New Citizens Battle Fears, Frustration to Cast Ballots

Election Day came, and Hector Sandoval was an early arrival at the day-care center that serves as his neighborhood’s polling place.

The 37-year-old Salvadoran native, who became an American citizen six months earlier, had never voted. It was all a bit overwhelming.

Sensing Sandoval’s bewilderment, a poll worker showed the novice voter how to punch holes in the paper ballot. And so Sandoval selected candidates for the presidency, U.S. Senate and a number of state and local offices.

“This is the first time I ever voted for something or someone,” Sandoval said later. “It felt good. It’s a good feeling, knowing you can choose.”

Sandoval is one of four immigrant citizens The Times is following this year in an effort to examine how, and if, they join the electoral process. All registered to vote soon after they took the U.S. citizenship oath several months ago, and all announced their intentions to exercise their new civic duty.

Involvement of immigrants in the political system is crucial to the future of this diverse and rapidly changing state. As many as a quarter of California’s residents are foreign-born. Yet lack of citizenship greatly dilutes political power among many immigrants, especially Latinos and Asian-Americans, activists and experts say.

Californians--angry, frustrated, apathetic--stayed away from voting booths on June 2, the day of the state’s primary, in near-record numbers. In contrast, naturalized citizens tend to be among the nation’s most dedicated voters. Indeed, three of the four who are the subject of this series cast ballots.

Because of their inclination to vote, new citizens would be a natural source of supporters for political parties and candidates. Yet, with some exceptions--notably some branches of the Republican Party and the Catholic Church--the traditional political organizations do very little to attract and nurture new citizens.

Although none of the four people interviewed for this series received any political literature in the mail, they sought and found material on which to base their decisions.

Sandoval, who owns an industrial sewing-repair shop in Santa Ana, saw several TV commercials for candidates. And he had heard about Senate candidate Dianne Feinstein from friends who lived in San Francisco.

Ultimately, though, his selections were guided by some of the same instincts that motivated many people who cast ballots: the desire for change.

Sandoval, who registered as a Democrat the day he became a citizen in a ceremony in Carson in January, said he is angry about the Bush Administration’s handling of the economy, the recession that has slowed his business, and federal cuts he believes are threatening his children’s education.

“We are going to back to (the level of) a Third World country,” he said bitterly, a nation of have-nots that increasingly reminds him of his native El Salvador.

He voted for presidential candidate Bill Clinton, although he is eager to hear more of what Ross Perot has to offer.

And when it came to the Senate races, he issued what he believes is the most dramatic call for change.

“I voted for the two ladies,” Sandoval said. “I think they would do a better job than the men. We have just had trouble, trouble, trouble (with male politicians).”

By supporting Feinstein for one Senate seat and Rep. Barbara Boxer for the other, Sandoval said he felt that he was choosing candidates who would care more about the nation’s children, which he lists as his No. 1 concern.

“I just feel women are paying more attention to the small problems, the problems here at home,” he said. “Men are more worried about war overseas than about this country.”

Sandoval has lived in the United States since entering illegally over the U.S.-Mexico border about 20 years ago. Today he lives with his Mexican-born wife--who also became a citizen this year and voted June 2 for the first time--and their three children.

Josef Baran did not vote June 2.

The Polish native stayed away from the voting booth, not out of apathy but out of profound frustration. Baran, who was granted political asylum a decade ago and recently became a U.S. citizen, is determined to have a say in the electoral process. But he has not yet made up his mind.

Like many immigrants who came to the United States from Communist countries, Baran is an admirer of Ronald Reagan. Consequently, he registered with much enthusiasm as a Republican.

Now, however, he is disillusioned by the economic policies of George Bush, and searching for a candidate to support. Maybe Perot?

“My hero was Ronald Reagan,” Baran, 46, said. “But what I see on television, George Bush, if he is telling me something, he gives the impression that he does not even believe it.”

So Baran watches newscasts and reads in an effort to understand Perot’s ideas.

“I am waiting for much more precise questions, and much more precise answers,” he said from his home in Riverside County’s Moreno Valley. “I am observing this. I will make a decision.”

Baran is an engineer who works for a firm in Fountain Valley. He defected from Poland in 1982 and eventually was able to bring his wife, Anna, and two sons to the United States to join him. The family moved to Southern California in 1986.

One standard by which Baran is making his political judgments is not foreign policy, as some might expect of a refugee from Eastern Europe. Instead, he is focusing on the need to turn attention to domestic programs.

“With the Soviet Union not existing anymore . . . there is no enemy outside. So, let’s do something good in America.”

Baran’s 18-year-old son, David, also became a citizen this year and registered to vote. But he registered as a Democrat.

“In my house,” Josef Baran said, “everyone has an opinion.”

Zita Bernabe Reyes, a native of the Philippines, had said voting was not such a big deal. Elections were held regularly in her country of origin, so registering to vote and casting a ballot seemed fairly natural to her. A nurse with two children who lives in Canyon Lake, Reyes became a Democrat out of her admiration for Jimmy Carter. She voted June 2, according to her husband, but was unavailable last week to discuss her decision.

Veronica Tello, in contrast, gushed enthusiasm when she took the oath of citizenship in January. After years of having resisted changing her nationality, the Mexican-born mother of four relished being an American. She eagerly told The Times of her plans to express her views with her vote.

Two months later, the blush of that initial excitement had faded. Tello was confused. So many candidates, so many issues.

“It is like one big puzzle,” Tello, 53, said at the time, a nervous lilt to her voice. “There is so much to analyze, and I am very indecisive. My daughter tells me to think about this carefully because you do not want to regret your vote.

“I do not feel prepared.”

By June, Tello felt a little more comfortable. Conversations with her husband, Vicente, and her children, as well TV news helped form her opinions.

“I thought about it and thought about it,” she said. Once she entered the polling booth near her home, she acted with confidence.

“There were no problems and it went well, thanks to God,” said Tello, who works the night shift in a factory. Her husband works the day shift as a welder.

The couple has raised four children since moving to Los Angeles from Mexico 28 years ago. They have lived in the same stucco house since purchasing it in 1973.

Voting was not new to Tello. As a 21-year-old in Mexico, more than 30 years ago, she voted in a presidential election, but saw the electoral system there as corrupt.

There was one thing Tello learned quickly about the U.S. system: Asked about whom she had voted for, she refused to say.

“The vote,” she said, “is secret.”