In the Country We Love: My Family Divided

Chapters 13-17 describe Guerrero’s path to mental wellness, her pursuit of an acting career, her professional successes, and the beginning of her journey as an immigration reform advocate. Courage is a running theme in these chapters. Guerrero’s bravery is on full display during her initial encounter with Lorraine. Like other children of undocumented parents, secrets were central to Guerrero as early as she can remember. (She initially kept her parents’ status to herself, and later hid the fact that they were deported). Being open in therapy about her family, as well as her struggles with cutting, alcoholism, and debt, is not easy for someone as guarded as Guerrero. Discussing her alienation from her parents proves to be even more difficult. However, Lorraine inspires trust and tells Guerrero exactly what she needs to hear: that she is going to be okay.

Guerrero’s decision to quit her paralegal career and pursue acting also attests to her courage, in addition to her tenacity. Giving up a steady paycheck is never easy, especially for people with debilitating debts. With Lorraine’s help, Guerrero comes to see performing as an essential part of her identity. She also understands that fear of failure has been holding her back. For Guerrero, acting is not just a job, but a passion: “You don’t choose your life’s work; it chooses you. It’s this new love that sweeps you up in its momentum” (169). Guerrero proceeds cautiously at first, keeping her job at a law office while enrolling in acting classes in Boston.

When that paycheck proves insufficient, she finds work as a bartender. She is equally prudent when she moves to New York, staying with her aunt until she has enough money to live on her own. The road to self-actualization and career fulfillment is filled with setbacks, but Guerrero never gives up. She works without pay on student productions, takes parts as an extra, and spends every spare dollar on improving her craft. She also goes on a slew of auditions. As hurtful as it is to face rejections, Guerrero sticks with it. Her tenacity and hard work pay off when she lands the part of Maritza on Orange, and later, of Lina on Jane the Virgin. Critical success, Emmy nominations, and a SAG award—all in Orange’s first year—propel Guerrero to stardom.

Nowhere is Guerrero’s courage more apparent than in her decision to go public with her family’s story. If sharing her truth within the safe confines of her therapist’s office is difficult, writing an op-ed piece for the Los Angeles Times is nerve-wracking. Guerrero’s decision to speak out comes after an event honoring Latinas helping their communities, where she meets Grisel Ruiz, an attorney for a nonprofit offering resources to those facing deportation. It is Ruiz who encourages her to write the op-ed. The piece is impactful, and the public response immediate. Guerrero is brave yet vulnerable during a CNN interview, drawing even more attention to her story. In addition to receiving praise from immigration advocates, and gratitude from vulnerable communities, Guerrero finds herself on the receiving end of criticism and racial slurs. The vitriolic letters and messages hurt Guerrero, but she does not back down:

The shift came for me as I read through all the other letters I received. As crippling and toxic as negativity can be, there will always be greater power in the positive. For each of the haters, three others wrote to me with stories of recognition; in hearing me speak about what happened in my family, their private fears had been given a voice. A face. An affirmation. At last, someone understood them (227-28).

Inspired by voices from around the country, Guerrero realizes that her experiences can help others. She decides to tell a more complete version of her story, resulting in her memoir. The task is a difficult one: “Putting my ordeal on paper has been gut-wrenching. I’ve felt vulnerable through every step of it. I’ve had to look back at moments I’d rather forget and stare into dark places” (231).

In addition to courage and tenacity, forgiveness takes center stage in the book’s closing chapters. Guerrero’s childhood includes difficult experiences, but none are more painful than her feelings of abandonment. She holds her mother responsible for the family’s separation. Her resentment grows over the years, especially when Mami complains about how difficult life is in Colombia. For Guerrero, Mami’s complaints are not just self-centered, they also minimize her own pain of growing up without parents. After reaching a crossroad in 2012, Guerrero visits her mother in Madrid in hopes of finally putting the past to rest. The distance between them is immediately apparent: “[Mami’s] life had moved on without me in it. It hit me that we had no real relationship anymore, only the shadow of a former one. That realization made me feel so lonely—not just on my behalf but also on hers” (193).

While Mami’s memories of the past are sharply focused, Guerrero’s feel so distant she compares them to faded old photographs. The imagery resonates with the family pictures interspersed between the book’s chapters. Tensions erupt four nights before Guerrero’s scheduled departure, when she tells Mami how she truly feels: “You abandoned me […] You destroyed our family […] I hate you!” she howls through tears (196). After a heartfelt apology, Guerrero forgives her mother, and in doing so, she puts the past behind her: “That night, in the dim light of my mother’s living room, I made the choice to free us both” (197). Guerrero finally realizes how strong her mother was in the face of devastating loss. She also recognizes her mother’s courage: Mami set out for a foreign land with a baby on her hip and without knowing the language, all for a chance at a better life. She endured poverty and violence, as well as discrimination. Guerrero sees her mother through a new lens: “[S]he fell down, got up, and then toppled to her knees again. But in the end, she always got up. She crawled back to her feet. She stood. And she deserved not my contempt but my deepest admiration” (198).

Few issues are as polarizing in America as immigration. By sharing her story publicly, Guerrero puts a human face on what can otherwise seem like an abstract problem—one often reduced to politically expedient soundbites. An important take away from Guerrero’s memoir, then, is that US immigration policies negatively impact families. Those caught up in the immigration system, or who fear being ensnared, are real people who dream of better lives. As Guerrero notes, millions live “under the radar, ashamed […] to say a word about their situation” (228). The sheer number of people living and working in the country illegally should prompt reform, yet the problem persists.

Being on the receiving end of hate makes Guerrero question her decision to come forward. She fears her career is over and contemplates stepping away from political issues. She also worries about having embarrassed her parents, but Mami sets her mind at ease: “This is your story. Tell it the way you want to, and don’t be afraid. Use what we’ve been through to help others” (230). Papi is equally supportive: “Always remember that you’re in charge of your own story,” he tells her. “You get to decide what you want to share. Don’t let others push you into talking about anything you’re uncomfortable with” (230). The advice serves Guerrero well. She continues to speak about her experiences, but on her terms. When she gives interviews, she specifies beforehand when topics are off-limits. Over the course of the memoir, she goes from being a frightened, grief-stricken, and powerless child to an empowered woman who stands by her decisions. Guerrero’s story is one of pain, but also of triumph. The strength of the memoir lies in her willingness to expose her family’s history. Sharing her story helps Guerrero heal, while also helping the undocumented.