Senseless

The word senseless has flickered through my mind during this whole immigration ordeal. Although it is completely pointless I keep trying to determine why Homeland Security is adamant about deporting my husband. What is the advantage of spending thousands of dollars and countless hours in order to deport him? How exactly is the deportation of my husband going to make America a better and safer place? What possible good can come out of deporting a husband, an employee and a tax payer? My husband is not a terrorist, a drug addict or drug dealer. He has never physically hurt or abused anyone! The man does not possess one mean, callous or disrespectful bone in his body. The deportation of my husband will not result in anything positive or good--it will only result in misery and strife.

And if they were so intent on deporting him, why didn’t they just do so the first time he was in detention in 2003? These are all questions I will never have the answer to—and it is driving me insane. Why in the world did the U.S. government allow him to adjust his status before the 2nd circuit hearing and then rescind it? Unfortunately, I cannot stop myself from pondering the reasons why this senseless situation is unfolding this way.

In addition to all these questions, I can’t help but think about everything Khalid has been through and how this situation has affected him mentally and physically. He has been separated from his family since the late 1980’s. I cannot fathom what that was like and how lonely he must have felt during these years. And now, in addition to everything else he has lost, he is now being separated from his wife here in the States. He has worked hard his whole life, even holding down two jobs while doing countless hours of overtime, training other people and taking any additional challenges his employer has asked of him. None of this has made a bit of difference.

Some people answer this question by saying that life just isn’t fair. No, life isn’t fair. But does that justify the horrible, wretched, inhumane things people do to each other? Life is all about distributing scarce resources and determining who gets a larger chunk of the pie and who is left fighting for the crumbs. The scarcest resource of all is love and the bitterest struggle: its procurement.

I am reminded of a wonderful Indian author named Arundhati Roy and her book The God of Small Things. If you haven't read it I recommend it highly. In this book she explores the nature of love and how it is artificially distributed in society based upon arbitrary designations of rank, wealth and power. More specifically the story centers around the tragic love story between an upper class Indian woman and a poor Untouchable laborer. A particular quote from the book comes to mind and I will share it with you now:

"They all broke the rules. They all crossed into forbidden territory. They all tampered with the laws that lay down who should be loved and how. And how much."

This quote has become quite poignant to me now. I realize that the problems our country is currently facing: including the debate about gay marriage, the excesses of greed, racism, sexism and the discriminatory immigration judicial system; can all be linked by this distribution of love-- and who deserves it and who doesn't.

So, here I am, sitting in my living room-- ironically watching a special on Michael Jackson and fearing that this will be the last day I will spend with my husband and wondering where our share of the love is.....

Recent developments

After a period of relative calm, and just when we were feeling somewhat secure; a new development has occurred in my husband's case...and its not a positive one. The rug has been pulled out from underneath us...for the 10th time. There is no way to accurately describe the feeling that washes over you when you are faced with the imminent separation of you and the most important person in your life. The closest association I can come up with is a long, languishing death of a loved one--but even that isn't a close approximation. Both of us are very much alive and it is not death that is separating us, but the imperfect, arbitrary laws of man.

To imagine that both of us will be living, breathing and sleeping under the same stars and yet we will not be able to hold each other, comfort each other or share a joke together is excruciating. Every time I think about it it feels as if my breath is being sucked from my body leaving only a black hole and the insatiable abyss.

We have been told by a reliable source that the Indian government is trying to verify Khalid's identity by tracking down any of his relatives in India. The reason this is necessary is because when Khalid was imprisoned in a detention center in Batavia New York for 8 months in 2003-- the person handling his case sent all three of his passports to the Indian consulate in order to procur travelling papers. Based on protocol he was only supposed to send one and keep any additional ones as backup.

Fast forward to last July, when Homeland Security was trying to obtain his travelling papers to deport him, India refused to issue any because they require a passport for processing. This left Khalid in a state of immigration limbo which he has been in for almost a year. He was unable to adjust his status but also unable to go to India.

If India is able to verify that Khalid is an Indian citizen, however that process unfolds, that will allow the U.S. government to deport him. Apparently, they have contacted an aunt in India that Khalid did not know was still there. If the worst happens, I will have no say and will not be able to say good-bye to him. They will shackle him in handcuffs and chains like a criminal and imprison him once again before they place him on a plane to India. It is possible I may never see him again for various reasons. He is Muslim and is going into a country where violence against Muslims is common. In addition, with his absence, I will not be able to afford the medicine and co-pays needed to manage my medical conditions. I will likely lose my apartment, my education and even my sight.

I fear that if the worst happens, and Khalid is deported, I will not be strong enough to handle it. Financially, mentally and spiritually I will fall apart. We have to report to the Homeland Security office in Albany New York this Wednesday, and with these new developments I fear the worst.

An Imperfect Love Story

One of the first questions I am always asked when I discuss my husband's immigration situation is; "how did you meet?" It goes without saying that this is predominately a gender-based question--meaning that woman are more likely to ask this then men. Generally, most men are not inclined to question me about personal matters-- unless I happen to mention that my husband likes cars or enjoys fishing. When those juicy bits are divulged inevitable questions arise such as; "What kind of car does he drive?", "What are his favorite fishing spots? or "Where does he work?" I will not indulge my feminist bias at this time and comment on these anomalies; which I could certainly do--at length. I will restrain myself by simply saying they fascinate me.

Khalid and I met on a local online singles group. I had been recently getting into the dating scene after a long hiatus and was extremely frustrated by the lack of compatible partners. After dating a dishonest accountant who was a recovering alcoholic, a scanky and obsessive local college professor and a boy-man who couldn't do anything before he consulted his mother, I was obviously skeptical about finding a good partner.

This predicament became jarringly obvious to me when a "friend" set me up on a blind date with a man, who can only be accurately described as my worst nightmare. We met at his parent's house, which should have been the first tip off that this would not end well. He greeted me with a barely audible "hello" and didn't talk to me the rest of the evening until I was preparing to leave. He looked like he had just stepped out of the cover of a 1980's heavy metal magazine, with dark, cork-screw long hair, tight leopard pants and a black t-shirt with a huge decal of a fire breathing, multi-colored dragon.

I don't know if my surprise and horror registered on my face...and at that point I wasn't in the best frame of mind to really care. In addition to his outdated appearance I also found out he was unemployed, didn't own a car and lived with his parents. Even today I wonder what my friend was thinking when she thought we would make a good match. The friendship, a conspicuously superficial one, expired in a slow and barely perceptible manner shortly after this blind date.

So, on a cool afternoon in November in the year 2005 , with trepidation and low hopes, I went to meet a new man at a local Dunkin Donuts. As a result of my horrible dating experiences thus far I told myself sternly that this would be the last time I would meet anyone from the internet or singles groups. If this meeting does not go well, this was it--I was done. I would go back to my cats, my books, my paintings; call it good and pretend I was content. I was so sure that the meeting was going to be a complete failure that I told this man that I had a previous engagement and could only meet with him for two hours.

Imagine my surprise when the meeting went well! We forged an instant bond and became so enrapt in our conversation that it was well over an hour before we ordered our coffee. I was smitten with his easy-going demeanor, humility, and engaging smile. Khalid admitted to me, months after our first meeting, that he had a goofy smile plastered on his face while he got up to order our coffee that day--and it lasted into the evening.

Despite our deep feelings for each other ours has not been a perfect love story. Relationships never are because they are always between two imperfect human beings. I am sensitive, emotional and have a slight tendency to over analyze (cough..cough). Khalid can be brutally direct, non-communicative, and stubborn. I like to worry, think and plan for the future, Khalid likes to take things as they come. These differences have resulted in conflicts in our relationship, but it has also lead to deep illuminations and understanding. Through it all I have learned that it really doesn't matter... love can be imperfect but still be as steadfast as the roots of an old gnarled oak tree and as pure as a hidden waterfall. Love breathes in the smoke, ash and offal of human imperfection. If nothing else, we can have faith in that.

Challenging the stereotype

Just when you think that there is absolutely no one on Earth who can understand what you are going through, the universe sends the unexpected your way. Khalid came to me in this fashion--but that is a story for a subsequent post. I am speaking now of a friend of mine. We have only met face to face once at an immigration conference in Chicago last April. My newly found friend was the bright spot in an atmosphere of chaos and confusion.

After the conference, we all went out to lunch and spent the rest of the afternoon talking. She is one of the rare individuals who can actually empathize with the predicament we are in because she has gone through the worst case scenario. Her husband was deported to Mexico many years ago, and after a few months of separation and anguish she followed: out of love, devotion and necessity--even though she is a bona fide, born and bred American citizen.

To get back to the main point, I was talking to this friend on the phone the other day and she was relating the comments of some of the people who attend her monologue: a performance piece that she presents across the States about the experiences of being a wife of a deportee. In well-meaning innocence some people express surprise that such an articulate, educated and talented young woman would find herself in such a dire predicament.

In translation, the speaker is actually asking "How could you have married a man who got himself deported?" This question simultaneously expresses a multitude of culturally entrenched stereotypes about both the presumed nature of the deportee and his wife. Fundamentally, people are not so much surprised that we are educated, thoughtful and creative but that we are seemingly normal and mundane. This is uncomfortable because this suggests that tragedy can happen to anyone, anywhere and at anytime. This was not the result of a character defect, bad karma or questionable judgement but the result of the intersection of racial and cultural stereotypes, political events and the unfortunate criminalization of immigrants in American society.

My friend and I-- and our husbands-- are not extraordinary. We do not stand out in society as unusual, wretched or scurrilous. We are just regular people just trying to survive in an ever-complicated world. Love called to us and we followed, aware that pitfalls, hardships and strife challenge even the strongest of relationships. Perhaps we were blind to the particular arduous path we choose but that does not deter us from forging ahead in love, in determination and in faith that somehow this will work out for the best. After all--that is really the only thing that any of us can ever do.

Dear Diary--I am the wife of an Immigrant

These are the musings of me, a wife of an Indian/Muslim immigrant who has been given a mandate of deportation by the U.S. government. Currently, we are still living together, safe, in New York..but we are unsure how long this will last. The truth is, my husband could be ripped out of my arms any time and stoically deposited-- like some unpleasant trash-- on the shores of a country he hasn't stepped foot in for over 25 years.

It is my hope, that through the recording of my thoughts, anxieties, hopes and disappointments that I put a human face on a contemporary American tragedy. The public needs to know how dysfunctional the immigration judicial system is and how it negatively affects immigrants as well as the millions of American citizens who depend and love them. This is a nightmare that effects Americans and immigrants equally but has been hidden from the public. I plan on changing that.

Who am I? I am a 41 year old Caucasian woman--imperfect, terminally naive, emotional and creative. I am tall, heavy-set and look and act young for my age--which is a rare source of pride for me--I feel having a young attitude is essential for living a fulfilling life. In truth--I am not anyone special but have been thrust into extraordinary circumstances.

I have always suspected that human beings are tested by seemingly insurmountable challenges in their lives--not just once, but multiple times. These challenges are meant to strengthen us--but only if we meet them head-on, follow our guts and break out of the narrowly defined molds we have created for ourselves. If we approach a challenge with our usual entrenched beliefs and outdated actions we will fail to meet and vanquish it. On some higher level I sense I am being challenged, not only to mature, fend for myself and stand up for my beliefs but also to question my culturally conditioned ideas--about morality, justice and power.

Wallowing in self-pity, and fears of bad karma and victim-hood are of scant help. Unfortunately, I have wallowed in every negative emotion since I was first aware of my husband's immigration nightmare --this has been my shame--and I fear--an affront to the strength, integrity and kindness I witness in my husband daily. It is a mystery to me how my husband has dealt with this catastrophe these past nine years with optimism and grace. I fail in this miserably and am intermittently immersed in anger, doubt, and anguish that wallows up occasionally in the cracks of my optimism. I try very hard not to show my anxiety to my husband and thus add to his substantial burdens, but it is very difficult due to my highly developed imagination.

As a child, I was very imaginative and creative. I was a daydreamer and an idealist. Still are-- for the most part. I was brought up as an only child in the relative comfort of a middle class upbringing. My father was a high school teacher in a suburban district and my Mom was a secretary/typist on and off. Money was an issue for the first few years of my life but as my father continued teaching in the same institution his salary increased. In school, I excelled in artistic endeavors and loved to read and my grades were adequate despite the fact that I seldom studied.

I was extremely shy-- so much so that I actually won a "Silence is Golden" award in sixth grade. I had a few close friends but never felt the need to surround myself with endless banter and small talk. I preferred riding the whims of my own mind in words and pictures. If I did talk it was only when I had something important to say. This is still true. The fact is, my up-bringing was normal. There were never any great hardships nor tragedies in my life. I had a stable family life. Any hints at the precariousness of my future were missing.

I dated a bit but none of the men I dated felt like a good fit for me--until I met Khal at age 38--in 2005. We were immediately drawn together. There resided in Khalid a tender heart,--an integrity and quiet strength that appealed to me--specifically because I did not see any of these desirable traits in any of the other men I had previously dated. He was steadfast, calm, obviously intelligent and educated, incredibly handsome and appealingly mysterious. He spoke and wrote perfect English, (which could not be said for the other men I had dated.) and I had assumed he was an America citizen by the way he carried himself and the absence of an accent. I fell in love with him immediately and felt the same depth of feeling emanating from him. He was the first man I fell deeply in love with...and the last. We were looking forward to a great future.