The Life After Death of Proposition 187

By Sandra Hernandez

For nearly four years Carlos Montes has lived in fear, wondering what would happen if Proposition 187 were allowed to take effect.
"I just kept wondering why this happened. It's all very complicated, but I knew that suddenly a pregnant women might get turned away at the hospital," says Montes, a father of four.
This July, Montes and thousands of undocumented immigrants across California breathed a sigh of relief after Gov. Gray Davis and civil rights groups announced Proposition 187 officially dead thanks to a mediated settlement.
"I guess I feel a little calmer now. I'm not sure what this means in my everyday life, but I'm glad its over," says Montes, who asked that his real name not be used. "I just couldn't understand why it passed," he says in Spanish, adding that in the 20 years since he made the trip north from Mexico to Los Angeles to work as a gardener, he has never received public assistance.
Launched as the "Save our State" initiative, Proposition 187 sought to bar undocumented immigrants from receiving public social, educational, and medical services.
The agreement puts an end to a four-and-a-half year court battle that began in November 1994 after California voters overwhelming approved the ballot initiative. The deal means Gov. Davis won't appeal U.S. District Judge Mariana R. Pfaelzer's ruling that found much of the initiative — including two of the most controversial provisions — unconstitutional. Those provisions would have barred undocumented immigrants and their children from public schools and refused them subsidized medical and social services. Moreover, the initiative barred undocumented immigrants from ever attending state colleges and universities. In return, civil rights groups agreed not to appeal the provision of 187 that creates state laws criminalizing the use and manufacture of false documents that would conceal a person's immigration status.
But while news of the settlement sparked celebrations and moved Latino elected officials to pronounce the state's "cultural wars" officially over, the agreement will do little to alter the legacy of 187.
"I think in many respects we need to understand that we may have won the battle but [former Gov.] Pete Wilson won the war," says Peter Schey, an attorney representing one of the plaintiffs that filed suit against the state. "We won a tactical victory but they injected many of the standards of 187 in federal law."
Schey and other attorneys acknowledge that while last month's agreement yielded some very tangible relief to undocumented immigrants like Montes, who feared their children might be kicked out of school, it has tainted the debate over education for years to come.
"People are terrified of doing things for the undocumented and especially when it comes to education," says Vibiana Andrade, an attorney with the Mexican American Legal Defense and Educational Fund, who helped carve out the agreement. "And there are a lot of politicians who are in marginal seats where constituents still feel very strongly about 187 and get very upset when they think undocumented immigrant kids are getting into schools."