A Clarification on my "memorials" of deportees

Recently, a reader contacted me about my blog post entitled Memorial #1: Ansar Mahmood. He was unhappy with a few things about my post: specifically the use of the word "memorial". In addition, he felt I was not doing Ansar justice by putting undue emphasis on his short residency in The U.S.

The entire note is as follows:

"hate to be pedantic... but those definitions are for 'memorial' as an adjective. You're using it as a noun. Mr Mahmood was shamefully treated. But you seem to be talking about him as if he were dead. As far as we know, he's alive and well and living in Pakistan. I just don't think you're doing him justice by talking of him as though his whole life were based on residency in the USA, and now all his promise and potential have been cruelly destroyed. They haven't - they're just happening somewhere else. The loss is America's, not his."

As to his first critique, regarding the use of the word “memorial” I will admit my mistake of using the incorrect "adjective" definition. However, there is nothing inherent within either definition that states the subject of the memorial has to be dead. In fact, the noun definition reflects more closely the actually purpose of the post: to remember the life of an immigrant that was unjustly treated. This is how the Miriam Webster online dictionary defines the noun of memorial:

“1: something that keeps remembrance alive: as a: monument b: something (as a speech or ceremony) that commemorates c: keepsake, memento”

I could have chosen to use the non-descript word of "remembrance" but that has no power behind it. Memorial is a "power word", it gets noticed: simply because it is normally associated with a death and/or a tragedy. Any writer worth his or her salt knows when to use a "power word" to get people's attention. All writers are manipulators of language: some are better at it than others.

In essence, the purpose of my post was to keep the memory of Ansar alive in the collective memory. There are thousands of immigrants being deported from America's shores yearly, each with their own unique story. Each year the numbers of deportations increase. Millions of taxpayer dollars are being funneled into this expensive "cleansing" and the American people have a right to know how this money is being used and to whom it is being used against. Unfortunately, most of these deportations are done secretly and only a handful of individual stories are known, written or talked about. Changes to immigration policy will only occur if people know something is wrong. Our immigration system is clearly broken!

I am attempting to take an abstract concept--deportation--and make it personal. Deportations do not happen to ideologies and concepts: they happen to individual people. Additionally, they do not happen just to the deportee, but to the family, friends and the community at large. To think otherwise is unrealistic. Any immigrant that comes to our country forges close relationships. Once a deported individual is sent away, those ties are oftentimes severed forever.

I never intended to imply that Mr. Mahmood was dead. But there are consequences inherent in becoming labeled a deportee. These consequences can result in actually physical death and/or-- what I refer to-- as "symbolic deaths." Bear with me, I assure you that I can explain.

There are serious ramifications of being deported --even once the person arrives in their country of origin. For instance, in countries like Pakistan, Haiti and many Middle Eastern countries once the individual is escorted off the plane by American DHS officials and handed over to the homeland authorities an even worse situation can unfold. In these countries, the deportee is oftentimes taken into custody, interrogated, abused and oftentimes thrown in prison.

In Haiti, for example, the majority of native deportees suffer from exposure, untreated medical conditions and starvation in Haitian prisons. Amnesty International has pleaded with American leaders to stop the unprecedented deportation of Haitian immigrants because of the gross human rights violations in the prisons there. For most Haitian deportees, being deported from America is a death sentence.

When Khalid is actually deported to India, the DHS officers will handcuff him and escort him off the plane and hand him over to Indian officials. These officials will look at Khalid's passport and see the word "deported" stamped on the first page. A likely scenario will play out in the following way: Khalid will be taken to a locked office within the airport and interrogated about the circumstances involving the deportation. Khalid will relate the long complicated story of his conviction, the fight through the immigration judicial system, his marriage to an American citizen and at the end of the struggle—being deported.

With any luck, maybe the officials will let Khalid go. Unfortunately, many Indian deportees find themselves rotting away in Indian prisons. These unlucky deportees are those who have no family ties in India and therefore no way to pay the extortion fee imposed on them by corrupt Indian officials.

Luckily, Khalid's brother should be in India at this time. His brother secured a 10 year VISA ( a VISA that allows unlimited entrance into the United States ) and commonly travels back and forth between India and the U.S. for training purposes. Hopefully, when Khalid is actually deported his brother will be in India and be able to travel to the prison, pay any fees required and Khalid will be allowed to accompany his brother to the safety of his home. Only then will Khalid be able to pick up the pieces of his life and start anew. For some Indian deportees the scenario is not so easy.

In conclusion, I was not trying to over-emphasize Mr. Mahmood's brief residency in the United States. I will not contradict the fact that many deportees can live happy, productive lives outside of American borders. People can live a good life in various countries all over the world. Despite myths propagated to the contrary, America does not corner the market on happiness, liberty and freedom. In fact, a recent study compared the relative happiness and contentment of citizens from various countries around the world, Americans ranked well behind individuals from Scandinavian countries. I will leave it to the reader to discern why, but it’s an interesting illumination none-the-less.

Ansar, like so many poor immigrants from unstable countries, wanted desperately to come here. He dreamed of arriving in this "land of opportunity". From his meager capital he obtained a green card and came to America. He secured employment and was even able to send some money back to his relatives. By all accounts, he thrived in his new environment and was content. It is not a stretch to say that his quality of life was significantly better here than in Pakistan.

That is why immigrants risk everything to come here. It is not my aim, in this particular post, to debate whether this naiveté and optimism is justified or whether it lives up to the hype. That is a subject for a subsequent post. It is only necessary to illuminate that America is the beacon of hope and prosperity for millions of downtrodden people across the globe.

Ansar came to America in the hopes of finding a better, more stable and productive life. However, when he was deported all this was destroyed. What he experienced was a "symbolic death" that is no less devastating. His hopes, aspirations, relationships and sense of security all “died” the day he was put on the plane to return him to Pakistan.

I do not believe that Ansar would take offense to my "memorial" I feel the only way that I can do justice to Ansar is to make sure that he is remembered. Indeed, the deportation of a good hardworking man like Ansar is a great loss to America. But to downplay the devastation of deportation is doing a gross injustice to the memory-- indeed to the living, breathing individual known as Ansar Mahmood-- and to the thousands of people whose lives are destroyed by deportation every year.

To think that Ansar, or any deportee, can return to his country carefree, unscathed, and simply pick up the where they left off is unadulterated ignorance. It doesn't work that way. I will continue to write about various deportees in my “memorials” to facilitate some empathy and understanding from a public who is largely unaware of their plight. I am giving voice to the voiceless.

There is a madness to my method…er...method to my madness.

What all this means for us...

As a result of this legal labyrinth my husband is considered inadmissible which means he is unable to adjust his status to legal permanent resident. Even though he is not deportable based on the conviction, through the stealthy flick of a magic wand the immigration judge determined he was deportable based on his VISA overstay. That is what his deportation mandate says: "deportable due to overstay violation." He can't rectify his VISA overstay because he is inadmissible based on his "crime" (i.e attempt at self preservation) which is considered a "particularly serious crime". It goes around in a circle: overstay----particularly serious crime---denied asylum---inadmissible---can't adjust status--overstay, etc: with no way to get out of the loop.

I recently spoke to a reporter from California who was flabbergasted that he was being deported based on an overstay violation yet he was married to an American citizen. Apparently, she is familiar with a lot of Mexican immigrant cases in which the individuals had overstayed their VISA's but had been allowed to stay because they are married to U.S. citizens. I had no explanations for her, other than the circle metaphor I wrote about in the previous paragraph.

She kept asking if he had ever left the United States and tried to re-enter without inspection. I told her "no" at least three times. And then she couldn't believe that he was being deported based on overstay and not on the conviction. I explained to her that the one conviction of reckless endangerment is not a deportable offense. I told her I would be happy to send copies of official documents that corroborate what I was saying. At the end of the conversation she said that his case is unlike any she has ever encountered and that basically it was too complicated for her but she would pass the story onto a co-worker in New York.

The honest truth about Khalid's situation is it has not followed any predictable or standard format for immigration cases. I believe the reason for this is because he is Muslim and has dark skin. I have done enough research and read enough books to confirm my hypothesis. Despite the experiences of the reporter in California, there are numerous cases of Muslim men, married to American citizens, who have been deported based on overstay alone. Oftentimes, the man has not overstayed and is a legal permanent resident, or has a green card pending but is deported anyway. There is a documentary entitled Out of Status that outlines just such a case. If you can get it I recommend viewing it--it will knock your socks off.

Khalid was simply at the wrong place (U.S.) at the wrong time (2001)and was caught up in the moral panic that ensued against Muslims shortly after 9/11. Based on his name, where he came from and his religion--and not on who he actually was-- he was labelled as a possible terrorist. When Homeland Security found out otherwise it was too late. The damage had been done, too many mistakes had already been made and the case had gone too far for them to admit they were wrong. The cards were stacked against Khalid the first time he went before an immigration judge. Once he was deemed deportable it did not matter how much money Khalid spent or what his lawyers said or tried to undue, he would never be able to shake that horrible label.

As far as lawyers go, they have been impotent at best. I honestly don't think most immigration lawyers have the knowledge or appropriate experience to deal with a case as complex as Khalid's. We have been told different things from different lawyers on what Khalid's status as inadmissible means. Some have told us that he cannot file his waivers or the paperwork that would allow him to adjust his status to that of legal permanent resident here in the United States. Instead, he would have to travel to India and file the paperwork with the Indian consulate. Then the State department would have the option of denying it and making Khalid wait another 1-3 years.

Yet, another lawyer said that because Homeland Security misplaced his passports he does have the option of filing for an adjustment of status. But it would be a long shot. A better option would be to hire a lawyer to overturn the conviction. Of course, this would require excessive amounts of money, that honestly, we just don't have.

Another possibility; and by the way, this is not coming from a lawyer but rather a personal suspicion (not unreasonable in light of how difficult my husband's case has been): the State department could refuse to let him back in the country at all. This is despite the fact that he qualifies for a waiver stating he is eligible because it has been over 15 years since the conviction. Mercy, do the complications ever end???

The few positive aspects of all this include the following: Khalid came to the States legally, has a social security number, a work permit, has been paying taxes, plus he’s married to a U.S. citizen. This should work in our favor! Because of these factors he should not be barred from re-entering the normal 10-20 years undocumented immigrants normally are(immigrants who enter without papers and/or without inspection). But then again—his case has not followed standard procedures: so it is nearly impossible to predict what will happen.

So..what does this all mean for us? We are kept guessing at what our future holds. We cannot make plans to buy a house or have a family. We have to show up at Homeland Security at intervals of time, scheduled at their discretion. It could be monthly or every three months. We cannot go away on vacation outside of New York for more than 3 days without notifying Homeland Security. It's possible our phones are being monitored. We are living in a soft cage--but a cage none-the-less. In essence, what all this means is we cannot really plan our future because we don't know if we have one.

Khalid's Life: Part II

When Iraq invaded Kuwait on August 2, 1990, Khalid’s family fled their home and left everything behind. Family members scattered to various countries seeking safety. One sister eventually went back to Kuwait after several years only to find the family’s home destroyed by heavy Iraqi artillery.

As a result of the war his father had lost his job and could no longer finance Khalid’s education. Consequently, Khalid was left without a homeland to return to and the grim prospect of dropping out of college to fend for himself as best he could. His father, fearing for his son’s safety, encouraged Khalid to stay in the United States, at least until there was a stable home to return to. That time never came.

In 1991 he moved from Oklahoma to Utica, New York. While in Utica, he obtained employment as a taxi driver. However, Khalid soon realized that working as a taxi driver in Utica in the early 1990’s was a hazardous profession. Many taxi drivers were assaulted and robbed and there was at least one documented fatality.
At 12:30 on a summer night in 1993, while filling out some paperwork in his cab, he was threatened by four individuals: individuals that Khalid felt meant him physical harm.

In order to defend himself he shot a gun into the air. Unfortunately, Khalid was only familiar with Oklahoma’s permissive gun laws and was not aware that New York state required guns to be registered. Regardless, his intention was never to hurt anyone; he merely wanted to scare them away. Indeed, no one was hurt, nor was any property damaged. The police report confirms that he was approached and harassed by a group of people-- two of whom had previous convictions. Ultimately, this information was disregarded but significance was attached to the firing of an unregistered gun.

He fully cooperated with the police but despite this he was arrested and taken into custody. When the District Attorney agreed to lower the charges to 3rd degree reckless endangerment, a minor infraction that did not result in jail time, but the presiding judge refused to take the plea. Thankfully, the gun violation was dropped but my husband was charged with 1st degree reckless endangerment. He served 4 months of his 6 month sentence due to good behavior.

After his release, Khalid was looking forward to putting the conviction behind him. Unfortunately, fate had other plans. After 9/11, fear seeped into the dark crevices in American’s psyches and secured its predatory talons into our quaking flesh. Consequently, many Americans concluded if a few extremists can be callous enough to take innocent lives, than by extension, all Muslims must be dangerous. Unfortunately, this is an assumption based on fear and ignorance and has been exploited by American leaders to expand their own Imperialistic agenda, and is not based on empirical fact.

In retribution, the United States government began a systematic and intense operative in removing Muslim and Arab immigrants from this country. Although many were in the United States illegally, the assault was also felt by legal immigrants and even U.S. citizens with Muslim and Arab backgrounds.

In 2001, my husband was unmarried, Muslim and had residential ties to Kuwait: one of the flagged countries suspected of housing terrorists. As a result of these factors and his electronic expertise, Khalid fit the profile the U.S. government implemented for identifying suspected terrorists.

After 2001, Khalid became immersed in a legal immigration nightmare. The judge presiding over Khalid’s original immigration case determined that he was deportable based on his one conviction of reckless endangerment. If reckless endangerment was considered an aggravated felony than the judge would have been correct. However, reckless endangerment is considered a crime of moral turpitude. In order for a crime of moral turpitude to be considered a deportable crime, the individual in question would have to commit one crime of moral turpitude within five years of arriving in the States or-- failing to qualify in that regards-- would need to commit two crimes of moral turpitude. My husband’s situation did not qualify as deportable based on these criteria.

Consequently, my husband remanded this decision to the Board of Immigration Appeals. The BIA agreed that the one crime of moral turpitude is not deportable. Additionally, they determined that he was eligible for asylum, a form of relief the immigration judge denied him-- unless his crime was considered a particularly serious crime. Subsequently, the immigration judge proclaimed that Khalid’s crime was a particularly serious crime and therefore, he was denied asylum and considered deportable.

Once again, Khalid appealed the decision to the BIA. They agreed it was a particularly serious crime, which denied him asylum, but did not concur deportability based on the conviction. Despite the BIA’s reluctance in issuing a deportation mandate, my husband was apprehended at his home in 2003 and deposited in a detention facility in Batavia New York. He languished in detention for over eight months, despite having legal papers, a valid passport and repeatedly imploring the detention officers to return him to India. During this unconstitutional imprisonment, Khalid lost his livelihood, his freedom and his house.

To digress to legal explanations, the usage of the term “particularly serious crime” is predominately an ambiguous designation. An unfortunate consequence of the 2nd circuit decision in my husband’s case is the ability of immigration judges to apply this designation to any conviction, even without evidence of violence, criminal intent or premeditation. Although this law could be applied to any immigrant, it was most often utilized against Muslims and Arabs.

Indeed, this tendency to single out this particular ethnic population continued in the passing of other security measures including the absconder apprehension initiative, and the Muslim immigrant registration process. The Migration Policy Institute conducted a survey of Muslims detained after 9/11 entitled: America’s Challenge: Domestic Security, Civil Liberties and National Unity after September 11th. They found the overall deportations of Muslims increased substantially in the years following the tragedy of 9/11.

Fears of deportations and the implementation of ethnic specific laws effectively alienated most Muslims from their communities and severely restricted their lives. The report explains in the following excerpt:

“As a general immigration enforcement measure, the absconder apprehension initiative is legitimate and important. However, after September 11 the government changed the character of the program to make it nationality-specific. This has marginal security benefits, while further equating national origin with dangerousness, although stepped-up absconder apprehension efforts are eventually to encompass all nationalities, this has not happened so far.”


There is no indication that any of the men who were deterred at detention centers were actually a menace to American society. The majority of detainees were non-violent, had family ties in the States and had been residents for a considerable amount of time. They do not fit the established profile of a real terrorist. As the report discusses:

“Most importantly, from our research it appears that the government’s major successes in apprehending terrorists have not come from post-September 11 detentions but from other efforts such as international intelligence initiatives, law enforcement cooperation, and information provided by arrests made abroad. A few noncitizens detained after September 11 have been characterized as terrorists, but the charges brought against them were actually for routine immigration violations or unrelated crimes.”

The actual result of these measures has not resulted in a safer country. Instead, we have created a society that is alienated, fragmented and unnecessarily fearful and distrustful of each other. Rather than safety, these legal statutes have resulted in instability and the eradication of numerous personal liberties. The Migration Policy Institute explains:

“The government’s use of immigration law as a primary means of fighting terrorism has substantially diminished civil liberties and stigmatized Arab- and Muslim-American communities in this country. These measures, which were primarily targeted at Muslims, have diminished the openness of U.S. society and eroded national unity.”

The problem with this stigmatization is that people operate under the illusion that it is easy to identify the enemy. The underlying assumption remains: If Muslims are inherently evil and are easy to identify, with their conspicuous facial hair and strange clothing; it will be easy to banish them from our country. Only then will we be safe. This sounds eerily familiar. In times of crises, many civilizations have implemented similar magical and dangerous thinking.

One does not need to go far back into America’s history to find such an example. Consider, for instance, the practice of sending thousands of Japanese-Americans to internment camps during World War II. Now, after years of reflection, most Americans would agree this was not the right thing to do. In fact, many Japanese interned were later awarded monetary compensation as a symbol of America’s regret.

We’ve deluded ourselves into thinking that evil dons a readily identifiable mask. Evil doers wear peculiar clothing and speak strange languages. We don’t want to admit that evil is elusive. We want comfort in an uncertain world so we concoct a fictional reality where we can identify “the other” as the cause of our suffering and uncertainty. As long as our attention is exclusively occupied by eradicating this evil then we don’t have to look at the reality before us. Evil dons many masks and unlike humans, it does not discriminate.

Khalid's Early Life

My husband does not speak often about his life before arriving in the United States. Although I shouldn't speak for him-- I surmise that life was rough for his family for various reasons. They were Indian immigrants residing in an alien Arabic landscape with different customs, language and religious observations. Even though they were Muslim (except for his mother who was Christian)I'm sure the interpretation of Islam was slightly different in India then in a traditional Arabic nation. Such circumstances can make a person--or family-- feel vulnerable, alone and anxious.

Additionally, Khalid expresses a certain amount of detachment from his Mother and Father--partly as a result of the forced separation and also based on his upbringing. His father was a stern man and believed in bringing his children up with a strict interpretation of Islam. Khalid was forced to don a professional, pious attitude at all times, even wearing a suit to school and attending prayer the required 5 times per day--every day.

His mother was a traditional Indian woman who probably had far too much to do; after taking care of six children and a husband-- then to focus too much attention exclusively on her 2nd oldest child.

Please understand--I am in no way expressing any disdain for Islam as a belief-system. Islam is a peace-loving religion and I have had the privilege of befriending many lovely Muslim people. I have respect for Islam as well as Christianity and Judaism--even though I choose to worship differently.

To get back to the main point...Khalid left India at the age of six and relocated with his family to Kuwait City, Kuwait. His father was a civil engineer who found ample employment in Kuwait as a result of the fledgling oil industry. With his father's new found success the family was able to afford a comfortable home, a large American made car and other small luxuries. Luxuries that would not have been obtainable in India

For an intelligent and academically-minded youngster like Khalid, the household was too chaotic for doing any sustained studying, so he would go next door to one of the empty company sponsored homes, sneak in and complete his homework in refreshing silence.

He showed an early aptitude for electronic tinkering. Khalid often relates the story of one of the first times he showed such an aptitude: an instance that got him into a lot of trouble with his father. Sometime in the early 1980's, when boom boxes were at their peak of popularity, his father proudly purchased an advanced specimen and presented it to his excited family. Khalid was completely mesmerized by the electronic device, so when his father was occupied elsewhere, Khalid took it--and dismantled it in an effort to figure out how it worked. Unfortunately, his electronic expertise was unrefined at this juncture and he was unable to put it back in working order. Obviously, his father was just a tad unhappy when he came home to see his precious music player in disarray.

When Khalid turned 18, he applied to various American universities for electrical engineering. Out of the three that accepted him, his father encouraged him to attend Oklahoma State University because the city had a cohesive and substantial Muslim community. He secured a student VISA and arrived in Oklahoma in 1987. After acclimating to the culture of an American university he obtained good grades and found a supportive community. He was planning on spending four years in the States and then upon securing his degree, return to Kuwait and exercise his new found skills. Unfortunately, due to various circumstances, that were completely out of his control, Khalid's plans went awry. More on this in a subsequent post.

A True-Blue American

Khalid and I spent a wonderful Fourth of July at Pierre and Donna's house, eating hot dogs and hamburgers, sipping homemade concord grape wine, socializing with great people and simply relaxing after a stressful week. We met a lovely couple, Lorraine and Lee, and Lorraine gave me advice on how to get my art shown in a gallery. She is a successful local artist and her work is shown in art venues across the state. Her genre is fabric art, and is comprised of a painted canvas background and intricate dimensional embroidery of various flowers. She gave me her business card and on the back of it was a copy of one of her pieces: a beautiful rose-colored hollyhock.

Later on, we drove to the Syracuse Fairgrounds to watch the fireworks. They were supposed to start at dusk but for some unfathomable reason did not commence until 9:50. It was unusually cold for a July evening in Central New York, 40 degrees to be exact-- and while I was sitting in a new-- not particularly comfortable transportable chair I berated myself for failing to grab a sweater or blanket on the way out this morning.

Shivering and rocking back and forth to keep myself warm I had ample time to chide myself for my stupidity. While I was watching the hoards of people barbecuing hot dogs, eating ice cream, waving magical sparklers in the air-- and listening to a mother scolding her child for wandering away,-- and doing all those things that are traditional for a July 4th celebration, I wondered what it takes in contemporary society to be considered a true blue, patriotic American and whether I could fit into that narrow definition.

It's easy to know how to be a true-blue American on the 4th of July. It's all spelled out for us. We BBQ, picnic, eat hot dogs and hamburgers, sip lemonade and basically gorge ourselves until the buttons on our shirts pop off. Then we gather our family and friends together and pile in trucks and drive to the best fireworks display in the area.

But when the smoke has dissipated from the ink hued sky, and the last blaze of fiery, reflected color has faded from the iris of a sleeping child; what does a true-blue American do?

Television does a good job of illustrating what is expected of us as it broadcasts American culture and the iconic American dream 24 hours a day; seven days a week. Commercials and the pandering of politicians tell us our most sacred duty as an American is to shop and keep quiet. Put everything on credit and bolster the sagging economy. Shop until you drop-- but don't ask too many questions and, most definitely, don't be critical of the government. We distract ourselves by buying new cars built with cheap parts, large elaborate homes constructed on sink holes--and buy the latest technological gadget at exorbitant prices. Do all this and more--put yourself into piles of critical debt-- but don't draw attention to corporate corruption and the political system that supports it.

And when everything inevitably goes down in flames and the economy is in shambles-- make sure that blame falls on the victims: the Americans who bought into the American dream that has turned into the American nightmare. Blame the poor people who wanted to provide a safe roof for their children, or the young man who borrowed money to keep his fragile business afloat as larger corporations invaded his territory and lured his customers away with promises of the good life for a cheap price. Blame the old people who have to choose between buying food, heat or costly medicine. By no means should you hold the greedy politicians or corporation's accountable. And even if you do, for Heaven's sake, be polite and obedient and don't talk about it.

Maybe I am a relic of the rebellion and social consciousness of the 1960's--after all--I was born in the late sixties and some of the "hippie" essence must have rubbed off on me. But I can't help but feel there is more to being a patriotic American than ascribing to consumerism, passivity or fervent individualism. Somehow, I feel less patriotic--less true-blue-- by admitting that.

When did greed become a trait to aspire to and how exactly did it become good for our economy? America is still predominately a Christian nation therefore I assume that greed is still considered one of the seven deadly sins. I ask this because I read a comment in a discussion group glorifying the virtue of greed and how it single handedly pushed this nation into greatness. Without greed, the argument went, this nation would never had become the superpower it is today. I disagree, I believe that it was ambition that forged this nation. But ambition, without foresight and restraint, becomes destructive and turns to greed.

Am I true-blue American? If I compare myself to some people's notion of what a true-blue American is, probably not. I have a strong tendency towards social and political criticism and don't mind letting my revolutionary thoughts known when the appropriate occasion arises. However, I also believe in community building, helping your neighbor, working for social justice and treating everyone, regardless of rank, color, or culture with dignity and respect. In my heart--that is being a true-blue, patriotic American.

Inside the Dragon's Lair--Part 1

Slithering in between the tangles of blackthorn and ivy, my husband and I stealthily picked our way through the dense bushes lining the medieval fortress that lay just outside the castle gates. The old gnarly witch in the Obsidian Forest told us Ashcroft Castle was protected by an powerful magic and no one could gain entrance without the purple crystal key. The key was buried underneath Pan's statue which was located near Wygham Lake in the furthest eastern corner of the kingdom. Our goal was to retrieve the key and journey to Ashcroft Castle; find a doorway in the fortress marked with a rune called raido: a symbol that approximates the look of a letter "r" with a slightly askew leg on one end. It was here that my husband could find an ancient document that would finally grant him his freedom.

Finding the purple crystal key was relatively easy, except for the few ornery trolls we had put to sleep with a tranquility spell. Trolls aren't easily susceptible to serenity and it took our combined efforts along with a sharp hit on the noggin of one particularly difficult troll to ensure the entire group got it's fair share of tranquility.

However, trying to find the doorway with the rune mark was particularly difficult. We had circled the entire fortress and had not discovered the necessary doorway. They all looked the same: plain withered planks of splintered wood with an odd diamond shaped keyhole.

The only protection that was offered to us was the dense brush of blackthorn and we often had to jump quickly back into those thorny bushes when the King's Brigade came by. Once they marched a safe distance away we ran to the next nearest door. I quickly pulled the crystal key from a pocket deep in my bronze cloak. There wasn't a discernible mark on the expanse of the door but I tried to fit the key in the lock anyway and was amazed when both the key and the lock eerily metamorphosed shape into the mark of the rune. The knob turned and we carefully pushed the door open.

A magnificent garden greeted our tired and surprised eyes. I had to blink multiple times before my eyes could adjust to the penetrating golden light and the flurry of color. It was unlike any garden I had seen: filled with meandering plants of such girth and height that obscured every object in the garden with a thousand flourishes of unusual blooms. In the middle of the courtyard there was a glittering gold fountain and torrents of silvery liquid that cascaded over multi layered tiers of stone chiseled seashells.

On either side of the fountain, approximately 1000 feet apart, stood two massive black gargoyle sculptures with terrifying grimaces and large, slightly oblong ears that diminished to long, curled tips at the ends. Their sleek and massive wings stood immobile but partially unfurled on either side as their twisted and slick talons held a stone sphere cruelly in each paw. I looked at them in fascination for a few minutes and then slowly turned to catch my husband's gaze. But as my head started to turn I could have sworn my eyes registered some movement in my peripheral vision. I quickly turned back to look at the statue but it was completely still. Bemused I was about to say something to my husband when I heard him say: "Beth, get behind me."

My head snapped quickly back to my husband. The alarm in his voice was initiated by an animated gargoyle towering over my husband in a predatory stance. He was about four feet away from him, close enough for the monster's breathe to move the hair on my husband's head.

A loud growl ensued from a different direction and I swiveled my head to the left and gazed in horror at the visage of the other gargoyle. He was no longer perched benignly on the marble pedestal but was instead flapping his wings passionately and focusing his red eyes intently in my direction. From a distance, I heard the deep, evil cry of the other gargoyle, but I could not turn my attention from the monster in front of me. I gripped the spear at my side and raised it slowly. I took a quick step forward but the gargoyle was quicker and knocked the spear out of my hands with his long snout.

I deftly dodged the flap of his massive left wing and took cover under the billowy leaves of a willow tree. I had to get my spear back-- and fast. The stupid beast was not aware of my hiding place and seemed to be looking for me on the dense bushes of blackthorn. I ran out from under the cover of the willow and grabbed my spear. The gargoyle turned in pursuit. As it lunged for me I raised the spear and threw it right into the monster's heart. The creature stumbled, stopped and then collapsed-- all the while snorting and thrashing to the ground.

I turned and looked for my husband. The other beast had also collapsed to the ground but I could not find my husband. I called for him but heard nothing in return. After what seemed to be an eternity I finally heard the muffled voice of my husband. I ran to where the sound came from. I saw my husband's hand peaking out from under the wing of the massive beast. Grunting with the effort, I lifted the wing just enough for my husband to crawl out.

"That was a close one", he said as he wiped the sweat from his forehead. He grinned sheepishly and added, "After this-- the rest should be a piece of cake."

From behind us we heard the loudest shriek we have ever heard in our lives. It sounded like a cross between an eagle, a lion and the wail of a colicky baby. The ground shook with the massive creature's substantial weight. We turned quickly to see the body of a gargantuan iridescent green dragon looking at us with a gaze of pure hatred.

I was frozen in fear and the only thought that came clearly to mind was that it wasn't going to be all that easy to gain my husband's freedom.

Ok..time for some truth-telling: the trip to Homeland Security wasn't quite as bad as the former story. However, the drama queen in me couldn't help embellishing the real story a trifle. And of course--I'm sure you have surmised already-- Khalid was safely returned home.Otherwise, I wouldn't have been up for such story-telling. In all honesty, this whole situation seems surreal and much like a fantasy novel: with unseen enemies, surprises, miracles and hazardous journeys. So the fantasy story seemed strangely appropriate.

Indeed, the trip went well. We were only kept waiting for about 20 minutes--a record. Usually we are there for three hours or more. Khalid's Deportation Officer was very nice and congenial. She told us there were no new developments and to come back in three months. There were no trolls, no gargoyles and no dragon. There was also no freedom for my husband either.....so at least that part was true!

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.