Immigration Reform

The Corpse That Will Not Die

Charles Kamasaki

• Publisher: Mandel Vilar Press
• Year: 2021
• Print ISBN: 9781942134558
• eBook ISBN: 9781942134817
• Topic: Politics & International Relations
• Subtopic: Immigration Policy
• Index: Politics & International Relations

Winner of 2020 International Latino Book Awards in the category " Best Political/Current Affairs Book – English"

2019 Finalist for INDIES Book of the Year

This book is an insider's history and memoir of the battle for The Immigration Reform and Control Act of 1986: its evolution, passage, impact, and its legacies for the future of immigration reform. Charles Kamasaki has spent most of his life working for UnidosUS, formerly the National Council of La Raza (NCLR), the nation's largest Hispanic civil rights and advocacy organization. He was a direct participant in the many meetings, hearings, mark-ups, debates, and other developments that led to the passage of the last major immigration reform legislation, The Immigration Reform and Control Act of 1986 (IRCA). He reveals the roles of key lawmakers and a coalition of public interest lobbyists that played a role in opposing, shaping, and then implementing IRCA. His account underscores the centrality of racial issues in the immigration reform debate and why it has become a near-perpetual topic of political debate.

CHAPTER 1

A Meeting and a Movement

A MEETING: SPRING 1984

The Group was nervous. Several of them had battled against the immigration reform bill for two long years and against a “blue ribbon” government commission seemingly intent on producing proposals they opposed for three years before that. Although the members of The Group represented divergent interests and came from vastly different backgrounds, they were united by a belief, an almost religious conviction, that they alone were responsible for shielding vulnerable, exploited immigrant communities from a potentially disastrous set of policies masquerading as reform. But the bonds between them were deeper than simple agreement on public policy. Like soldiers defending their position from wave after wave of attacks from superior forces, they were battle-hardened veterans; and like those who’ve shared foxholes, their relationships were deeply loyal, in some ways more loyal to each other than to the organizations that employed them. They all felt they were fighting for a cause bigger than themselves.

They’d survived a near-death experience, when the Simpson-Mazzoli immigration reform bill they opposed came close to passage at the end of the previous Congress. The bill, named after chief sponsors Republican senator Alan Simpson of Wyoming and Kentucky Democratic congressman Romano Mazzoli, was widely perceived as both good policy and good politics inside the Beltway, the multi-laned Interstate 495 that surrounds Washington, DC. It had origins in a major government commission, enjoyed wide support among elite opinion leaders, and attracted energetic, capable sponsors like the wise-cracking Simpson, already a media darling, and the hard-working, intellectual Mazzoli. The issue seemed to be one whose time had come.

As they mingled in the hallway outside of the office of Rep. Barney Frank, the nonprofit lobbyists exchanged greetings in hushed, quiet tones. For The Group, this was a serious, solemn occasion. The meeting with Frank, an unlikely but potentially valuable ally, could prove crucial to their strategy of disrupting the bill’s inexorable momentum. It had passed the Senate by an overwhelming margin in 1982 and had died on the House floor in a special lame duck session that year. The bill had passed the Senate again early in 1983 and appeared poised for passage by the House in early 1984. Hundreds of newspaper editorial boards had endorsed the bill in one form or another, some chastising The Group, sometimes by name, for obstructing the bill’s passage. Congressional staff that previously had welcomed them into their offices to discuss the issues or coordinate strategy were now too busy to meet, some even looking the other way when approached in congressional hearing rooms or cafeterias, seemingly afraid to be seen with The Group or even to acknowledge them publicly.

The Group needed a game changer, something to alter the fundamental dynamics of the legislative landscape. Because delaying tactics alone seemed insufficient to stop Simpson-Mazzoli this time, League of United Latin American Citizens (LULAC) executive director Arnoldo Torres, The Group’s unofficial leader, had come up with an audacious ploy to derail the bill: to draft their own alternative legislation. In his mind, nothing less than a credible legislative alternative to Simpson-Mazzoli was required to shift the unfavorable political dynamics they faced. The old Capitol Hill adage was “You can’t beat something with nothing,” and Torres was determined to come up with “something.” For months The Group had been meeting several evenings a week, debating and drafting their alternative bill. After sometimes cooperative, often difficult meetings, Rep. Edward Roybal of California, the founder of the Congressional Hispanic Caucus, had introduced “their” bill. If Barney Frank, a key supporter of Simpson-Mazzoli and an emerging force in Congress, could be persuaded to cosponsor, or at a minimum say some good things about their bill, it would be a crucial first step in affirming their new strategy.

The Group had no illusions that their bill would pass intact. But at worst they thought the introduction of a plausible alternative could buy time—they could request hearings on the bill for example, and possibly even convince one or more committees to formally consider their bill. This process could consume months, possibly even a year or more. And if they could mount a credible campaign for their ideas, it was likely that key provisions of their bill could be attached as amendments to Simpson-Mazzoli, thus improving the final product if, in the end, it passed. Even if the worst happened, and their proposals were dismissed, they would gain a powerful talking point: that they had tried in good faith to compromise, had been refused, and thus had no choice but to fall back into an opposition mode.

After keeping The Group waiting for several minutes, Rep. Frank’s top aide Doug Kahn stuck his head into the hallway and called them in. Typically, when constituents, interest groups, or guests walked into a House member’s office, the representative stood and greeted them as they entered. This degree of personal hospitality reflected the fact that representatives are on the ballot every two years—they’re always “in cycle”—and thus with rare exceptions they try to be “regular folks.” By contrast, in the more august Senate, guests usually were assembled and waited before the senator was ushered in through a side door. As The Group entered his inner office, Frank stayed seated behind his desk, reading the newspaper, puffing away on a cigar, great wafts of smoke billowing around him. He didn’t even acknowledge The Group’s presence as he flipped the newspaper pages, one by one. He was a fast reader, but he was reading, grunting or commenting sotto voce on the news of the day, as they waited. “Bullshit!,” Frank whispered to himself, scanning one headline.

The Group seated itself roughly in order of seniority. Torres took the chair closest to Frank’s desk. Next to him was Wade Henderson, American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU) legislative counsel and a seasoned lobbyist. Warren Leiden, executive director of the American Immigration Lawyers Association, and The Group’s technical expert on immigration law, was next, along with the National Council of Churches’ Michael Myers, who represented the refugee resettlement organizations likely to play a huge role in processing undocumented immigrants if a legalization or “amnesty” program was enacted. Bringing up the rear were Torres’s deputy, Joe Treviño^* and Charles Kamasaki, policy analysis director of the National Council of La Raza, the junior member of The Group.¹

Brash, smart, mercurial, and intense, Arnoldo Torres was, in 1984, the most visible and outspoken Hispanic advocate in DC, often to the consternation of his more senior Latino organizational peers. He approached his mission of advancing Latino interests with almost religious fervor, combined with more than the usual amount of sanctimony. Torres’s ascendancy to the top tier of Latino advocacy on the issue of immigration policy inside the Beltway was, in many ways, anomalous. For one thing, Torres represented what traditionally had been among the most conservative of the major Hispanic civil rights organizations—it was no accident that the last word in LULAC’s name was “citizens,” a term historically meant to distinguish LULAC’s more elite business-oriented constituency from the poorer, less educated Latino immigrants. And although LULAC was known for its “work within the system” ethos whose leaders invariably were respectful of those holding high office, Torres was often provocative, saying things to elected officials that they rarely heard from others. It wasn’t so much that he intended to be discourteous; he was someone who thought of himself as scrupulously honest, who might’ve been characterized in centuries past as “carrying his heart on his tongue.”²

There was little in Torres’s past to suggest that he’d become a national Hispanic leader. After graduating from the University of the Pacific, he served for two years in the Legislative Analyst’s Office of the California State Assembly—something like a combination of the Congressional Research Service and the Congressional Budget Office in Washington, DC—a prestigious post to be sure, but a unit normally populated by studious introverts and bureaucrats, not firebrands. In one respect Torres looked the part; he was perfectly coiffed and beautifully dressed, and looked like a GQ model. Joe Treviño confided to his colleagues his amazement that, “Arnold has one closet of just shirts, all pressed, organized by color. He has another whole closet full of suits, divided by color and weight.” Nonetheless, Treviño emphasized, Torres was no “dandy”; he’d played on both the varsity soccer and intramural rugby teams in college, and had no shortage of physical courage and toughness.³

Torres didn’t smoke, drink, or curse, and made sure everyone around him knew it. He hated the smell of smoke. Although many in The Group were pack-a-day-plus smokers, at a time when even congressional hearing rooms had ashtrays available, they never smoked in meetings with Torres present. It was clear that Frank’s unmistakable display of keeping The Group waiting, while leisurely reading and smoking, was irritating Torres. The Group waited, quietly at first, for several minutes that felt like an eternity before Torres quietly cleared his throat. Torres had a habit of throat clearing at least once during every conversation; whether this was a physical problem or just a nervous habit was never clear to even his closest friends and colleagues.

Frank noted the interruption, peered over the top of his newspaper at Torres for a few seconds, and then promptly resumed reading. Barney Frank was not your typical congressman. Brilliant, witty, and loquacious, Frank was first elected to Congress in 1980, winning the seat previously held by the liberal Catholic priest, Rep. Robert Drinan. Having crushed longtime incumbent Republican Margaret Heckler in 1982 when redistricting forced them to run against each other, he was on a roll. Frank was, together with classmate Charles Schumer (D-NY), one of the hottest young stars in Congress on the Judiciary Committee, which had jurisdiction over immigration issues. He was also already a major force on the Banking (now Financial Services) Committee, which he eventually chaired, twenty-five years later, in 2007. An unapologetic progressive on a wide range of issues, Frank was a key supporter of the Simpson-Mazzoli immigration bill, one who was being counted on to protect Mazzoli’s vulnerable “left flank” in the Democratic-controlled House of Representatives.

There were widespread rumors among Capitol Hill insiders that Frank was gay. But in those more genteel times, members’ sexual orientation was not a story often pursued by the mainstream press. National Council of La Raza (NCLR)’s^* legislative director Martha Escutia once confessed that she had a “serious crush” on Frank. “Just look at him,” she said as she swooned.⁴ Indeed, Frank’s persona was hardly consistent with gay stereotypes—he was a tough, unrelenting questioner of Reagan administration officials who deigned to come before either the Judiciary or Banking Committees unprepared, and woe to those on either side of the aisle who challenged him without bringing their A game. Democratic staffers occasionally dropped what they were doing and packed the hearing rooms where Frank was holding forth, just for the sheer joy of watching him in verbal combat. Even Frank’s faint lisp, rather than detracting from his eloquence, seemed to make him a stronger and more compelling speaker, as he rattled off multiple arguments, cracking jokes and citing statistics, law cases, and classical literature, all at breakneck speed and without notes.

By now The Group had been kept waiting at least ten minutes inside the office, and perhaps ten minutes previously in the hallway, while Frank read, and smoked, and read some more. It was way past the awkward stage. Kamasaki had never before experienced the metaphorical “tension so thick it could be cut with a knife,” but he felt it now. In the days before laptops, cell phones, or blackberries, the lobbyists had nothing to do but shuffle their papers, look at each other, and shrug their shoulders. The cigar smoke was now permeating the room. Torres cleared his throat again, possibly from his sensitivity to the smoke, or more likely due to impatience, loudly and unmistakably this time. Frank laid his paper aside. He put the cigar into an ashtray. He checked his watch. He took a couple of swigs of coffee. He glared at The Group for a few more seconds, and said, “OK, I’ve got fifteen minutes. Tell me what you got. Shoot!”⁵

The rest of the meeting was a b...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Title Page
• Copyright
• Contents
• List of Policy Primers
• Cast of Characters
• Author’s Note
• Introduction
• Chapter 1: A Meeting and a Movement
• Chapter 2: Storm Warnings
• Chapter 3: The Battle Begins
• Chapter 4: New Blood, Shifting Strategies
• Chapter 5: Climax, Postponed
• Chapter 6: It’s Over
• Chapter 7: Aftermath
• Chapter 8: Ripples
• Chapter 9: Reflections
• Acknowledgments
• Notes
• Index