Editor's note

In my years as a journalist, I've toured an array of nonprofits that serve Latino immigrants, covered plenty of the politicians they vote for and gotten to know dozens of immigration experts. So when I started editing this month's cover story, I felt pretty qualified.

But, last week, when Rosa took out her scissors and began cutting my hair, an unsettling realization hit me. I rely on plenty of Latino immigrants. I just don't know them.

They may wash our cars or cut our hedges. For those of us who frequent restaurants, they often fill our water glasses and prepare our meals.

Rosa has been cutting my hair every month for nearly five years. She had always told me stories about her 4-year-old granddaughter, inspired by the photos near her mirror. I could tell you some of the little girl's first words or the color of her latest Easter dress. But I didn't even know how long Rosa had been in this country. And I still don't know her last name.

On this visit, however, I decided to ask a few awkward questions, and I learned some things. Rosa is proud of her granddaughter's love of books, stemming in part from her own hopes that she can one day go to college; back home in Mexico, her father had tried to keep her from pursuing an education. A few years ago, she tried to enroll in the Chicago City Colleges, but left, discouraged by requests for a transcript she didn't have. And she considers herself "lazy" for not going to night school, even though she works full time and often cares for her granddaughter.

In this issue, as we explore the challenges facing Chicago's immigrant workforce, and what one organizer is doing to help, it forces me to realize that I am increasingly reliant on this population, yet personally distanced from it.

It makes me think of all the other things I don't know about Rosa. I'll ask her a lot more questions from now on.

Alysia W. Tate Editor and Publisher

COPYRIGHT 2004 Community Renewal Society
COPYRIGHT 2004 Gale Group