At El Rincon Vaquero trading post here in West Columbia, S.C., votive candles compete with cowboy hats and jars of dark mole for shelf space. The colorful shop is a slice of Mexico in the middle of a rundown neighborhood. But one day this month, El Rincon Vaquero became, through a bit of diplomatic magic, an actual outpost of Mexico.

In an aggressive - some say subversive - new gambit, the Mexican government is sending its deputies through the American countryside, setting up shop in strip malls and schools, and handing out new Mexican ID cards called matricula consulars for $29.

To the Mexicans and many of their US supporters, it's a way to get driver's licenses and other benefits. Some say it even helps US officials by keeping track of illegal immigrants. For local governments, the cards are a stopgap way to deal with growing Mexican communities.

But to critics, they're an attempt to legitimize illegal immigrants' presence, conferring the advantages of citizenship. It is, they say, a new blight on an immigration policy as tattered as an old piñata.

"This is like a ... creeping legalization," says Robert Leiken, director of the Immigration and National Security Program at Washington's Nixon Center.

On a recent Saturday, over 1,000 Mexicans arrive in busloads from across South Carolina, crowding into the back room at the El Rincon Vaquero, clutching paperwork and Spanish-language car magazines. Several hundred are turned away: There just aren't enough forms to go around.

Still, "At least for a day, this is Mexican territory," says Irma Santana, a Hispanic outreach worker here.

The scene unfolds weekly from Illinois to Georgia, as schools and strip malls morph into consular safehouses where Mexicans can be "normalized" - if not naturalized - into the US. And despite the six patrol cars here in West Columbia, drawn by neighbors' complaints about the crowd, it's widely assumed that the INS is stretched too thin to attempt a raid.

"We're safe here, or else nobody would come," says Edren Saenz, a contractor from Greenville, S.C., who's teaching himself English by watching TV and skimming a dictionary nightly.

The mobile Mexican consul is so new that some INS officials haven't heard of it. Launched in 1999, it's picked up speed since 9/11. While State Department officials are dubious that the consul can technically establish Mexican soil in random US locations, nobody doubts the cards' legality: To the INS, handing them out is the right of any government.

"When it comes to the matricula cards, we don't have a dog in that fight," says Dan Kane, an INS spokesman in Washington.

Some insist it's the cards' open acceptance that's enabling the "subversion" of US law. A growing number of banks, for instance, welcome matriculas as a way to establish checking accounts - which makes it easy for relatives back in Mexico to access accounts through ATMs.

Page: 1 | 2