Riverside's Loss

The life of a city depends on its immigrants.

by Nathaniel Popkin

On a November morning in Riverside, N.J., there's a lone skateboarder on Pulaski Avenue. His wheels scratching macadam make the only human noise; otherwise, it's birds and the rustle of leaves. It's a densely built but commodious town. There are sidewalks. And I am the only one using them.

At the center of town, an American eagle sits atop a brass globe and below that are the names of boys the town lost in the First World War; there are American flags everywhere. But it's a while until I find the Brazilian colors, words in Portuguese, traces of the 4,000 or so who settled here from impoverished Northern Brazil after 9/11. Brazilians transformed the place. Then native Riversiders, feeling as if their town had been stolen, struck back. The town passed, and then retracted a law making it illegal to rent an apartment or provide a job to an illegal immigrant.

But the damage is done.

"It's a problem," says a man wearing a kitchen apron outside of the "churrascaria" (steak house) on Scott Street. Many of the other immigrant-owned stores and restaurants have closed. "The people are going for Philadelphia," he continues. "Just a few are left here."

"Will you go too?"

He looks at me and smiles. His teeth are yellow, gums swollen."Maybe," he says.

I take the RiverLINE south, cross the bridge, switch to the El and head back up the other side. The plane trees and turrets of Oxford Avenue carry me up to Oxford Circle and onto Castor Avenue. I see my first Brazilian flag at Higbee Street, a few blocks up. Then near Levick: Tropicana, O Boticario, Welcome to Brazil, Little Brazil, Best of Brazil.

The population of Brazilian immigrants along Castor Avenue may be as high as 15,000, significant enough in a city that desires new blood. (In reality, all cities lose people; the difference between a growing city and a bleeding city is the rate of immigration.) Finally, the percentage of foreign-born in Philadelphia is rising; immigrants are more visible and are contributing to Philadelphia more than they have in more than 50 years — an overlooked, non-Center City source of optimism. Brazilians flee Riverside for Castor Avenue because they feel safe there; in fact, Portuguese is only one of many languages spoken in the neighborhood. Brazilians, like most of Philadelphia's immigrant groups, seem to fly under the radar. Yet as Washington continues its aimless assault on immigration, including this week's change making it harder for naturalized Americans to gain employment, that is likely to change. Many cities, seeking to protect and welcome immigrants, have in response declared themselves sanctuaries. Sanctuary cities don't make immigration status a condition of law enforcement or the provision of services. Officially, Philadelphia isn't one.

Should it be? Some pro-immigrant advocates think it's a critical answer to nativist activism like Riverside's. Citing Philadelphia's ideals and role as a sanctuary for Salvadoran and Guatemalan victims of war, Pedro Rodriguez, executive director of Action Alliance of Senior Citizens, says it would also further the immigration debate. "Philadelphia has everything to gain and nothing to lose," he says.

Others believe discussing sanctuary status is a red herring from the real work of integrating newcomers into the region's economy. For them, a Riverside-like backlash is the last thing desired.

Rodriguez doubts the logic. "Philly's grown up," he explains. He means we're starting to act like the big, pluralistic city we really are. Verdadeiro? Eu gostaria de pensar assim.

Nathaniel Popkin is a frequent Slant contributor.