BITS AND PIECES
A man who is detained for deportation by U.S. immigration authorities inevitably struggles to make sense of what is happening to him. Some of these men are justifiably angry and bitter because they know they have a great deal to lose in the end. Others are simply uncertain and frightened; and despite the seemingly invincible armor they wear when I am present, and the "let 'em deport me, I don't wanna be here anyway" attitude they might senselessly express, the incomprehension and fear are visible in their eyes. It is a blank, frozen stare or a tense, nervous smile. Occasionally tears escape. I am still caught by surprise when a man cries in front of me. He always looks down shamefully while I try to casually look away.
If he doesn't speak English he will struggle alone between the sterile walls of the detention facility. In the detention center's pods, the televisions are either tuned to English or Spanish programming given the demographics. There is often conflict among the two language groups as to whose program will be on. I don't envy anyone who doesn't understand one of these two major languages because other than t.v., there is little entertainment in jail, and no other source of information.
Those who are detained in the company of a man who shares his language, and with whom he can attempt to decipher the callous deportation system, are fortunate. Boys will claim they are eighteen so as not to be separated from brothers or older men whom they trust. Men from the same country will mimic each other in the courtroom even if the response they give the judge makes no sense for their situation. The experienced, usually those who have served time in prison for a crime, will advise the novices-- the simple immigration law violators-- who have never before been held in captivity. In detention, language and its communicative power is all that gives meaning to lives.
It is likely that the men who have bonded for the sake of a common language never would have uttered a word to each other in their native countries, but here in detention, they become completely reliant on one another. I saw this peculiar bond develop between a macho Palestinian auto mechanic with a smooth bald head and a grin to match, proud to have fathered six children, each one year apart, and a middle-aged, gay Jordanian who adored his country's royal family and inexplicably wore cologne despite the potentially inhospitable surroundings in which he now found himself. But I suppose by the time a man reaches his age, he knows what he's doing for better or for worse, so I considered this peculiar act none of my business and pretended not to notice I'd caught a whiff of his fragrance.
Both men were seeking asylum and patiently awaited their turn before the immigration court. Soon enough they were joined by a shy, devout Christian Copt in frail health who was desperately trying to find a country where he and his family might settle, safe from the seemingly constant threat of persecution. Both the U.S. and Canada had already rejected his asylum claim. He'd been wandering for several years and seemed as stateless as a Palestinian, though the U.S. government would ultimately deport him to Egypt if necessary. The soft-spoken, sweet-smelling Jordanian, the only one of the trio to speak English, became the spokesman for this unusual group and its fine link to the oustide world, especially to me. I can only imagine what the three of them may've talked about during those long days of boredom. I have little idea about the lives these men led in their native countries and what opinions they may had formed about each other. I ask limited questions, and clients tell me only bits and pieces, as needed, so that I can better prepare a case for their defense against deportation. As a lawyer I see facts narrowly, and sort quickly through what is relevant and what is not for my purposes. I don't tend to dwell on the unique aspects of another's life like I do when I'm in the company of friends. I've always been afraid that it would overwhelm me to know too much.
3 comments:
Sophie: Thanks for sharing your experience, including the poignant moments. Our immigration practice is full of such moments. The special moments more than make up for the many frustrations of dealing with a heartless (for the most part) and often irrational immigration bureaucracy.
Excellent and insightful post, Sophie. Any movement on these individuals' cases?
Andy
Andy, the Jordanian was granted asylum. The Palestinian was not, and the Copt was released from custody and, I think, his case remains pending.
Post a Comment