar Latapí, Magdalena
Villarreal Martínez, and José de Jesús Hernández López, for their generous support and
assistance in setting up the field research. I also thank the anonymous reviewers for their
helpful comments and suggestions .


C 2011 Southeastern Council on Latin American Studies and Wiley Periodicals, Inc. 35
The Latin Americanist, December 2011

and Zhou 1993; Rumbaut 1994, 1997). However, the existing literature on
processes of return migration to Mexico is much smaller by comparison
(see Colby 1998; Lindstrom 1996; Orrenius 1999; Reyes 1997) and we know
very little about involuntary return migration via deportation (for excep-
tions, see Hagan, Eschbach and Rodríguez 2008; Rodríguez and Hagan
2004; Noguera 1999), reasons for return, and how different types of return
(voluntary or involuntary) might differentially impact the character of
returnees’ social and economic reincorporation in their home country upon
return. This study examines the character of social and economic reincor-
poration, or readjustment, for deportees living in Mexico again, and the
degree to which this readjustment is similar to, or different from, that of
voluntary returnees—Mexican nationals who returned to Mexico by their
own volition, without interference by U.S. Border Patrol or Immigration
and Customs Enforcement (ICE). Ethnographic techniques, including in-
depth interviews and participant observation, were used to collect data
in four communities in the central Mexican state of Jalisco, a state with a
long history of predominantly cyclical migration to the U.S. and back. This
study contributes to a better understanding of the challenges of readjust-
ment that deportees face as they return to their home country, communi-
ties, and families in an unplanned, and usually unwanted, manner, and
work to reestablish and strengthen networks, seek out economic opportu-
nities, and make plans for the future. Further, by systematically comparing
recently returned, undocumented deportees and voluntary returnees, the
study sheds light on the similarities and differences between voluntary
and involuntary return, enhancing our understanding of the implications
of return migration for migrants, who, in turn, have impacts on their fami-
lies on both sides of the border, as well as on local and national institutions
in Mexico and the U.S.

Background
Migration between Mexico and the U.S. has a long history, tracing back
to the nineteenth century, and has vacillated for more than a century, as
political and economic conditions in both countries have served to en-
courage or discourage migration in different periods (Massey et al. 1987).
Currently, approximately 12 million Mexican nationals reside in the U.S.,
representing close to one-third of the total 36.7 million foreign-born pop-
ulation (U.S. Census Bureau 2011). Approximately 6.5 million Mexican
nationals residing in the U.S. are undocumented, representing 58 percent
of the total undocumented immigrant population, which is estimated at
11.2 million (Pew Hispanic Center 2011).
As migration between Mexico and the U.S. has ebbed and flowed since
the nineteenth century, so have U.S. immigration policies, oscillating be-
tween “recruitment and restriction, acceptance and exclusion” (Massey,
Durand, and Malone 2002: 8). The two most recent immigration reform
bills, the 1986 Immigration Reform and Control Act (IRCA) and the 1996
IIRIRA demonstrate this oscillation. The overarching objective of the IRCA

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 Wheatley

was to reduce the flow and stock of undocumented immigrants through

several means, the most important of which was the legalization provi-
sion, which allowed undocumented immigrants residing in the U.S. since
before January 1, 1982 to apply for legal residence. This was particularly
significant because the IRCA also contained a family reunification provi-
sion which allowed the legalized migrants to sponsor family members to
join them in the U.S. This led to the legalization of over 2 million formerly
undocumented Mexican nationals and increased rights of immigrants and
their families. Additionally, the rate of legal immigration greatly increased
to 11.0 per 1,000 by 1991 (exceeding the high rates during the 1920s) and
the number of Border Patrol apprehensions declined in the years imme-
diately after the IRCA’s passage (Massey, Durand, and Malone 2002). The
family reunification provision in IRCA is largely attributed to the increase
in permanent settlement following its passage. The increasingly transna-
tional character of Mexican migration also contributes to this trend, as the
social networks of transnational migrants have made it easier for migrants
to settle permanently (Roberts, Frank, and Lozano-Ascencio1999).
In sharp contrast to IRCA, the 1996 IIRIRA was highly exclusionary,
marking a turning point in the U.S. approach to migration management
and control. The law made it much easier to deport non-citizens by in-
creasing the number of categories of non-citizens subject to detention
and deportation, or removal, to include non-citizens who hold tempo-
rary visas and green cards, along with those without legal documents. The
U.S. Department of Homeland Security (DHS) refers to deportations as
“removals”, defining them as “the compulsory and confirmed movement
of an inadmissible or deportable alien out of the United States based on
an order of removal. An alien who is removed has administrative or crim-
inal consequences placed on subsequent reentry owing to the fact of the
removal” (USDHS 2008). IIRIRA also increased the number of offenses for
which immigrants can be deported from three (murder, drug trafficking,
and weapons trafficking) to 28 distinct offenses. The increase in the number
of deportable offenses is also retroactive so that crimes committed before
1996 by residents became cause for removal, even if prison sentences had
been completed (Hagan, Eschbach, and Rodríguez 2008).
IIRIRA also increased the income-requirements to sponsor an im-
migrant, reduced the discretionary power of immigration judges, and
increased the resources for border enforcement (Rodríguez and Hagan
2004). Additionally, it included a provision for “expedited removal” of
immigrants who reach the border without proper documentation, a pro-
cedure lacking judicial review but still considered a formal deportation.
Moreover, a deported migrant can be barred from reentry into the U.S.
from 5 years to life.
U.S. deportation rates increased dramatically after the implementation
of IIRIRA in 1997. Such rates remained fairly constant for most of the
twentieth century, around 20,000 removals per year from 1900 to 1990.
Deportations slowly began to rise in 1990, reaching 40,000 in 1995. Then,

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in 1997, deportations spiked to 180,000 per year until 2005, when they
continued to rise again to 358,886 in 2008 (USDHS 2004, 2008; Hagan,
Eschbach, and Rodríguez 2008), reaching 393,289 in 2009, a seventh con-
secutive record high (USDHS 2010). 2010 shows a slight decline to 387,000
deportations (USDHS 2011).
Though IIRIRA purported to target violent offenders for deporta-
tion, nonviolent offenses and immigration violations (redefined as aggra-
vated felonies) represent the majority of deportable crimes under IIRIRA
(Dingeman and Rumbaut 2010). Residing in the U.S. without legal docu-
ments is not considered a criminal violation, but rather, a civil one, and is
deportable offense under IIRIRA. In 2010, 43 percent of the total number of
persons deported were convicted criminal aliens, 18 percent of which were
for immigration-related offenses (such as illegal reentry and false claims
to citizenship). Approximately 43 percent of the deportations of Mexican
nationals in 2010 were criminal (USDHS 2011).
Together, the IRCA and IIRIRA have had dramatic, if contradictory, im-
pacts on Mexican migration flows. While IRCA contributed to an increase
in permanent settlement through amnesty and family reunification, the
IIRIRA has done so by deterring immigrants residing in the U.S. from re-
turning to Mexico. At the same time that IIRIRA has encouraged increased
permanent settlement, it also is increasing the flow of involuntary return
migration to Mexico. This suggests that IIRIRA has decreased the volun-
tary return migration and increased the involuntary return migration to
Mexico, altering the overarching composition of return flows (Masferrer
and Roberts 2009).
This change to the composition in return migration flows to Mexico
represents one of three key dimensions of the increase in involuntary
return migration to Mexico. A second dimension is based on recent data
suggesting that many deportees are not returning to their communities
of origin, but rather, are resettling in other, more urban parts of Mexico
(Masferrer and Roberts 2009). Depending on how large this trend is—and
to what extent it increases—we may be witnessing a new migration flow,
composed of deportees, that extends from rural communities in Mexico
to metropolitan areas in the U.S. to metropolitan areas in Mexico. Third,
the resettlement process of deportees is likely to be different than for
voluntary returnees, as deportees may experience unique challenges to
successful reincorporation, both into their communities of origin and into
Mexican society as a whole (Masferrer and Roberts 2009).
While DHS provides detailed figures on the number of non-citizens
formally deported, it does not provide much additional information. Even
basic demographic data, such as age and sex, are not available to the
public. Because of the land border, Mexican nationals are repatriated to
Mexico at various points along the border, and sometimes to the interior,
and information is limited on where they are repatriated. El Salvadorians,
for example, are repatriated to the one international airport in the country
and can be tracked more easily (Hagan, Eschbach, and Rodríguez 2008).

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So while we know that a record number of Mexican nationals have been

deported in recent years we do not know much about who they are, where
they are deported to, nor what happens to them after deportation. To bet-
ter understand the circumstances and consequences of increased involun-
tary migration to Mexico, I undertook fieldwork in communities of origin
of returnees in the state of Jalisco, Mexico comparing the experiences of
reincorporation between deportees and voluntary returnees in order to an-
swer two primary questions. First, how do voluntary returnees and deportees
reincorporate themselves into Mexican society both socially and economically?
Secondly, to what extent, and in which ways, does the reincorporation process
differ for voluntary returnees and deportees?

Methods
I conducted fieldwork for six weeks during the months of June and
July 2010 in four research sites in the state of Jalisco, Mexico: Guadalajara,
Tepatitlán de Morelos (Tepa), San Ignacio Cerro Gordo (San Ignacio), and
San Pedro Itzican (San Pedro) (see Figure 1). Using snowball sampling, as-
sisted by community members and local government officials, I conducted
in-depth, semi-structured interviews with 12 deportees and 12 voluntary
returnees and with an additional 17 non-migrant informants (including
family members of returnees, government officials, and researchers) in
the four sites.
Deportees represent my population of interest. However, to provide
a meaningful basis for comparison to clarify the character of social and
economic reincorporation for deportees, I also interviewed voluntary
returnees. Both deportees and voluntary returnees may have one of the
three following legal statuses: temporary visa, green card, or undocu-
mented. All respondents were undocumented, meaning that during their
last trip to the U.S., they did not have legal documents to reside there.
While I interviewed a total of 35 return migrants, for the purposes of this
paper I created a sub-sample of undocumented, male returnees between
the ages of 18–45 who returned to Mexico within approximately ten years.
I did so in order to “control” for legal status, sex, and age, and length of
stay in the U.S. to allow for more meaningful comparisons. Female depor-
tees are smaller in number, making it difficult to obtain a large enough
sample to compare to male deportees. Most deportees were in their 20s
or early 30s, while most voluntary returnees ranged from 25 to 40. I lim-
ited my sample to returnees who left the U.S. in the last 5 to 10 years, as
I am particularly interested in the processes of reincorporation immedi-
ately following return but also wanted to investigate how length of stay
in the U.S. affected reincorporation. By choosing communities of origin—
hometowns of returnees—as the research sites, the sample of returnees
does not include those who relocated elsewhere in Mexico or those who
left the country again. I focused on communities of origin because I sus-
pected that many deportees will return home first, where their networks
are likely strongest, even if they eventually relocate elsewhere. I included

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Figure 1.

a diversity of research sites in order to investigate the degree to which

the local economy and size of town impact the character of social and
economic reincorporation of returnees.
Due to the sensitive and personal nature of the issue of deportation, I
drew on ethnographic techniques, which can produce greater rapport and

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trust with respondents than questionnaires generally allow. I conducted

in-depth interviews and engaged in participant observation, immersing
myself in the social life of the communities, though my stays were short,
between one and two weeks in each site. Interviews, which I conducted
in Spanish, lasted two hours on average, but ranged from 30 minutes to
three hours, allowing for the collection of rich, contextualized data about
the respondent’s experience of readjustment. Most interviews were audio
recorded but only when permitted, which I then transcribed and translated
to English.
Stays with families of migrants in San Pedro and San Ignacio allowed
for particularly rich opportunities for participant observation. I kept a field
journal where I recorded observations and information from interviews
when possible. Interviews were semi-structured and unscripted, meaning
that I had a number of broad areas I wanted to discuss but did not have
an interview guide with me, nor did I take notes.
Interviews usually occurred in the respondent’s home or place of busi-
ness, but on a few occasions occurred in public places, such as a restaurant
or park, or in a relative’s home. Conversations were casual, and I largely
let respondents lead the conversation in order to help the respondent feel
comfortable and to build rapport. Questions focused on the reasons for re-
turn (criminal violation, if any); details of the process of return (including
whether they were detained or not); decisions on resettlement location in
Mexico; descriptions of networks and family ties in Mexico and in the U.S.;
employment and financial circumstances; remittance patterns; generally
how life is living back in Mexico; challenges they faced upon returning.
I asked about their plans for the future, namely, whether they plan to
permanently reside in their current location or move elsewhere in Mexico
or return to the U.S. I also asked about their experiences of migration to
the U.S., including the crossing, networks, relationships, employment, and
residence.

Background on Research Sites

I undertook fieldwork in the central-western state of Jalisco, Mexico,
which has a long tradition of sending migrants to the U.S. While many
migrants from this region are documented and thus, less likely to be de-
ported, Jalisco also sends many undocumented migrants to the U.S., and
is a logical place to locate deportees, who tend to be undocumented.

Guadalajara (pop. 1.5 million)

I was provided entry to one colonia, or settlement/suburb, of Guadala-
jara by a researcher at CIESAS (Centro de Investigaciones y Estudios Superi-
ores en Anthropologia Social; Center for Research and Higher Studies in So-
cial Anthropology) called Colonia Constitución (Consti), which is located
on the north side of the city. This researcher, who is from Consti, gave
me a walking tour of the colonia and introduced me to various extended

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family members who had recently returned from the U.S. Consti is consid-
ered a “northern hub” of Guadalajara and is the site of a lot of commercial
activity which provides economic opportunities for its residents. Virtu-
ally all migrants from this neighborhood block migrate to Rockford (and
Chicago), IL.

Tepatitlán de Morelos (pop. 120,000)

Located in Los Altos de Jalisco, Tepatitlán de Morelos (Tepa) is approx-
imately one hour by car from Guadalajara. Tepa bustles with economic
activity, particularly in agricultural goods, as it is the largest producer of
eggs in Mexico, and one of the largest producers of red meat and pork. It
also has a number of tequila distilleries. Given this, it receives a substantial
number of labor migrants from southern Mexico, particularly Oaxaca and
Chiapas. The majority of returnees with whom I spoke migrated to Los
Angeles, CA.

San Ignacio Cerro Gordo (pop. 20,000)

Also located in Los Altos de Jalisco, San Ignacio is approximately two
hours from Guadalajara by car, situated between Tepa and Arandas. Ap-
proximately three years ago, San Ignacio ceased as a delegación, or satellite,
of Arandas and became its own municipality. Its largest industry is ladrillo,
or earthen bricks, which it makes and sells across central Mexico. It also
has a number of tequila distilleries. Virtually all migrants in San Ignacio
migrate to Detroit, MI. Respondents told me that a “sister” town composed
of over 2,000 of residents of San Ignacio can be found in Detroit.

San Pedro Itzican (pop. 5,000)

Located on the north side of Lake Chapala, east of the town of Chapala,
San Pedro Itzican (San Pedro) is about 2 hours from Guadalajara by car and
is a delegación of the municipality of Poncitlán. San Pedro has very little
commercial activity: fishing and chayote, a member of the gourd family
that is similar to a squash and its one cash crop, form the backbone of the
economy here. The vast majority of returnees with whom I spoke migrated
to Ontario, CA and the region outside Los Angeles, CA.
Findings
The findings of this study suggest that while important similarities
exist between voluntary and involuntary return, deportees appear to
occupy a meaningfully distinctive social category in communities of ori-
gin (see Table 1). The findings suggest that return migrants, regardless of
type of return, maintain strong transnational ties with parents but weaker
ties with non-relatives in communities of origin. Compared to voluntary
returnees, deportees appear to experience greater stigma associated with
the nature of their return in their hometowns, tend to report more dimin-
ished emotional and psychological well-being upon return, and return
with greater financial insecurity.

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Similarities between Voluntary and Involuntary Return

Social Networks
Most of the single returnees returned to live with parents, at least
initially. Married returnees generally had their own homes and either
returned with their wives or returned to wives waiting for them. Ricardo,
a voluntary returnee from San Ignacio who lives with his parents said
that many returnees will stay with their parents “about two months, one
month, then they go, but they return to visit.” Length of stay in the U.S. did
not seem to impact the ability to stay with parents upon return if needed.
Julian, a deportee in his early twenties from San Pedro, explained that the
first place he went when he got off the bus that took him from the border
back to his hometown was his parent’s house, but that because he had
been gone eight years and arrived at night, he “couldn’t remember which
house was theirs! I ended up walking into the house next door before I
realized it wasn’t theirs!” Diego, a deportee from San Ignacio, said that
returning to live with his parents allowed him to collect himself when he
first returned without the pressure of having to find a job right away. “I’m
able to live well here,” he said, “because I don’t pay rent, since I’m at my
parent’s house and they help pay for the lights, the telephone, the Internet,
and things like that, they help with bills, which are much lower than in
the U.S.”
Almost all of the respondents who had parents living in Mexico while
they were in the U.S. reported that they sent remittances to them at some
point during their stay, and most of these reported sending remittances
regularly. This history of sending remittances seemed to have mixed con-
sequences: On one hand, it seemed to give returnees a claim to living with
their parents again, but on the other hand, the loss of remittances some-
times created an economic hardship for their parents, losing this source
of income. In cases such as Jorge’s, the loss of income was not severe: “It
didn’t harm them to not have the remittances anymore, because, thank
God, my father has a good job.”
Adan, a voluntary returnee from Consti, reported that he sent remit-
tances back to his parents every month or two months. And while it was
a disappointment for them to not have this source of income when he
returned, “they were happy to have me back here with them and while I
can’t help them economically anymore, I can help in other ways.” Adan
was also a “target migrant” in that his primary objective in migrating to
the U.S. was to save enough money to build a house back in Consti and
sent remittances back to his wife regularly for this purpose. Salvador, a
voluntary returnee from San Pedro, and Oscar, a voluntary returnee from
Tepa, also saved primarily to build houses back home. Salvador’s wife
lived with his parents while he was away and he sent $800USD to her
every two weeks that was used to begin construction of his home. Once
the house was completed, he returned, and they moved into their new
home.

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Table 1. Basic Profiles of Respondents
Yr of Yr of Prior Employment Employment Plans to
Nature of Reason for U.S. Departure Return Visits Industry Marital Industry Return
Name Age Hometown Return Return Ban Destination for U.S. to MX to U.S. in U.S. Status Children in MX to U.S.
Andres 22 San Pedro deported drinking and 10 years Ontario, CA 2001 2005 No Manufacturing single No Unemployed Yes
driving
Carlos 22 San Pedro deported traffic violation: 10 years Oxnard, CA 2005 2009 No Agriculture married Yes Construction Yes
speeding
Jose 31 San Pedro deported unknown 10 years L.A., CA 1997 2007 No Construction, single No Government: Yes
Agriculture local police
Alfonso 31 San Ignacio deported car accident 10 years Detroit, MI 2002 2004 No Manufacturing single No Service; self- No
employed
Efren 25 San Ignacio deported ICE arrived at 20 years Detroit, MI 2007 2009 Yes Manufacturing married Yes Unemployed Yes
The Latin Americanist, December 2011

his home
Ruben 27 San Ignacio deported traffic stop: 10 years Detroit, MI 1995 2008 No Landscaping single No Service; self- Yes
driving near employed
Canadian
border
Tomas 22 San Ignacio deported traffic violation: 10 years Detroit, MI 2005 2008 No Landscaping, single Yes Agriculture Yes
ran a red light Manufactur-
ing
Diego 31 San Ignacio deported traffic stop n/a Detroit, MI 2000 2009 Yes Construction single No Service; self- Yes
employed
Roberto 34 Tepa deported driving w/o 10 years Salinas, CA 1992 2010 No Construction, married Yes Service Yes
license Agriculture
Rafael 45 Tepa deported drug possession 10 years L.A., CA 1977 1997 Yes Manufacturing, married Yes Service No
Service
Jaime 45 Consti deported drug trafficking: life Rockford, IL 1990 2007 No Construction married Yes Construction No
selling cocaine

continued
 Table 1. Continued
Yr of Yr of Prior Employment Employment Plans to
Nature of Reason for U.S. Departure Return Visits Industry Marital Industry Return
Name Age Hometown Return Return Ban Destination for U.S. to MX to U.S. in U.S. Status Children in MX to U.S.
Esteban 29 Consti deported gun possession 20 years Rockford, IL 1994 2007 No Landscaping, single No Landscaping; Yes
Construction, self-
Service employed
Miguel 23 San Pedro voluntary hours cut - Ontario, CA 2004 2005 Yes Manufacturing married Yes Unemployed Yes
Joaquin 31 San Pedro voluntary hours cut - Ontario, CA 2005 2008 Yes Manufacturing married Yes Unemployed No
Salvador 28 San Pedro voluntary met target - Ontario, CA 2005 2007 Yes Landscaping, married Yes Government: Maybe
Construction local police
Pedro 34 San Ignacio voluntary family: father - Detroit, MI 2008 2009 Yes Manufacturing single No Service; self- Yes
was ill employed
Agustin 35 San Ignacio voluntary family: brother - Detroit, MI 1995 1997 Yes Manufacturing, married Yes Service; self- Yes, but
got married Landscaping, employed w/docs
Construction only
Juan 31 San Ignacio voluntary hours cut - Detroit, MI 2006 2009 Yes Landscaping single No Agriculture No
Jorge 34 San Ignacio voluntary hours cut - Detroit, MI 2005 2009 No Landscaping, single No Service; self- Yes, but
Manufactur- employed w/docs
ing, only
Service
Felipe 39 Tepa voluntary family - L.A., CA 1995 2007 Yes Manufacturing divorced; Yes Service No
re-
married
Oscar 36 Tepa voluntary hours cut - Joliet, IL 2003 2009 Yes Construction married Yes Construction Yes, but
w/docs
only
Gabriel 41 Consti voluntary family: mother - Rockford, IL 2000 2000 Yes Construction, married Yes Construction No
died Manufactur-
ing
Ricardo 34 Consti voluntary family - Rockford, IL 1989 2006 No Construction, single No Manufacturing No
Manufactur-
ing
Adan 32 Consti voluntary met target - Rockford, lL 1999 2005 Yes Manufacturing married Yes Service; self- Yes
employed

45
Wheatley

Notes: All names are pseudonyms; ’Yr of Departure for U.S.’ refers to most recent trip. ‘L.A., CA’ refers to Los Angeles, CA.
The Latin Americanist, December 2011

Length of stay in the U.S. did appear to impact one’s social network
beyond the immediate family network. Among those who were away
for longer periods (more than five years), most spoke of not knowing
many people in the community upon return, or not having many, or in
some cases, any, friends. Returnees spoke of being away so long that their
former friends seemed like strangers to them, that friends from childhood
had started their own families and simply weren’t around, or that their
friends had themselves migrated and were no longer there. As Carlos, a
deportee from San Ignacio explained, he returned to find that “the majority
[of my friends] had left for the United States . . . others were studying in
Guadalajara, or were simply not here, so I didn’t really have any friends at
first.” Ruben, a 27-year old returnee from San Ignacio who was deported
when he and his friend were driving near the Canadian border and were
apprehended by U.S. Border Patrol, left for the U.S. with his parents when
he was only twelve-years-old, and said that coming back after 13 years
was very isolating:

When I first arrived, I didn’t have anyone. It’s a complete change of

life, it’s like, you’re stuck here forever, without seeing your family,
your friends that you grew up with in school, it’s all there, it’s all left
there [in the U.S.]. Here, we have family like cousins and such but
we’re not close, we don’t share with them [in the same way] . . . but
you adapt, you adapt to things, make new friends, you make new
things . . .

He went on to explain that before he left, “Sure, I had friends from

school but, well, now nobody remembers me. When I first arrived, at first
nobody remembered me—and why would they? You grow, you change
completely.”
In Tepa, Roberto, a returnee who had lived in the U.S. for 18 years
without returning to Mexico and who was deported in 2010 for driving
without a license, echoed Ruben’s sentiments, though he struggled with
the added pain of being separated from his wife and four children, who
were all born in the U.S., all still living in California: “Those first days
were very difficult. Thinking of my children up there, it was difficult, very
difficult.” As for friends, “they’re not the same friends as I had before.
There’s some that I knew from before, but I don’t go out like I used to.
I didn’t really have many friends when I first came back. But slowly, I’m
beginning to meet people again.”
Jose, a deportee from San Pedro who now works for the municipal
police, said when he first returned to San Pedro after being gone for five
years, “I didn’t have any friends here. I felt alone”. Most of his friends
have migrated to California, and others who have stayed behind have
their own families now “and they’re not really around, so it’s not the
same as before”. He said it took about a year to feel like he had friends
again.

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Conversely, those who were away for shorter periods generally spoke
of an ease of returning, reporting that people remembered them and that
they still had friends and social networks. Agustin, a voluntary returnee
from San Ignacio who has lived in the U.S. numerous times, but never
more than for three years at a time said that it’s always been easy for
him to return to his town, that he always returns to friends. “For me, it’s
always been easy to come back. Partly, it’s because of the job I used to have
[working in the most popular grocer in town], everyone knows me. It’s
easy because I already knew the majority of my friends that I have now.”

Economic Conditions and Quality of Life

Adjusting to the standard of living, particularly the lower incomes, that
respondents returned to in Mexico stood out as the most challenging aspect
of adjustment. Many migrants spoke of getting used to the higher wages
in the U.S. and how this translated to more disposable income and a differ-
ent standard of living. When asked specifically what was different about
their lives here and there, many mentioned eating at restaurants more
frequently in the U.S., having more of a nightlife (going to bars, clubs,
etc.), buying nice shoes and clothes for themselves and their children,
and owning a car. Even those who came back voluntarily with enough
savings to start a small business or otherwise seemed financially secure
spoke of having to be careful about their spending once they returned to
Mexico. Earning more, they could spend more in the U.S. But earning less
in Mexico, even if they had savings, meant not having as much disposable
income, and thus, spending less. Oscar, a voluntary returnee from Tepa
who returned in September 2009, four months earlier than planned, be-
cause his hours at a construction company had been cut dramatically, said
that one of the biggest challenges upon returning to Tepa was adjusting to
the lower disposable income:

Sometimes, we would impulsively buy things to furnish our home,

like, let’s go check out these garage sales but now it’s more difficult
to furnish our home, things like this, but it’s not like we go with-
out eating, but there are things that we can no longer say, ‘Let’s
have it!’ . . . we can’t buy the same things we were able to buy up
there . . . we’re a little more limited now. Same for our kids—they
are more careful now with their toys because they know full well
that if they break them, they will not be replaced! [laughing]

Many respondents spoke in a disheartened way about the low wages in

Mexico and how hard the work is. In San Ignacio, many return migrants
resist working in ladrillo—making earthen bricks by hand–which pays
about $20–25USD per day because it is such hard work for so little pay. It
is also terribly inconsistent, as no one can work when it’s raining, making it
an unreliable source of income during the rainy season. As Jorge explained,

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many would rather move to Guadalajara, Aguascalientes, or Mexico City

and open a small grocer where he said one could make $500USD per week.:
“Many of the returnees I’ve talked to don’t want to work in ladrillo because
it pays so little and instead have gone to work in grocers, including opening
their own . . . [it’s popular] because, well, it’s really profitable right now”.
Pedro, a voluntary returnee, learned how to cut hair when living in
Detroit and recently opened his own hair and nail salon in San Ignacio but
laments how little he makes back home:
Cutting hair up there, I could easily make ten dollars just in tips.
And with ten dollars, you can go to the mall and buy a shirt, a pair
of pants, but here, no, here you have to work all week just to buy
something like that. Here, I cut a man’s hair and it costs only thirty
pesos—what is thirty pesos up there? It’s like two dollars, two-and-
a-half dollars. What can you do with that? There’s more freedom
up there, more possibilities for everything there. If you want to buy
a car, you can buy it in twenty-two days, one month you can buy
a car—here, not even in a year. Here, you have to kill yourself for
three, five years to be able to buy a car, and an old car, not even a
new one . . . Everything like this is different here . . . there, it’s easy
to buy things, and you save more money there. It’s something that
if you can’t adjust to here, you can’t stay.
A number of respondents spoke of being unemployed for long
stretches—some more than a year—before finding a full-time job once
they returned to Mexico. Unable to find full-time work, they reported tak-
ing various odd jobs such as working in retail shops in town, working in
landscaping, or in el campo (the fields), such as Tomas, a deportee in his 20s
from San Ignacio, who said he worked seasonally in agave and sugar cane
fields. Roberto, a deportee from Tepa, said that after being unemployed
for five months when he first returned, he finally found a job driving a
garbage truck, which he said he was happy about. “I was just grateful
to finally find a job,” he explained, though acknowledged that the pay
is not great, “but the pay is lower for everything here. I’m only making
[the equivalent of] 250 dollars every two weeks . . . it’s so little . . . in the
U.S. I made 500 dollars per week!” Ricardo, a voluntary returnee from
Consti who lived in the U.S. for 17 years before returning to Mexico, said
he looked for work for a year before he was hired at a local soda bottling
plant, which he found advertised in a local paper. “It doesn’t pay well, but
it’s not killing me”, he said.
When Salvador, a voluntary returnee from San Pedro, first returned
in December 2008, he worked as a fisherman because his family has a
permit in one of the four fishing cooperatives; his father is the current
president of one of the cooperatives, which has only 14 members. He also
worked in his family’s milpas, where they grow chayote, corn, beans, and
squash. In March 2010, he was hired to be part of the local police force.
It’s a good job and he’s happy to have it but his term expires in 2012

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and he is concerned about what he will do if he is not re-hired. He may

consider returning to California where he made good money working for a
landscaping company but is hesitant to leave his wife and children behind
again.
When I spoke to Miguel, he had returned to San Pedro only a few
months before and did not have formal employment. He and his wife live
with his parents and he spends his days helping the family, either with
construction projects or working in the milpas. Perhaps he’ll eventually
want to get a job as a taxi driver in Poncitlan (30 minutes by car) or
Guadalajara, he said. Joaquin was also not formally employed when we
spoke, but rather, worked in his milpas, growing chayote for profit and
corn, beans, and squash for subsistence for himself, his wife, and two
children.
While many returnees spoke of the changes to the standard of liv-
ing upon returning to Mexico, they seemed to distinguish this from the
changes to their quality of life. Many spoke of having a “full life” in Mexico
and how life in the U.S. is so much more difficult, because when in the
U.S., they work two or three jobs, long hours, and many work seven days
a week. As Salvador, a voluntary returnee from San Pedro put it, in the
U.S. it’s “really difficult. Working all the time. It’s not a full life up there”.
In Mexico, he explained, he has his wife, his children, and “it’s not just
working.” Others described life in Mexico as “más tranquila”, more peace-
ful: “Life moves so fast up there. Here, it is more tranquil, life moves more
slowly here,” said Miguel, speaking of San Pedro. “The air is clean . . . You
can enjoy life more here.” Relatedly, many returnees also spoke of being
glad to be back in their home country, even some deportees. Tomas, a
deportee from San Ignacio, recounted a violent encounter with a sheriff
after being pulled over in his car in Detroit for speeding, which led to his
deportation. When I asked him if he considered that bad luck, he insisted,
“No, good luck, I’m here in Mexico” [laughing]. When asked about what
was easy or difficult about returning, most respondents reported that eco-
nomically it was more challenging, but socially and culturally speaking,
the adjustment was fairly smooth. “Sure, there were things to get used to
again, but overall it’s been easy to adapt. It’s my hometown, after all.” said
Jorge, speaking of returning to San Ignacio.
Differences between Voluntary and Involuntary Return
As voluntary returnees and deportees attempt to reintegrate them-
selves into their communities upon return, a number of significant dif-
ferences, both social and economic, emerge, contributing to the formation
of distinct social categories back home with important consequences for
them.

Differences in Economic Opportunities

The economic differences between voluntary and deportees are sig-
nificant. Deportees often brought back little or no money, due to the

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spontaneous, unplanned nature of return. While some were able to have

any savings in the U.S. sent to them, generally all personal belongings
were lost. Their lack of economic capital made it not feasible to start a
small business, which left them with limited employment opportunities,
often the same opportunities that they had before they left, such as ladrillo
in San Ignacio, or, for those living in San Pedro, commuting to work in
construction in Guadalajara. Respondents widely acknowledged that de-
portees return with greater economic hardship than voluntary returnees.
During his three months of detention after ICE was notified of his undoc-
umented status after being involved in a car accident, Alfonso spoke of
the terror and the vulnerability of being deported with no resources:

It went through my mind, “What am I going to do when I get to the

border? Where will I have to go? Where will I have to walk? What
about my clothing? Will my clothing be dirty? Will I arrive by bus
or what? In an airplane? Or what? If I don’t have any money, what
will I do? I don’t have money, so how I am I going to buy a phone
card to let anyone know that I’m here [in Mexico]? . . . It was very
stressful, very, very, very stressful.

Roberto echoed this sentiment, saying that deportees are left on the border,

with no money, in the middle of the night in Tijuana, have no place

to go. They say there are charities that house migrants, places that
migrants can go and sleep but they are not free, you still have to
pay, they charge 15 pesos [$1.50USD] and someone who’s deported
without any money and arrives there can’t get in, so where can they
turn to for help? There’s no help anywhere . . . for this reason, there is
shame [upon returning home] because without money and without
anything, what more could I do? I couldn’t do anything. Without
anything, you have to start again.

Voluntary returnees tended to return with more economic resources. Pedro

acknowledged this, explaining that,

when the migration officials grab them, they can’t bring anything
because, once they grab them, that’s it—you leave all your savings in
your house, everything that you have there . . . everything that could
help you make your future here, you’ve left it all there, because you
never know when you’re going to get grabbed. So, without a doubt,
those of us who’ve returned voluntarily can bring our things, we can
plan ahead, we know when we’re going to return, we can save our
money and then go when we want. This is the difference between
one and the other.

Andres, a deportee from San Pedro, said there are definitely economic
differences between the two groups. “Many deportees come back with

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nothing”, he said. Even if they came back somewhat suddenly, volun-

tary returnees usually brought back some savings, even if very little. This
seemed to have as much symbolic meaning as material. “Bringing back
anything is better than nothing”, said Jorge, a voluntary returnee from
San Ignacio. Voluntary returnees often brought back enough savings to
build their own homes, or start a small business. As deportees tended to
bring little or no savings, their options with regard to where they lived or
worked was much more limited—many felt like they had no choice but to
move in with their parents, as they could not afford to live on their own or
relocate elsewhere in Mexico and were forced to take the low-paying jobs
in their hometowns.
A number of respondents demonstrated entrepreneurial sensibilities
but voluntary returnees were better positioned to start small businesses,
such as Oscar from Tepa, who, along with his brothers, began working as
an independent vendor to small grocers a number of years back, keeping
inventory stocked in the back of his home. Adan, a voluntary returnee from
Consti, started a furniture repair shop with his savings when he returned.
Pedro, as mentioned earlier, opened a hair and nail salon with the savings
he brought back. Jorge opened a men’s clothing store when he returned
after his hours at a drycleaners in Detroit were cut dramatically in the Fall
of 2008. “I got the idea because, well, I have a lot of friends who told me
that I could start my own business so I went for it. It’s worked for me,
more or less.” Agustín cited the popularity among voluntary returnees
who returned with substantial savings to open a grocer in one of one big
cities, such as Guadalajara, but he decided to open a barbershop in the
front of his parent’s home when he returned instead:
You can make a lot of money working in the grocers, but it’s like
a prison, a cage—you have to sit there all day from seven in the
morning to late at night, just sitting there. I don’t like that . . . [when
I came back] my father asked me, “Are you thinking of going back
to Detroit?” and I said, “No, not really”. “Then why don’t you open
a barber shop in the front of our house?” because I know how to cut
hair, I taught myself . . . I used to cut all my friends’ hair for fun, so
in January of ’98, I opened my barbershop. And I’ve been working
there ever since.
A number of deportees also made efforts to start small businesses, such
as Alfonso, who started his own nail salon, though complained that he
has very little money to invest in it so it is taking a long time to get it up
and running, and Esteban, who started a small landscaping company with
his cousin when he returned to Consti. When I spoke to Ruben, he was
renovating part of his family’s home with the hopes of opening a karaoke
bar, which would be the first in San Ignacio. He decided to start his own
small business because “there’s not much work here, not much work that
I would want to do, so I’m constructing part of [the house] so I can start
my own business without having to pay rent”.

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Social Differences: Stigma and Sense of Control over One’s Life

The findings suggest that voluntary and involuntary return migrants do
occupy distinctive social categories in their communities, in part due to the
economic differences but also due to: stigma associated with deportation;
differences in psychological and emotional states of returnees upon return;
and the perceived ability to return to the U.S. in the future.
Most respondents reported that some stigma does seem to be associated
with being a deportee but that the degree of stigma seems to depend,
in part, on the nature of the returnee’s deportation. Being deported for
traffic violations (such as driving without a license, speeding, or running
a red light) were generally regarded with sympathy by respondents, who
considered such incidents as nothing more than “bad luck”. Diego said
that because so many people from San Ignacio go to the U.S. without
documents, “people here are used to having people come back suddenly,
and understand it’s not always their fault.” However, when asked about
the most common reasons for one’s deportation, many of the voluntary
returnees usually cited drinking and driving, being drunk in public, violent
activity (such as gun possession, fighting, involvement with gangs), or
selling drugs, which seemed to carry more stigma, though, notably, the
majority of deportees with whom I spoke were not involved in any such
activities, which could be explained by the small sample of deportees
in this study or could demonstrate a bias among voluntary returnees and
others in their communities, an assumption that deportees were inevitably
involved in delinquent activity. Miguel said there’s a lot of deportees in
San Pedro now and that “they usually get deported for fighting, drinking
in the street, drinking and driving.” Salvador cited that lots of deportees
return because they were selling drugs in the U.S.
Many deportees reported that that community members gossip and
speculate about the details of a deportee’s return but that it is generally
considered rude to ask a deportee directly if they were indeed deported
or why they were deported, as Pedro explained, “You don’t ask someone
to their face whether they were deported, or why, even if you know.”
Ruben said he never asked his other deported friends about the details
of their deportation and was equally hesitant to share details of his own
deportation, except with close friends.
Sometimes voluntary returnees, such Oscar, spoke of deportees as hav-
ing been irresponsible in the U.S. and that this is the reason why they were
deported and why they return with no money:

I’ve known a lot of deportees that went [to the U.S.] and didn’t do
anything, nothing more than pure disorder—going out all the time
to bars, clubs, and they don’t do anything, neither here nor there.
Then they come back regretful that they did nothing. They return
regretful, because the north is not for everyone. I say, there are a
lot of us that go to work . . . the north isn’t for everyone. There are

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people who know how to take advantage [of living in the U.S.] and
there are those who don’t know how.

Gabriel, a voluntary returnee from Consti, said that

more than anything, they’re deported because they were fighting,

or drunks, were taking drugs or selling drugs . . . and [when they
return] it begins with a murmur, “oh, he was deported, “why was
he deported”, people ask questions, “what happened?” and this is
embarrassing [for deportees], people here are always watching.

Esteban, a deportee from Consti, felt this kind of judgment from people
when he returned:

If you come back without money, people want to trample you, they
want to embarrass you..it’s difficult to try to start a new life . . . but
when you come back from [the U.S.] and bring back money, then
everyone, everyone wants to be friends, everyone treats you well,
you know? Everyone wants to be with you. But if you come back
from there and you don’t bring anything, they begin to criticize
you . . . and because I was in prison before I came back, they see
me as a bad person, as if they haven’t done anything bad in their
lives . . . when they see someone with me, they say “You don’t hang
out with him, do you? He just got out of prison, he’s was bad, he’s
a drug addict, don’t hang out with him.” And then they tell their
own version of my story, they see something else, they think they’re
better . . . I don’t know . . .

Diego acknowledged that it’s embarrassing for deportees to suddenly

arrive with only the clothes on their backs and that his own arrival
could have been worse, had he not been given the option of “voluntary
departure”, which required him to pay $400USD for a plane ticket to
Guadalajara but allowed him to bring a suitcase: “If I had been deported
to the border, I believe it would have been more tragic but as I arrived in
Guadalajara with suitcase in hand, it felt normal . . . I arrived here from the
airport, with my suitcase and my money.” He explained that the most stig-
matizing thing about being deported is when you bring back no money,
that there is judgment in the community for this:

If I had stayed in the U.S. for nine years and came back with
nothing, no money, I think that in this case I would probably feel
shame . . . people would say, you wasted your time working there,
not saving, you had all that time up there and now you have not
even one dollar.

Respondents reported significant differences in the emotional and psy-

chological well-being between voluntary returnees and deportees. Both

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voluntary returnees and deportees described deportees as tending to re-

turn feeling depressed, sad, frustrated, angry, uprooted, and/or having
lowered self-esteem. Conversely, both voluntary returnees and deportees
described voluntary returnees as tending to return feeling good about
their return, even in cases where they returned due to job loss or other
factors associated with the economic crisis in the U.S. As Miguel put it,
“Emotionally, they come back differently. Deportees come back sad, while
voluntary returnees come back happy.” Pedro told me, “well, they feel,
how can I say—worse off, I think. They feel really bad.” Alfonso, who
was detained in a county jail that “rents” out cell space to hold detainees
awaiting deportation, described how being detained made him feel bad
about himself:

[When you’re in detention] your mind starts to travel so ugly that

when you’re in jail, you think you are a criminal, you did some-
thing wrong, you made it worse, I came to believe that I had killed
someone . . . when you’re in the [jail], you see all these people, all
these people that committed serious crimes and they’re right there
with you, which is scary . . . and you’re frustrated because it’s like,
why am I here, if I didn’t commit any crime? I only wanted to come
to work, that’s the only bad thing that I did, but, well, if [the U.S.]
doesn’t help me do that, I have to do it on my own, one way or
another.

He said that people back in San Ignacio also made him feel like a
criminal. When describing the circumstances surrounding his return, Al-
fonso said that even though the car accident that led to his deportation
was not his fault, people in San Ignacio assumed it was:

At first, it was like, “So they deported you because you hit some-
one?” And I would tell them, “No! It was someone else’s error, not
mine” but it didn’t matter whether it was my fault or not, it’s all the
same to them. In the world of San Ignacio, it’s a small town but a
big hell.

Some of the frustration that deportees feel upon return to their home-
towns also appears to be due to the relative lack of options in planning their
futures, compared to voluntary returnees. A formal deportation comes
with a higher risk of undocumented return to the U.S., given that all de-
portees are banned from re-entering the U.S. for years; deportees may be
banned for five, 10, 20 years, or even for life, depending on the reason for
apprehension. An undocumented migrant who re-enters the U.S. while he
or she is banned could face jail time in the U.S., a longer ban, and could for-
feit future possibilities of entering legally, such as through family members
who are legal residents. Many deportees were well aware of these risks,
contributing to a sense of feeling “stuck” in Mexico. Ruben said he feels

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like his “life is on pause”. He is banned for 10 years and says he feels he
has no choice but to wait until his ban expires, for fear of serving time in
prison if he is apprehended on the border while his ban is active: “There’s
no other way. I can’t go back there. I know that if I try to cross and they
catch me, it’ll be the same story, well, the same story except that I’ll have
to go to prison for a while”. Roberto, who also faces a 10-year ban, echoed
Ruben’s frustration over feeling like he can’t go back to California to be
with his wife and children:

Maybe my family will come here. This is something we’re thinking

about..because I can’t go there. If [I cross and] they catch me, they’ll
punish me more—I’ll be banned for another ten years. If I go there
with a coyote [smuggler] and they catch me, I could go to prison for a
month, a year, it depends, I don’t know . . . I think I’m going to have
to stay here . . . if I try to go to [my family] and I get caught, I’ll be in
prison and won’t be able to see them anyways . . . I’m just working
hard to save money so that we can afford to get passports for my
children so they can come visit me.

Jorge said that of his friends who were deported, none of them wanted
to go back to the U.S. until their bans expired, for fear, not only of prison,
but also of foregoing future opportunities to enter to the U.S. legally, either
through obtaining a visa, or obtaining legal documents through a family
member who has legal status:

They want to respect their ban, because they don’t want to lose the
opportunity have someone fix papers for them . . . if you go before
your ban expires, then you can never get your papers fixed, never.
Apart from the fact that you will also be in jail for three to six months,
you’ll never get your papers.

Jaime, a deportee from Consti, is banned for life for being charged with
selling cocaine. An electrician by training, he was working to get his own
business off the ground when a friend tempted him with a quick way
to make money. He said someone else who was involved with the same
dealer and was apprehended by police was offered a lighter sentence to
name others involved, and Jaime was one who was named. He spent 7
years in federal prison before being deported in 2007, 17 years after he
first arrived with his three young daughters and wife. A son and another
daughter were born in the U.S. and when he was deported, his wife and two
U.S.-born children returned to Consti with him. But the three daughters
remained, having grown up in the U.S. and started their own families,
fearing that if they leave the U.S., they won’t be able to return. He fears
he may never see them again, unless the U.S. government changes its
immigration policy. “We Skype so we can see each other . . . but I can
only hope that there will be a change [in policy] because I don’t want to

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grow old with my daughters imprisoned up there, unable to ever visit me

here.”
Both voluntary returnees and deportees spoke of the significance that
voluntary returnees came back by choice and planned their returns. Fur-
thermore, many respondents cited that voluntary returnees face more op-
tions, given that their return to Mexico does not carry a ban from re-
entering the U.S. These differences suggest that voluntary returnees may
often feel a greater sense of control over their lives than deportees, having
both made the choice to return to Mexico, and believing that they can
return to the U.S. with less risk than deportees.
While voluntary returnees were widely cited as having a greater ability
to return to the U.S., given that not having a ban carries a lower risk of
return, the majority of respondents, both voluntary and deportees, did
not express a desire to return to the U.S. in the near future; rather, most
said returning to the U.S. right now “no vale la pena”—it’s not worth it. A
combination of factors appear to serve as a strong disincentive for migrants
to re-enter the U.S. at this time including: the monetary cost of crossing
the border illegally (most respondents cited that one must now pay $3000–
5000USD to cross with a coyote, a smuggler); the increased physical risk and
burden of crossing the border, due to increased cartel violence at the border
and increased militarization of the border which requires many migrants
to go deeper into the desert in order to avoid border patrol, walking for
many days; and the worsening economic conditions in the U.S., meaning
increased difficulty in securing work before crossing, and the inability
of friends and relatives to loan migrants the thousands of dollars to pay
coyotes, nor to financially support them or house them when they first
arrive. Alfonso told me, “Everyone over there is saying, ‘Don’t come now!
There aren’t any jobs!’”. He and other returnees from San Ignacio are being
discouraged from re-entering the U.S by friends and family who tell them
to wait until the economy improves.

Discussion and Conclusion

These findings suggest that voluntary returnees and deportees share
many of the same challenges–both economic and social—associated with
returning to Mexico. Economically, they stressed low wages, decreased
disposable income, and difficulty in finding full-time work. Social chal-
lenges that were highlighted involved cases where returnees had been
away for many years and then encountered difficulties in establishing
a social network beyond the family unit. Findings further suggest that,
despite these similarities, the process of social and economic reincorpora-
tion also differed in significant ways and that deportees do face unique
challenges in returning home. Voluntary returnees tended to return with
greater economic resources than deportees, who often returned with no
money at all.
In part because of the economic differences, but also due to other fac-
tors, including stigma associated with deportation, deportees appear to

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constitute a distinctive social category in their hometowns. While depor-

tees and voluntary returnees are all considered “return migrants”, respon-
dents acknowledged that the difference in nature of return is significant:
Being forced to return is not at all the same as returning when one decides
the time is right and has planned for it. Choosing or not choosing to return
to Mexico is also intimately tied up with risks associated with returning
to the U.S. in the future: Deportees are banned from crossing into the U.S.
for a period, adding risk for those who do it anyways, as apprehension
for them means jail time and loss of future opportunities to enter legally.
Overall, deportees have fewer economic opportunities in Mexico and feel
less control over their lives in comparison with voluntary returnees.
This study contains a number of limitations. Its sample is small and
the sample comes from a non-representative region of Mexico, both of
which limit the generalizability of its findings. However, the richness of
data obtained from in-depth interviews provide depth to the stories of
returnees, aiding our understanding of the complex, multi-faceted dimen-
sions of return. Also, the small size of the sample was due in part to the
restrictions of the sample in terms of sex, legal status, age, and length of
stay in the U.S., which allows for more meaningful comparisons across
cases.
Increased deportations from the U.S. to Mexico as a result of policy
changes associated with the passage of IIRIRA is pressing for both practical
and theoretical reasons and future research should focus on several specific
areas. Practically, deportation of Mexican nationals presents a social policy
concern for the Mexican government, which may need to provide unique
support and aide for this group of deportees as they work to reincorporate
themselves into Mexican society both socially and economically. Research
that documents the impacts that increased deportations to Mexico has
on Mexican institutions will be important. It may also have implications
for the relationship between the U.S. and Mexican governments, given
that the direct reason for the increase in involuntary return migration
to Mexico is the increasingly restrictive U.S. immigration policies, which
have been designed largely without cooperation with Mexico, but may
have significant impacts on that country.
Involuntary return migration provides new avenues for considering
how deportees construct notions of citizenship, belonging and their sense
of where “home” is, particularly those who lived in the U.S. for a long
period of time and/or have been forced to leave behind family members,
such as spouses and children. Furthermore, the reincorporation process
of deportees may provide new theoretical insights into the process of
social incorporation, as well as processes of exclusion, and the ways in
which exclusion from the U.S. impacts a deportee’s life as he or she moves
forward. Does time in detention make them feel like they are criminals?
How do they reconcile the severity of their punishment with the mun-
daneness of their “crime” in cases where running a red light or having
their car rear-ended ends up in deportation?

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The Latin Americanist, December 2011

The political landscape of immigration in the U.S. continues to change

and have important consequences for deportees in Mexico as well as un-
documented immigrants in the U.S. who are at risk of deportation. The
expansion of the ICE “Secure Communities” program, which allows police
to check the immigration status of anyone they apprehend, undoubtedly
led to the deportation of some of my respondents. Examining more deeply
the impacts of the increase in deportations on the U.S.-Mexico migration
system and on deportees may increase our understanding of the intended
and unintended consequences of U.S. immigration policy and thus inform
any reform it undergoes in the near future.

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