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May 02--Amid flags from across Latin America and a sea of faces and signs reading "We are not criminals" and "You too came as an immigrant" stood three children and their mother, unified by their yellow shirts.
The children were supposed to be at school. The small woman with the long, dark ponytail pulled through a baseball cap was supposed to be at work. But to the 36-year-old mother, Monday's 3.5-mile walk through downtown Orlando was the culmination of a journey that has taken her through three countries in two decades.
Monday, they went to show their support for others like them.
"We suffer in the same way," the woman said, gesturing toward the crowd that had gathered around the TD Waterhouse Centre. "We've been through the same pain and fears."
To protect others in her family who are still illegal, she asked to be identified only by her first name, Patricia.
Patricia's eyes welled up when she talked about her 50-year-old brother who has been in the U.S. for decades but still has not legalized his status. She cried openly as she spoke about the death of her mother in Ecuador and lamented not being able to go to her side.
She spoke about taking low-paying jobs no one wants, about a friend who lost his fingernails because of pesticides he was exposed to picking oranges. "What American wants that job?" she asked.
And her voice hardened with resolve as she looked at her children, 8, 11 and 16, and declared that it is all worth it.
"I want them to be somebody," she said.
Fourteen years ago, she paid $12,000 so that she and her oldest daughter, Gabriela, could be smuggled out of Ecuador, through Mexico, to the United States.
She came because she says the government in Ecuador "only put money in their pockets." She came because during her pregnancy, there was nothing to eat but pasta and rice, and once her daughter was born, "there were days we didn't have a cup of milk in the refrigerator."
"I had no choice," she said as the march took off down Hughey Avenue. "You either pass away there with no food, or you take your chance dying on the border."
It took 12 years for Patricia and her husband to legalize their status here. Gabriela, now 16, is still waiting. With high-school graduation just a year away, Patricia is fearful her daughter's status will mean she can't go to college.
"I don't think it's fair," Gabriela said as she marched through downtown. "I work just as hard as everyone else. I hope this will open an opportunity for people like me."
As the family marched, workers watched from the steps of the Federal Building.
"I was trained to be a teacher in physics and math," Patricia said, looking at the spectators, many professionals. "But my degree is no good here."
Her husband, a civil engineer, has the same problem. To work in their fields, they would have to get U.S. degrees. They have taken jobs that pay the bills, jobs that studies say most Americans don't want: She works at a banquet hall, while he serves food at the Orange County Convention Center. His boss wouldn't let him miss work for the rally.
As the march approached Central Boulevard and Orange Avenue, Patricia got her first glimpse of the demonstrators who came to protest the rally.
They waved signs that read: "Speak English" and "March back to Mexico."
Patricia pointed her thumb down at them. Her English is excellent. And she's not from Mexico.
The crowd picked up steam and began chanting, "Si se puede" -- "Yes, we can" -- a popular cry from the days when Cesar Chavez was working to unionize California farmworkers.
"Every time I see those faces, I can't help but think how much they hate us," Patricia said. "But the fact is, they can't live without us."
At the corner of Magnolia Avenue and Church Street, a group of construction workers stood on scaffolding watching the crowd go by.
"Look at those faces," Patricia said. "All of them are immigrants. You don't see a white face there."
As Lake Eola came into view, Patricia got her first sense of the enormous size of the crowd. At the halfway point of the march, thousands of others joined in. The sight made Patricia smile.
"When I came, I thought there would be a real crowd, and I was like, 'Where is everybody?' Now that I see all the people, I feel happier."
The march took almost two hours. By the end, Patricia's 8-year-old daughter, Jasmine, was tired and 11-year-old Johnny had to use the bathroom. Patricia wanted to treat her kids for being so good, but with immigrants also boycotting businesses Monday, there was more work to be done.
"I'd like to take them to McDonald's," she said. "But with the boycott, I have to go home and cook."
Tania deLuzuriaga can be reached at tdeluzuriaga@orlandosentinel.com or 407-420-5718.
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Copyright (c) 2006, The Orlando Sentinel, Fla.
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