Oakland set to issue ID cards oakland

Margarita Villegas still weeps when she thinks about being pulled over by an Alameda police officer four years ago for running a red light.

She was distraught that her lack of identification meant her car would be impounded and she herself jailed - separated from her crying 6-year-old daughter.

But, the officer allowed her to call her husband, a legal resident, to come identify Villegas and take the car. She didn't go to jail, but her fear remains.

"I want to be able to show that my name is Margarita Villegas," she said in Spanish.

Villegas, 49, will soon get a chance because of the city she's lived in for 20 years: Oakland.

Starting this year, the city will begin issuing municipal identification cards to help residents without legal immigration status. Such cards are critical for tasks that range from the urgent, like an interaction with police, to the everyday, like cashing a check.

"For a city that is mostly people of color with a large immigrant population, I think it's important that the local government responds to the needs of all the populations in the city," said outgoing Councilman Ignacio De La Fuente, who worked on the issue with Mayor Jean Quan. "An ID card is one of those needs."

Critics of such cards describe the program in words even supporters might not dispute.

"A card like this legitimizes the presence of illegal immigrants," said Mark Krikorian, executive director of the Center for Immigration Studies, a Washington, D.C.-based think tank that advocates for stricter immigration control. "It's a message from the city government that federal law isn't as important to the city as its own regulations."

Other cities have established municipal identification cards, including San Francisco, New Haven, Conn., and Washington, D.C. Los Angeles and Richmond have cards in the works.

Oakland's is particularly notable because it also doubles as a debit card, a feature believed to be unique nationally, but whose complexity ended up delaying the cards for three years. The card also does not require individuals to be identified by gender, a detail transgender advocates sought.

In the first year, the city expects to issue 6,000 cards, which will be available only to residents and will cost $15, said Arturo Sanchez, the deputy city administrator who oversees the program. It will be $10 for seniors and minors. The debit function is optional, and the cards must be renewed every two years.

The main argument for the cards is that they will help fight crime.

"People are afraid to be witnesses or provide information," said De La Fuente. "It's a waste of time for police to spend time and resources detaining or arresting people because they don't have any identification."

Quan, in particular, has wanted the debit function as a way to help the urban poor have access to bank accounts instead of check cashers. Some immigrants have become targets for robbers in Oakland because they are known to carry cash.

The card, said Quan, "would take away some of the victimization of the undocumented."

It is no coincidence that De La Fuente and Quan were the two principal advocates of the card. Their lives were both heavily shaped by the nation's immigration history, which has long favored certain groups over others.

De La Fuente, 66, came to the United States from Mexico City in 1971, when he was 21 years old. He said he overstayed a visa. But in those days, De La Fuente said, rules were so lax that he was able to walk into both the Department of Motor Vehicles and the Social Security Administration to get documentation.

Quan's family history was heavily shaped by the Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882, which severely curtailed the ability of Chinese to immigrate, much less become citizens.

Men had to go back to China to start families there. Quan's grandfather came to the United States around 1880, but the exclusion act meant that he and his descendants would take trips back to China to marry and have children.

As a result, Quan, born in 1949, was the first member of her family to be born in the United States, even though her family had lived in the country for nearly 70 years, she said.

The city's identification card, said Quan, 63, helps buy time for undocumented immigrants until substantial reforms are passed by Congress.

"It takes decades to change people's hearts in the culture, but you can certainly eliminate the unfair laws and practices of institutions," she said. "This card knocks down some of those barriers."