After the Rapture

Well...here I am blogging as another summer approaches. It is also the day after the Rapture, and as far as I can tell, the only thing that has been Raptured is my checking account balance--oh yeah, and my patience with the immigration system. Ho-hum...

Even though it has been many months since I last blogged, not much has occurred in my husband's case. About the only thing we have learned is that his adjustment of status has been denied along with the waivers. Interestingly enough we never received a denial in the mail for the waivers-- although Khalid's Deportation Officer conveniently had the denial in her hands when we visited Homeland Security in March. Of course, as is customary in this labyrinth of immigration bureaucracy, there was no reason given for the denial. Even the Deportation Officer found it curious that no reason was given since legally a reason has to be given.

To get specific information about the reason for denial the Deportation Officer advised us to make an inquiry at the local immigration services center in Albany--which we did. We made an appointment and the people there told us we would need to make a formal written inquiry to the main processing center (in Nebraska if I remember correctly.) We did what they told us.

After a few weeks we received a written reply from the Nebraska processing center stating that they did not have the information and that we would need to go back to the Albany office to get the reason! Ugh! So, basically we are just getting the run around. Now we have to make another appointment with the office in Albany and it looks like I am going to have to get assertive with these people. We can't consult a lawyer without having a reason for denial in writing!

I am so sick of these hoops that this damn immigration system makes people go through. This is all beyond mere bureaucracy and borders on complete ineptitude. Anyone who denies that the American immigration system is broken and dysfunctional please tell them to contact me and I will put them straight!

What I really wish was Raptured yesterday was the whole damned immigration/ immigration judicial system in the United States!

Honoring America's deportees

So here it is, a Facebook group called Honoring America's deportees which has been formed to enlist people into some pro-immigrant activism. Thanks to some word of mouth I have a good group forming.

I have added a description of the first project we will be involved in, which is a quilt with the names of 24 immigrants deported from America's shores. I will be uploading a picture of a sketch of the design of the quilt which incorporates traditional , crazy and patchwork quilting.

For further information, please check the link below. If you want to participate, have suggestions or just want to vicariously observe, please join the group. The more the merrier!

http://www.facebook.com/#!/group.php?gid=143274455699956

When the hate hits close to home

I don't mind saying that I am worried. The recent explosion of anti-immigrant fervor running rampant through this country has resigned me to fear the worst. With Jan Brewer, governor of Arizona, trying to stoke the fire of moral panic against Hispanics by claiming law enforcement has found bodies with decapitated heads, and the rise of neo-nazi vigilantes wielding guns and searching for immigrants crossing the border, and more states looking to implement similar laws to SB 1070 I don't see how the situation can get much worse--well, other than the eruption of widespread violence. Honestly, (and I apologize for the pessimism) based on the level of hate that has risen to the surface, I don't think violence is out of the question.

But what has disheartened me the most is when the hate is spewed from people within my immediate circle. I'm not talking about family members. We are fortunate to have family who have been incredibly supportive. I'm referring to people that I have come to respect and consider friends. People who have expressed concern for Khalid's situation in the past. Individuals who have met Khalid and have commented on what a nice, respectful person he is.

And yet, even when they know Khalid, his story, how he has been mistreated, locked up, and dehumanized; they can still support a discriminatory law like SB 1070 and spew hateful rhetoric about Hispanics. And I wonder: what good has come from talking about my husband's situation? Why did I put our lives up for scrutiny? I was idealistic and actually thought sharing our story would help temper the hate. But maybe I was wrong. Maybe all the condolences, empathy and well wishes were all lies.

Personally, I cannot make a distinction between my husband and all the Hispanic immigrants in this country. There is no way I can compartmentalize his story and say he deserves to stay in America and yet deny that same privilege to Hispanics. That is exactly what my "friends" are doing when they express empathy for my husband and yet profess disdain for Hispanics. Whatever happens to Hispanics in Arizona can certainly happen to my husband.

The struggle against the SB1070 law is not just to secure human rights for Hispanics--although that is a moral enough cause; it is also to end the dehumanization and inferiority status for all immigrants-- whether they are legal or illegal. All people are sacred and no group-- whether they are white, black, brown, disabled, homosexual, transgendered, etc-- deserves to be singled out by discriminatory laws.

After all, dehumanization and keeping "undesirables" in their place were the reasons behind the statute in apartheid South Africa that made it mandatory for black people to keep documentation. Dehumanization and keeping "undesirables" in their place were the reasons for implementing the Jim Crow laws and certainly dehumanization and keeping "undesirables" in their place was the purpose behind the Holocaust. We can NEVER forget that! And how did all these things occur? How did ordinary people ignore the cruelty that was inflicted? By designating that these specific groups of people simply did not matter.

However, what is particularly terrifying to me is my emotional reaction to this recent phenomenon. I've never considered myself a hateful person and I don't believe anyone would characterize me as such. I've certainly disliked some people in my lifetime but never hated anyone. But now, sometimes I feel so disillusioned, so frustrated, so sick of the stereotypes, the ignorance that runs rampant and unchecked through the immigration debate that I feel hate. It's not a good feeling. And I'm ashamed.

But then I remember, it is just this kind of feeling--unadulterated hate-- that is fueling this anti-immigration fire in this country. A hate so fiery, irrational and uncontrollable that it threatens us all: whether we are citizens, legal or otherwise. We are all in danger.

At least I have acknowledged and named my hate. Now I can conquer it. By conquering hate I can ensure that it will not spill over and adversely affect anyone else. I wish we would all acknowledge and conquer our hate. If we did, our world would be a lot less volatile.

Cowards out of men

At the moment, we are still waiting for a determination on the waivers we have submitted to Homeland Security to adjust Khalid's status to that of legal permanent resident. It has been over a year since we first submitted it and we are still w...a...i...t...i...n...g... Additionally, we have also requested a pardon from the governor of New York and we are awaiting the outcome of that as well. Might as well leave no stone unturned.

I have no idea what is taking so long--other than to blame the delay on the well-known governmental presupposition towards bureaucratic inertia. The facts have been spelled out, our backgrounds have all been checked, re-checked and then checked again. No doubt, we have been subjected to various surveillance. I am sure the government is well aware of what kind of people we are, who we hang out with, our credit histories, opinions and affiliations. Obviously, there are no indications that we are violent or a threat to national security.

However, there is one possible cog in the wheel of securing Khalid's freedom-- That is this blog. Since this blog is publicly displayed on the web there is a good chance that it has been monitored by the government. Anyone who regularly reads my blog will attest to the fact that I am critical of aspects of the contemporary incarnation of our government, along with culture, capitalism, religion, and American exceptionalism.

In all honesty, this tendency towards criticism is a direct result of meeting Khalid and understanding his story. Before meeting my husband I did not find politics, law, culture or foreign policies the least bit interesting. I spent my time reading fiction, creating aesthetically pleasing artwork and remaining blissfully ignorant of how politics and world events can affect individual lives.

However, I will digress for a minute. For people who feel I am exaggerating the role of surveillance in our lives I recommend that they read the full expanse of The Patriot Act. Lovers of freedom, privacy and American ideals will, no doubt, find subsequent clauses quite objectionable.

The extent of surveillance for me, as a U.S. citizen, has likely been minimal and predominately limited to information found within the public sphere including credit scores, my education, addresses, my blog, etc. Despite this minimal intrusion it is still unsettling to think the government may still be monitoring my life. However, In addition to public information being monitored, I am confident that my banking records have been perused and even my phone has been tapped--particularly when we were first married.

Why? Well, when Khalid was first detained I'm sure he was tagged under the auspiciousness of being a possible Muslim terrorist. Therefore, his entire background was scrutinized in order to find evidence of misconduct. It is not a breach of logic to conclude, that I, as his wife, was also subject to a certain amount of surveillance. Exactly how much is debatable--and I have resigned myself to the reality of never knowing.

During this ordeal, I have occasionally doubted the prudence of maintaining this blog and being honest about my experiences and feelings. It has occurred to me that the things I say here have labeled me a "rogue" (in the real sense of the word, not the Palin-esque, misconstrued and sleight of hand invocation of the word recently implemented).

After the self-doubt seizure ends I can never deny my interpretations of the events that have swirled around us and how those events have impacted our lives. I could not sleep with a clear conscious if I remained silent and impotent. It is not in my DNA. And although I don't have enough disposable income to travel around the country actively protesting in pro-immigrant rallies..I can protest within my own small corner of the blogsphere-- always with the hope that I am educating someone about the current injustices perpetrated on minorities, immigrants and their families.

As Abraham Lincoln once said; "To stand in silence when they should be protesting makes cowards out of men."

Memorial #1: Ansar Mahmood

Ansar Mahmood in the Batavia Detention Facility

The Miriam-Webster online dictionary defines memorial as:

1 : serving to preserve remembrance : commemorative 2 : of or relating to memory

With this particular definition in mind I will periodically present the “memorials” of various people who have been deported by the U.S. government. Too often, the voices of these immigrants are quelled by the din of politics, concealment and flawed legalities. The only ones left to remember them are the family members and friends these immigrants have been forced to leave behind.

Memorials usually take place only when a death occurs. But in instances of deportation, holding a commemoration for these brave immigrants is appropriate—and even necessary. When a deportation takes place, the immigrant is ruthlessly ripped from the fabric of the American landscape—in silence and secrecy.

Such cruelty leaves a throbbing hole within the hearts of everyone involved. It is essential that these immigrants are not forgotten, because it is through the contemplation of memory and the awakening of regret that reclamation is facilitated.

The subject of my first memorial is an immigrant by the name of Ansar Mahmood. His story was well known in the Batavia detention facility when my husband was detained in 2004 and it was one of the first instances, other than my husband’s situation, in which I became aware of America’s war on immigrants.

Ansar was a young Pakistani who came to America as a result of winning a green card through an immigration “lottery”. The purpose of lotteries is to allow people from countries with low rates of immigration to come to the United States. The program randomly selects a few lucky winners from thousands of screened applicants who qualify for a green card.

Ansar worked hard as a pizza delivery man while he was in America and sent money regularly to his family back in Pakistan. Despite working many long hours and having little disposable income he was happy in his new homeland. He found the New York countryside to be beautiful and often took short trips to nearby picturesque destinations. Oftentimes, he took a camera along to take pictures of particularly beautiful scenes and send them back to his family in Pakistan.

It was on the recommendation of a customer that Ansar travelled to a reservoir and water treatment plant in the Hudson Valley. It was here that Ansar’s troubles began. On that day, the view was especially lovely as the sun shone brightly on the Catskill Mountains. He asked one of the guards if they could take a picture of him with the reservoir and the mountains behind him. The guard, taking note of Ansar’s accent, surmised that he was Muslim and labeled him as a possible terrorist. The guard notified the police who in turn notified immigration authorities.

He was interrogated by Federal officials who attempted to tie him to terrorist activities and accused him of plotting to poison public water supplies. After a lengthy interrogation, Federal officials had no evidence to back up their hasty allegations. However, in the aftermath of 9/11 and the resulting moral panic directed against Muslims, evidence was not necessary. They were determined to find something in Ansar’s background that warranted the deportation of a green card holder.

Officials found out that Ansar had helped a Pakistani couple find housing and obtain a car. Unbeknownst to Ansar, the couple had overstayed their VISA and was residing in the States illegally. Ansar was charged with harboring illegal aliens, which is a felony and a deportable offense.

I have no idea how they could assume that Ansar knew the couple was illegal. I know from experience that legal status is not something most immigrants are apt to disclose because they can result in stigmatization, shame and sometimes physical danger. But common sense was ignored in favor of only one goal: deporting Ansar by any means necessary.

Ansar tried to fight the deportation through the courts. He had many supporters and even a New York senator who supported him.

“It’s a disgrace,” said Senator Charles E. Schumer, who lobbied on behalf of Mr. Mahmood. “Mahood wanted to be an ideal citizen, and he’s the kind of person America should embrace. There is no reason he should be deported.”(New York Times, August 14, 2004)

None of this made any difference. He was placed on a commercial plane with two INS officials and deported to Pakistan. None of Ansar’s friends or supporters were allowed to say good-bye.

In memory of Ansar Mahmood who was deported on August 12, 2004. May he find peace and understanding wherever he may find himself—because he did not find it in The United States of America.

Sources:

http://www.chathampeace.org/old%20index%20the%20first%20web%20page%20use%20as%20back%20up.htm

http://www.redorbit.com/news/general/41654/pizza_deliveryman_hopes_to_stay_in_us/

http://www.nytimes.com/2004/08/14/nyregion/man-arrested-over-photos-after-9-11-is-deported.html

Shame and hypocrisy

There are a number of English words that I hate. For obvious reasons, "deportation" is one of those words. I also dislike the words "racism", "misogyny", "war" and "access". I'm sure its obvious why I hate the first three words, However, you are probably stymied by the word "access". Why would someone hate the word access? It's quite simple , I use the word fifty times a week in my job at the library, and can never remember how to spell it. I wrote it three times in this paragraph and spelled it wrong all three times. Thank Heaven's for spell check!


But there's another word that tops my list for the most distasteful -- and that is "shame". Shame and I have an intimate relationship. There was a lot of emphasis on "perfection" in the household I grew up in. There was a clear and distinct "wrong way" to do something and a "right way". This affected every activity from talking to an elder, washing the dishes and mowing the lawn. Something was right or it was wrong. Grey areas did not exist. I was always left guessing as how to do things the "right" way. Some things were easy to figure out, such as: don't hit anyone, don't pull the cat's tail, don't touch the stove, etc. But the "indistincts"-- the situations that are predominantly detached from moral or safety considerations and can be approached in a myriad of creative ways--those are the situations that perplexed me and caused me to feel shame. It also didn't help that the correct ways were always in a state of flux.

On the other hand, my parents seemed to know the absolute correct way to handle these situations and oftentimes I got the impression that I handled them the wrong way. The idea that dominated my household was if one veered even slightly from the true and correct path than disaster was imminent.

I do not think that my household was unusual in this strive for perfection. The idea of perfection and piousness is intricately woven into the fabric of American life. Blame our Puritan beginnings if you need an explanation. However, there is an inherent contradiction to all this perfection seeking. Far too often, this perfection and righteousness is only reserved for certain segments of the population.The wealthy and powerful are exempt from these intrusive and stifling restriction as they are free to exploit, demean and oppress millions of people all over the world, while poor, working class and minority populations are forced to conform to a unrealistic conception of morality and perfection.

I witness my husband struggling to deal with the negative affects of shame because of the immigration nightmare he is immersed in. The excessive conviction, not being familiar with American laws, the time spent in detention, and the deportation mandate are all factors that have caused shame. My husband has dealt with this emotion in a positive manner and has never allowed himself to wallow in self-pity, place blame or get angry.

But shame can work in insidious ways within the human psyche and no mater how constructively you think you are handling it it can become unhealthy. Early on, my husband and I had adapted to this shame by withdrawing: withdrawing from family and friends-- in an attempt to mask it . If we don't talk about, don't admit what’s going on we can forget it. But, it doesn't work this way.

Both my husband and I are extremely private people. Not because we have something to hide, but because that is how we were brought up and how our brains are wired. We are both devote introverts and absolutely abhor being the center of attention. So, its quite ironic that we should both be at the apex of an immigration judicial case that has caused a certain amount of controversy and frustration for the U.S. government. I oftentimes catch myself thinking about how often our names have come up within the bolted doors of Homeland Security, a senator's office or even possibly the Oval office --and shudder. There resides nothing within my -- my husband's personality or lifestyle that should have elicited such attention. Regardless of whether we wanted it or not--deserved it or not, we have the attention of Homeland Security.

Eventually, I grew tired of being rendered mute, frozen in shame and decided to speak about it: at work, at immigration conferences, with friends and with anyone who would listen. I even got over my substantial fear of public speaking and starting talking about it in college classrooms and conferences. In the beginning; my goal was distinct: to educate people about the current wave of xenophobia that is sweeping the nation and obtain some help for my husband.

But recently it has shifted slightly. Although I still want to educate people and encourage people to support immigration reform; while also helping my husband, I also feel the necessity to silence the shame that hovers menacingly in the background of our lives.

According to the U.S. immigration judicial system, the night my husband was threatened in 1993 he should have collapsed passively to the asphalt and let the individuals who menacingly approached him hit and beat and perhaps even kill him. This, in their eyes, would have been the "correct" and "righteous" solution to my husband's situation. This is nonsense. The natural reaction of any human to a life threatening situation is self preservation and individuals thus threatened will find any way to survive.

But, according to the U.S. government, apparently minorities and immigrants aren't granted this right.

Should my husband feel ashamed about what he did that night. Shame...no not at all. Maybe regret...but not shame. He did what he needed to do in order to survive. Should the U.S. government feel shame regarding the horrible way they have treated my husband? Absolutely-- without hesitation-- and don't waste a minute.

By the way-- another English word I despise is the word "hypocrisy".

The Perfect Immigrant

My grandfather was an immigrant. His name was Garnet Higgins and he was an important man. Of course, important is a relative word. To be specific--he was an important man within the confines of the little town of Sauquoit, New York and the surrounding rural area. You see, he was the only doctor within miles who still made house calls. A doctor who made house calls well into the 1960's was a rarity, much like a precious jewel—hence the name Garnet. In addition, he was one of the few doctors who tended to the poor immigrants, farmers and disabled in the area; regularly accepting produce, eggs and the occasional chicken as "payment" for his services. As a young girl, my mother fondly remembers seeing stacks of food piled behind the pantry doors, given in appreciation for services my grandfather provided.

Even today, when I mention my grandfather’s name in a large group of elderly people there are inevitably some who remember him and speak of him fondly. Just by being his granddaughter my social prestige is elevated within any group that recalls his name. It is astounding to me, that 42 years after his death, people still remember him vividly and describe him as a kindhearted, respectful, unselfish and elegant gentleman.

But there was a dark side to my grandfather. Despite being a personable, kind, and a capable doctor, he was also an alcoholic. He never drank while he was working, but after a long day of taking care of anxious mothers, colicky babies, the abused, infirm and chronically ill, he would seek sanctuary within the walls of a local bar. Sometimes he would not come home to his wife and three daughters until late at night when everyone was asleep.

Why did he turn to alcohol? I have no clear answers. Obviously, it wasn't something the family was interested in exploring. Alcoholism, along with a host of other personal vices, is veiled behind the facade of polite society. Perhaps he was trying to blunt the dissatisfaction he felt for a career he had no passion for. His parents wanted him to go to medical school, but Garnet wanted to do something more creative. By all accounts, he was an accomplished classical pianist. He had dreams of touring the world and playing his beloved music in front of appreciative audiences, celebrities and world leaders. Unfortunately, his parents thought such an aspiration was impractical and coerced him into going to medical school in the United States.

Maybe he was unhappy in his home life. After taking care of numerous people in the community maybe it was just too much to come home and deal with the needs of a demanding wife and three young daughters. There are a million possible reasons for alcoholism.

Although my grandfather was a good man and a productive member of the community-- he was not perfect. No one is. Each of us have done reckless, stupid, immoral and hurtful things or had to make tough choices that go against the mores of society. However, within this contemporary rhetoric about immigration reform there is a lot of talk about what kind of immigrants deserve to become a part of American life. Unfortunately, this definition is a narrow one and not many immigrants—or even American citizens-- would fit into.

These "perfect immigrants" are illusory constructs. They do not exist. No immigrant is free of "complications". An immigrant's life is a series of vulnerabilities, hardships and marginalization. These are intensified if the immigrant has dark skin, speaks a different language, or comes from a non-European culture. In order to survive and provide for their families some immigrants are forced to make hard decisions that put them at odds with the law: laws that are unnecessarily harsh, oftentimes arbitrary and always contradictory. This includes immigrants who cross the border in order to make a living wage, are compelled to join their relatives in the States without inspection or asylum seekers who buy forged documents to enter the United States-- because if they used their own identities the government’s they are fleeing from would likely catch, imprison and kill them. All of these instances are considered crimes within the U.S. immigration judicial system and considered deportable offenses regardless of any mitigating circumstances.

Based on these stringent guidelines, it is quite possible that if my grandfather lived in today’s American society he would be considered an imperfect immigrant and would be deported. All the good he did as a physician, all the positive works he did in the community would be rendered irrelevant. Instead of being an important and intregal member of American society, he would have become disposable.