Michael and Karen Lauer have officially been sponsoring an asylum-seeker since November 10, 2018. Asylum-seekers cannot be released from detention without U.S. citizen sponsors. Homeland Security has approved Michael and Karen as sponsors.
The Iowa Sanctuary Movement (ISM), of which First Unitarian is a part, is currently helping two families (two mothers and two children) who are in Des Moines seeking asylum. Individual members of the faith communities that make up the Iowa Sanctuary Movement may wish to contribute. Financial donations may be made to a special Iowa Sanctuary Movement account at First Unitarian. Make checks out to First Unitarian and write ISM Asylum Support on the memo line. For additional ways to help, contact Lynn Howard, ISM Family Sponsorship Coordinator.
Journey of Accompaniment: Update 12/10/2019
by Karen Lauer
It’s been a little more than a year.
A year filled with anxiety, connection, fear, purpose… did I mention anxiety?
The two asylum-seekers we sponsor were released from detention on Nov. 4, 2018, and arrived in Des Moines on Nov. 11.
Through it all, we learned our immigration system is fraught with layer upon layer of cruelty, and as the women’s lawyer once said, “It’s either incompetence or intention.”
Michael and I started out always referring to our “compas” as “trans-women.” As if we needed to make that clear somehow. Now we see them simply as the women they are and always have been. We don’t in any way mean this to diminish the deadly brutality and discrimination they’ve endured because they are trans: that is why they were forced to leave everything and everyone they’ve ever known to seek asylum in the U.S. It’s the shift in our own perception that revealed a latent bias.
We’ve witnessed first-hand the pain that is caused when an individual is denied acceptance for who they are – the rules at their healthcare office that require appointments be made and prescriptions be issued using their “dead names” (the names they were assigned at birth, indicative of a gender that is not who they are).
We’ve seen the cruelty of forced idleness and dependence the asylum-process imposes. One woman waited 10 months before receiving her work permit; the other waited more than a full year and was only permitted to start working last week. Many asylum-seekers have no choice and must work without authorization, jeopardizing their asylum cases and putting them at greater risk for abuse and exploitation.
And it’s all intentional.
We’ve learned the value of stepping into discomfort, spending our privilege, and working to bring balance to a broken system. Perhaps this has been the most unexpected gift we’ve received on the journey. Some lessons were difficult and took time to learn: How/when to speak up when the wrong pronoun is used? How to behave as facilitators and not ‘save’? How to share the experience without coming across as saviors? How to engage the unknown and flow with the possibilities…
We’ve experienced the generosity of our community through support from the Immigration Justice Team and other members of First Unitarian, and from the Iowa Sanctuary Movement through the Asylum-Seeker Support Fund. Donations to this fund have helped us with the expenses of financially supporting two additional adults.
And perhaps the greatest gift has been the rallying of more than 40 members of the First Unitarian asylum-support team who have come together to support Barb and Bruce Martin as they embark on their own journey of accompaniment. This new journey, together, may be the greatest gift as we grow together in a deeper lived understanding of our shared values and principles.
Thank you all.
Journey of Accompaniment: Part 26
Accompaniment Story: “That is the vision. It is emergent.”
When I dare to be powerful, to use my strength in the service of my vision, then it becomes less and less important whether I am afraid.Audre Lorde
Journey of Accompaniment: Part 25
Accompaniment Story: “What do I make of the immigration court?”
by Michael Lauer
I have trekked to Immigration Court in Omaha three times in the last month. The court is housed in the Department of Homeland Security Building near the eastern edge of the city. Immigration Court is part of the Justice Department but answers to the executive branch.
My experience of the court has left me asking whether the court operates to deliver justice or is its true purpose to carry out the will of the nation’s executive?
I first visited the court accompanying a young woman from Mexico and her 11 year-old-son. She had no lawyer. People with lawyers went first, leaving those without representation to the end. When the lawyers and their clients were done, the judge turned to the last two individuals: to the woman we accompanied and another, dealing with them simultaneously. She noted their names, where they lived, and assigned them each a court date in January 2020.
The judge explained in English what they each needed to do between now and the next court date. Although there was a translator, I doubt that either immigrant was able to comprehend and remember all of the instructions. I couldn’t even keep all the instructions in mind as I listened.
Afterward I asked the judge if the instructions she delivered were available in written form since so much crucial information was delivered so quickly. No she said, they were not, but perhaps they could be transcribed from the tape of the proceedings. She thought it might be a good idea. But I doubt the transcript will be made available. Even if it were available, how would an asylum-seeker find out, let alone access it?
What struck me immediately is that this was business, not justice. The judge was not mean but the people who came before the court were dispatched efficiently. They were treated as cases, not as people deserving of justice. They were objects to be dealt with efficiently.
What do I do with this inhumanity?
My second time in court was with K and her lawyer. We entered our assigned courtroom early and waited. After a while the interpreter arrived. And we waited. And waited.
The judge didn’t show.
Finally the interpreter checked the other courtroom – there was the judge. So we trooped over there. The judge had gone to the courtroom she always works in, but it was the wrong one for that day and we would all have to move back to the room where we started. She noted that it would have been easier to stay where she started but that ICE wouldn’t adjust.
“Sometimes I think ICE tries to make things difficult,” she said.
The judge dealt with K’s case in 5 minutes. All business. Her ‘Merits’ hearing will be in January 2021.
My third time was with D and her lawyer. As we were in the waiting area before D’s hearing a young man arrived. The guard would not let him in. The young man had no ID, no papers, spoke no English. The guard could not find his name on the docket and turned him away.
As he left, I wondered why he was there. Had he come for an ICE check-in? I think ICE check-ins happen on the north side of the building, not the east side. What would happen to him? Could the guard have explained to him that he should go to the north door and see if he could be helped there?
It struck me again that helping the people who were before the court was not the intent. It was all business, no emotion, no feeling. Just enforcing the rules.
D’s hearing? Again, five minutes. Merits hearing in April 2021.
In all three cases, the judge was efficient and business-like. Everyone doing their jobs, but not seeing the people.
I wanted to hate the judge, the prosecutor, the guards, but couldn’t. I don’t. Maybe this is the best job they can get. Maybe treating all this as business insulates them from the heartache before them. I don’t know their stories.
What I hate is the lack of humanity. The lack of connection. The lack of context. My relationship with K, with D has exposed me to their stories. Everyone has a story. I think it rare that anyone would make the dangerous journey to our southern border to game the system. Yet that is the predominant narrative. The stories I have heard are gripping and heartbreaking. But our system is cold-heartedly conducting ‘business,’ most often returning people to the danger and horror from which they fled.
The U.S. immigration system is not meant to deliver justice. Rather, it seems to be designed to keep out the “other,” enforce barriers, to carry out the business of the executive. Humanity be damned.
My heart breaks.
We must be better than this.
Journey of Accompaniment: Part 24
Accompaniment Story: “But if not you, who? If not us, who will?”
by Karen Lauer
The past few weeks have been busy as the compas have each met with their lawyer and traveled to Omaha for “Master Calendar” hearings.
These hearings signal the start of efforts to remove an asylum-seeker from the U.S. and set the date for the “Merits Hearing” when the case for asylum is presented to the judge.
The truth is, though here legally seeking asylum, they are actually in “removal proceedings.”
I try not to think ahead, to worry about the future. I work hard to keep myself from the “what ifs.”
When people ask how the compas are doing, I honestly say, living their lives. Each woman is making an independent life here, finding friends and becoming part of the community. They anxiously await applying for work permits; their lawyer will let then know when to submit the paperwork.
I’ve struggled with a type of emotional malaise lately. The great relief of finding legal representation for D and K is countered by the knowledge that thousands of people are struggling for their lives with no help at all.
A few weeks ago, Michael drove a local woman and her son to immigration court in Omaha. She only happened to discover she had a court date the week before at an ICE check-in. She hadn’t received official notice in the mail and had she missed the appearance she and her son would face immediate deportation.
At the hearing she discovered she had not yet officially applied for asylum, paperwork that must be filed within a year of entering the country. She had a little more than a month left. The form is in English and must be filled out in English, she only speaks Spanish. She doesn’t have a lawyer.
What will become of her? Her child?
It seems as if every day there are more anti-immigrant policies, more hateful rhetoric, and more needless cruelty and suffering.
When will we – the majority, I hope – stand up, speak up, take to the streets, to live into our basic humanity and put an end to these barbaric immigration policies?
In the meantime, I’ve stepped back into advocacy, trying to spread the reality migrants face and urge people to take action. I heard this past weekend that Rep. Cindy Axne has received 1500 calls telling her to “build the wall.” She just agreed to co-sponsor H.R. 6, The American Dream and Promise Act, that would offer a path to citizenship for DACA recipients (and other young immigrants), TPS recipients, and others. Please call her (or your represenative) to thank her for her support.
2020 presidential candidates are everywhere in the state. Help elevate immigration issues by asking one of these questions.
Join the effort to close Homestead Child Detention Center where our government is holding more than 2000 child migrants, many of whom have been separated from their families by U.S. immigration officials.
Instead of being released to family members or other sponsors, many are spending weeks or months in inhumane detention. And because Homestead is an emergency influx center, children are not protected by agreements that ordinarily ensure licensing and other standards are met.
I know how hard it is to do something that makes you uncomfortable. It’s hard to go to the Capitol, the Federal Building, the Courthouse. It’s hard to ask questions in public and even to make those phone calls.
But if not you, who? If not us, who will?
If not now, when?
Journey of Accompaniment: Part 23
Accompaniment Story: “Now I know exactly who my peeps are”
by Karen Lauer
Sunday afternoon we got the most amazing news!
A lawyer with the local firm of Faegre, Baker, Daniels has agreed to take D and K’s asylum cases pro bono!
This is an enormous relief for all of us as having legal representation gives D and K the best chance of success for their asylum claims.
None of this could have happened without the relationships we’ve built since becoming members of First Unitarian in 2015.
Honestly, Michael and I would likely not have experienced the call to sponsor asylum-seekers without all we’ve learned and the connections we’ve made over the past few years.
It was through anti-racism classes at First Unitarian that we were first drawn to attend and then to join the congregation. Recognizing our privilege and the systemic racism that pervades our society was life-changing for us. Living in our neighborhood, in which we are the minority, opened our eyes to our own inherent prejudices and brought us into relationship with people we would never otherwise have had the chance to know in our extremely segregated society; we see first hand the lack of investment in the neighborhood, the lack of opportunity for young black men and other young people of color, the extra policing of this neighborhood, dilapidated and boarded up houses, and absentee landlords who are allowed to rent homes that are falling apart.
Finding our place in Unitarian Universalism showed us that ours is a faith of action. Our principles call us to work for justice and First Unitarian gave us the structure to actively engage in this work. And it’s through our immigration justice work that MIchael and I have experienced the deep connections between our own well-being and the freedom and safety of others.
Working with the dedicated members of our Immigration Justice and Sanctuary Team we’ve learned the true value of community. Without these five people, I doubt we would have felt secure enough to leap into sponsorship. We can call on our team for support at any time; they have been a sounding board, a support system, and great and dear friends.
We have been able to rely on this wonderful congregation for whatever support we might need; financial donations to the asylum seeker fund, donations of grocery store gift cards and help purchasing appropriate winter wear, donations of home goods, teaching D and K the bus system, writing letters and making commissary account donations to migrants still in detention, advice and personal support.
Our involvement in the Iowa Sanctuary Movement put us into relationship with people of different faiths but shared values, as together we work to find the most effective ways to serve immigrants in our state, work side by side accompanying people to their ICE check-ins, visit congressional offices, and try desperately to impart to our differing faith communities and the people of Iowa the urgency of the humanitarian crisis at the border, in our nation, and our state.
The readiness with which First Unitarian set up a fund for Iowa Sanctuary Movement asylum-seeker support made possible the nearly year’s long support of two women and their two children from El Salvador, as well as assisting D and K with some of their living expenses.
We knew we had the support of our congregation and the Iowa Sanctuary Movement, but through our work over the past couple years we could readily connect D and K to Latinx resources, a bilingual church, ELL (English Language Learner) classes, and more. If we didn’t know who to call, we knew people who could point us in the right direction. We’ve been able to call on Des Moines Showing Up For Racial Justice (SURJ) for support – and now with pro bono representation for D and K, SURJ will be able to raise funds for other immigration justice initiatives.
And it was just last spring that Michael joined the board of Iowa Justice For Our Neighbors (JFON). It was through this connection that we heard that Faegre, Baker, Daniels was looking for an asylum case to take. Ann Naffier of JFON spent hours putting together the information the firm needed to make its decision to take the case – and we all are so thankful.
Several years ago my daughter and I were driving along 6th Avenue. I saw a sign for the organization “Homes for My Peeps.”
I joked with my daughter that I didn’t have any “peeps.”
Now I know exactly who my peeps are.
Journey of Accompaniment: Part 22
Accompaniment Story: “The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly”
by Karen Lauer
A little kindness really does go a long way.
I take D and K grocery shopping at the Fareway on Euclid. They have a weekly budget of $100 for food, cleaning supplies, etc. We based this amount on the FDA food budget low cost plan.
D and K use a calculator as they shop so they can budget more accurately. Initially, they only needed my help at the meat counter, but now navigate the shopping experience themselves. I sit on a bench just inside the door feeling conspicuous until they are ready to check out.
We’ve experienced nothing but kindness in Fareway – something I’m truly grateful for. People recognize us now, smile readily, and say hello.
Checking out on one of those bitterly cold winter days a month or so ago, our checker asked if D and K were exchange students. I told her that they are here from Central America seeking asylum. She immediately welcomed them, told them she’s so sorry for what they have been through, and for the cruelty of our system. Her heartfelt welcome was a reminder of the goodness to be found in the midst of the suffering of so many migrants, not just at the border, but throughout the country.
It can be difficult to budget purchases as close to $100 as possible, and sometimes we’re a dollar shy or a bit over. One day, we watched as the total neared the mark and hit $100 on the nose! You would have thought the three of us had won the lottery!
We’ve been in limbo for the past couple of weeks as we await a decision from a law firm on whether to take D and K’s cases pro bono. We were ready to start fundraising and hire a local immigration attorney when a contact alerted us that a different firm was looking for an asylum case to take. With D and K’s first court appearances coming in May we all are anxious to get legal assistance as soon as possible.
We attended an information session on asylum held at Justice For Our Neighbors last week. The overview of asylum law was eye-opening; we garnered just a glimpse of the complexity of asylum/immigration law. I can’t imagine thinking anyone could successfully navigate this legal minefield without an attorney.
The raw inhumanity of our immigration morass is overwhelming at times. Sometimes it’s the larger effort to stay informed without being overcome with sadness. Other times it’s hearing the stories of real people and their suffering that brings me to tears.
I guess I’m going to leave you with the “ugly.”
I am in a google group for sponsors of compas. It’s a place for sponsors to ask questions, get advice, and find support. Last week a sponsor asked the group how to help her compa, a women and her three small children, who presented themselves at the border seeking asylum. They were kept in detention for three days, given a “Notice to Appear,” and then sent back to the camps in Tijuana to wait. This is the new “Migrant Protection Policy” instituted in January that requires migrants who claim asylum to wait in Mexico while their asylum claims are processed.
This is what the “Remain in Mexico” policy looks like in human terms.
The hearing is in San Diego, but how will she get there? If she arrives at the border on the morning of her hearing with her Notice to Appear, will she be allowed in to the U.S.? How will she get from the border to the courthouse on time? Would they let her in the day before so she can get to the hearing on time?
Here is the response from an immigration attorney working with a California LGBT center:
She needs to go on the day listed on the paper with instructions (migrant protection protocols) to pedwest. From there CBP will parole them in for the day and other officers will then take them to the hearing and remain with them throughout the hearing. Once the hearing is done the officers will then be sent back to the border and issue them another Mexican visa that will allow them to stay in Mexico until their next hearing.
It is important for them to be calling the 800 number to check on their hearing date because the court has been switching the dates and they are not always the day that is listed on the notice to appear or the instructions. Regardless of what date their hearing is they have to go on the day that is listed on the MPP notice as well as their hearing date.
They will do a health exam but not exactly sure what that looks like which is why they check in at 9 and their hearing is at 12:30 and then they are back in Mexico by 6pm.
They will not allow them into the U.S. on the day before and in one case where the MPP instructions said to be present on 3/19 and the hearing was on 3/20 they kept the three people in the hieleras overnight.
Does this person have an attorney? They should go to Al Otro Lado to let them know so someone is watching out for them and if they don’t have an attorney so they can try to help them get one. I am representing one woman in this process and I am in communication with the other attorneys representing some of the others and we are trying to come up with ways to help the people not represented.
If there ever was a time to take a stand, to embrace discomfort and put oneself on the line (even a little bit), to take action to help the persecuted, that time is now.
Journey of Accompaniment: Part 21
Accompaniment Story: “I resist the urge to help by doing”
by Karen Lauer
Helping, fixing and serving represent three different ways of seeing life. When you help, you see life as weak. When you fix, you see life as broken. When you serve, you see life as whole. Fixing and helping may be the work of the ego, and service the work of the soul. – Rachel Naomi Remen
I’ve been experiencing a phenomenon known as frequency illusion.
Also called Badder-Meinhoff phenomenon, it’s the experience of noticing something and then suddenly seeing that something everywhere, like when you buy a white minivan and suddenly all parking lots are filled with white minivans.
I first encountered Rachel Naomi Remen’s writing on helping, fixing, and serving last fall as part of this year’s Wellspring curriculum; well before we became sponsors to D and K.
And like the Badder-Meinhoff phenomenon, I now see the differences between helping, fixing, and serving almost daily; especially in reference to our relationship as sponsors.
There is a power dynamic that is implicit in the relationship between sponsor and asylum-seeker and there is no way to eliminate it completely. But continually viewing my actions through the lens of serving, rather than helping or fixing, I hope to reduce these power inequalities.
I continually speak of our sponsorship role as being one of facilitators – we are walking alongside these two unbelievably capable young women while they seek freedom and safety.
It can be a fine line to walk at times. I resist the urge to help by doing for D and K what they can do themselves. For example, I spent many hours seeking information on how to obtain consular IDs; unlike in some other states (California, for example), D and K cannot get state issued IDs, even though they are in the U.S. legally. Finally, I contacted Sonia Reyes-Snyder of the Office of Latino Affairs. Resisting the temptation to “help” by making all the arrangements, I instead passed along her contact information to D and K. I served them by not presuming they needed my help, and D got her Salvadoran passport without us having to make a trip to the consulate in Chicago. K has made arrangements with the Mexican Consulate, used our computer to get copies of the official documents she needed from Mexico, and has an appointment for later this month when the Mexican consulate will be in Des Moines. We provide computer, stamps, and transportation.
Facilitating, not helping.
I’ve tried to make it clear to D and K that they don’t have to “earn” our sponsorship. We had a meeting a couple weeks ago with a bilingual person to serve as translator. I wanted to make sure that things were going okay for them and that there hadn’t been any misunderstandings on either of our parts. We were able to assure them that our support will continue even when they get work permits; that there will be a process of moving toward financial self-sufficiency. We also made it clear that fundraising efforts will not include any information about them that they do not want shared. And, not least of all, that we hope to remain friends pretty much forever.
It’s odd to feel protective of these two strong women, who have endured unspeakable violence and trauma, travelled thousands of miles to seek safety, only to be incarcerated, then released having to rely on strangers who don’t even speak their language to provide shelter, food, and transportation.
They don’t need my protection. They don’t need my help.
I can’t quite find the words to explain how it feels to companion D and K. I struggle with what to say when people praise me for “being such a good person.” Because that’s not really what I’m doing. I’ve stepped out of my comfortable bubble into what it means to see the humanity of others and feel the actual ribbons of connection between us. This connection is profound, an experience of finding my being bound up not only with D and K, but all migrants, everywhere. I see and feel a oneness with others unlike I’ve ever felt before.
I used to see migrants and refugees of war, climate change, what have you, and my first reaction was: Those poor people. I wish I could help.
But now I see people whose lives are intimately entwined with my own; people who don’t need my sympathy or my charity, but instead need my kinship. We are connected. I’m reminded of one of the greetings used in circle training. Turn to the person sitting next to you, take their hands in yours, look into each other’s eyes, and say, “I see you.” The other person replies, “And I see you.”
Mostly, these days, I am filled with gratitude. Exposing myself to fear and uncertainty was a tiny step, but it was a step across the threshold of a new way of being; toward experiencing a transformative connection with my fellow human beings.
Service is not an experience of strength or expertise; service is an experience of mystery, surrender and awe. Helpers and fixers feel causal.
Servers may experience from time to time a sense of being used by larger unknown forces. Those who serve have traded a sense of mastery for an experience of mystery, and in doing so have transformed their work and their lives into practice.– Rachel Naomi Remen
Journey of Accompaniment: Part 20
Accompaniment Story: “I guess there is always hope.”
by Karen Lauer
At the end of January, K and D told us they had heard through the grapevine that Johely had been released from Cibola. We hadn’t heard from her for a while and I was worried. After weeks of pestering Wes, the lawyer with the Santa Fe Dreamers Project, he finally texted back that not only had Johely been released from detention, but she had been granted asylum! I don’t think I’ve ever been so ecstatically happy for anyone – let alone someone I’ve never met in person – in my life!
How? What happened?
All we know is what little Wes told us: Not only was she absolutely legally deserving of asylum, but she presented her story fantastically in court. I think he said, “ She was an amazing witness.”
Not only was she granted asylum, but she is working as an advocate in one of the Santa Fe Dreamers Project offices. We asked Wes to give her our congratulations.
I guess there is always hope.
We’re still in limbo regarding legal representation. Michael spoke with a lawyer at the National Immigration Justice Center (NIJC ) in Chicago last week. Like every immigration advocacy organization in the country, NIJC is overwhelmed with cases and it is unlikely the organization will take on representation of D and K. The NIJC lawyer said they have great cases and again brought up the idea of pro se representation. If we didn’t know the dismal prospects for asylum-seekers who represent themselves, if the Omaha Immigration Court didn’t deny more than 80 per cent of asylum cases, if this was “theoretical” instead of real-life, maybe we could be okay with this.
But of course, we know all those things. And though our “obligation” is only to provide food, housing, and transportation to ICE check-ins and Immigration Court hearings, our moral obligation is to two young women who left everything and everyone they’ve ever known in fear for their lives.
D and K have a new contact at NIJC; I’ve called every option for pro bono legal assistance in Des Moines and Iowa, know which law firm to avoid, and made an appointment for consultations with a local firm.
D and K had their consultation Wednesday ($120 each) and we now have contracts for them to sign; the estimated minimum cost for each case is $10,000, with $2500 down, and monthly payments of $300 each.
The lawyer explained that asylum cases can drag on for years (sometimes 10 years!) hence the cost.
We will wait a couple more weeks to see if Wes can conjure pro bono representation, but then we will move ahead with this law firm.
Thank goodness for the leadership core of SURJ-Des Moines who have agreed to help raise and administer funds. It’s such a relief to have this support. We will be calling on our First Unitarian community and the greater community to help us raise the funds.
We received official notice that the request to waive the fees for work permits, filed by Santa Fe Dreamers Project, was denied. Nick, an assistant with the project, said he will resubmit, making it clear that though we are “sponsors,” we are not claiming D and K as dependents. Fingers-crossed the waiver will be approved. Just another layer in the infinite loop that is the asylum process. In what world does it make sense for an individual who is forbidden to work to have to pay $495 to file a piece of paper asking for the right to work?
Answer? It doesn’t.
Next week is another ICE check-in at the Federal Building. I’m not expecting any problems; this will be D and K’s third ICE check-in since they were released from detention in November.
As always, please keep us in your thoughts.
Journey of Accompaniment: Part 19
Accompaniment Story: “I am emotionally drained”
by Micheal Lauer
At least nothing bad happened. Still, I’ve spent more time on pins and needles these last few months than I am used to. I had no idea how stressful sponsorship would be. We didn’t understand all we were getting into, we just ‘knew’ we could do this.
The most stress recently has been securing legal representation for K in time for her Feb 20 Immigration Court appearance. Two weeks before her hearing we still weren’t certain that she would have representation despite assurances from Wes, the attorney with the Santa Fe Dreamers Project who worked to get K and D released from detention.
Wes has assured us – for months now – that he would find pro bono attorneys for both women. K and D both spoke with a lawyer from the National Immigration Justice Center in Chicago; they didn’t have an attorney that could represent K on such short notice.
Finally, Wes agreed to represent K via telephone.
“Don’t worry,” he said.
I sent Wes a photo of K’s ‘notice to appear’ letter with all the information about time, location, etc., and K had a chance to speak with him directly. That was reassuring.
A day or two later I read the letter again. ”…your attorney must appear with you…”
Calls unanswered. Voicemails not returned. Texts not responded to. Monday morning before the Wednesday hearing I sent another text, trying to keep my frantic tone minimized.
“Wes, K indicated that you will call in for her February 20 appearance in immigration court, but the official letter states that lawyers must appear in person. Is calling in okay? Is there anything I need to do besides get K to court on time? Is there anything she needs to bring?’
The plan was to drive to Omaha Wednesday morning, leaving plenty of time to make the 1 p.m. appearance, but the weather forecast was ominous. Omaha was expecting 6-8 inches of snow beginning Tuesday afternoon; the same for Des Moines only starting in the evening. A winter storm warning was issued from Nebraska all across Iowa.
If K were to miss her court appearance she would be subject to immediate deportation, excuses be damned. I decided we would head for Omaha early Tuesday afternoon. But Wes, do I just get K there? Does she need to bring anything? I re-sent the message Monday evening and noted that we would be leaving mid-day Tuesday. Wes? Finally he responded.
“No, just her being there is enough. Thanks Mike!”
Karen and I had scoped out the location of the Immigration Court the week before, so I knew it is near the airport. I reserved a pair of rooms at a hotel in the vicinity. Tuesday afternoon K and I headed for Omaha, leaving early enough to beat the storm. About 25 minutes from the hotel it started to snow, and traffic began to slow. We pulled up to the hotel as the snowstorm intensified. It was just across the street from the Immigration Court – we could walk there the next day if necessary.
The next day, we went to court early. I was nervous; what would happen? Would it go as Wes predicted? Just a routine appearance in court? Would they really allow him to call in?
I asked K if she was nervous; not really. She laughed at my nervousness.
We approached the door. Locked! What the hey?! Are we in the right place? We are. What now?
I peered in the window and saw a guard sitting inside. I waved him over. He mimed that the building was closed. I motioned for him to come to the door. He hesitated a moment, then came over. We spoke through the locked door.
Court is closed.
Yes, we see that. But we have a 1 p.m. court date.
It doesn’t matter. There are no judges or lawyers here. Court is closed.
When will her date be rescheduled?
Are you her lawyer?
No, I’m her friend.
Call her lawyer. He will let her know.
As we left, other people were arriving for their court appearances, too. It seems that court closure due to weather does not merit communication with those who have court appearances. There must be a better way of doing this. But why would our government create a system that was kind to the immigrants it seems bent on demonizing?
As we walked away, I called Wes expecting to leave a message as usual, but he answered. Of course he did, he was planning to call in at 1 p.m. He didn’t know that court was closed. He assured us that there would be no blow back on K and that she would get another court date, likely several weeks or a couple months out.
I am emotionally drained.
Why would I expect immigration court to function logically? I am a well-educated, cis, white male. I expect things to work a certain way. I expect to be treated fairly, with respect. I suddenly realize I am expecting privilege and that I feel entitled.
I believe I’ve heard it said that White Privilege is like a narcotic. Addictive in a way that the addict doesn’t realize he is addicted. But the addiction is obvious to all those around him who are not male, not white, not so privileged as he. Why should I expect immigration court to operate by my standards? It does I guess, but in the government-sanctioned form of institutionalized privilege. This time I am on the other side of the curtain, standing where my brown sisters and brothers stand. This is not the first time during the sponsorship process that my privilege has been exposed, that I have been ‘shocked’ that my entitlement has been denied; nor will it be the last. I am embarrassed by how often I need to learn the same lessons. But I am an addict and it is hard to remove the veil of addiction. At least sponsorship lifts the veil on occasion.
Maybe, in time, I can let go of the addiction and learn to be the advocate I wish to be.
Friday K received an official notice – her new court date is rescheduled for May 1
Journey of Accompaniment: Part 18
Accompaniment Story: “Oh my gosh, I laughed out loud”
by Karen Lauer
“We are often called further into experience than we’d like to go, but it is this extra leap that lands us in the vibrant center of what it means to be alive.” Mark Nepo
Living in a cloud of uncertainty, our fates now intertwined with two human beings we are just getting to know, I’ve felt a deepening need to draw within myself. Almost as if the call to sponsorship precipitated a twinned spiritual awakening; a powerful sense of connection, a turning away from all the “noise” of the world to focus on direct, interpersonal action.
Then there’s the flip side, when layers of uncertainty start to suffocate and apprehension morphs into anxiety. That’s where I was last week, when I needed to take an “anxiety day.”
I realize the immense privilege that allowed me to remove myself from obligations. After a day of deep breathing and binge-watching Netflix, I regained my balance.
Last week Michael and I spent a night in Omaha; we’d traveled there to see Elton John’s farewell tour. On arrival, we had a message from D that Sonia Reyes-Snyder, executive officer of the state Office of Latino Affairs, could meet with her the next afternoon. I had contacted Sonia a couple of weeks earlier, seeking help in obtaining an ID for D from the El Salvadoran Consulate in Chicago.
D needed a ride to the appointment at 1 p.m., two passport photos, and 20 stamps. A couple of quick calls later and our daughter would take D for the stamps and photos that evening, and a member of the Iowa Sanctuary Movement support team would take her to the appointment.
And we could sleep in the next day.
On our way out of town the next morning, we drove to the Immigration Court, so finding it this week for K’s hearing wouldn’t be a problem. Driving slowly through the snow-covered parking lot, we spotted a man in a suit striding purposefully toward the building, a bundle of folders under his arm. He passed by the door we thought was the entrance, so Michael made a U-turn to follow him. As we turned, we both noticed the “RESIST” bumper sticker in his back window – he was one of us!
Now, the stress of living in the Catch-22 that is our life right now might just have made us a little loopy, but Michael pulled the car up next to him, I rolled down the window, and called across a small mountain of snow, “Excuse me. Are you a lawyer?”
He paused and glanced briefly around.
“We’re sponsoring two asylum-seekers and might need to hire an immigration attorney.
Do you have a business card?”
The man gamely reached across the snowy berm to hand me his card.
“Ha, ha. I bet this has never happened to you before!” I said.
“You’d be surprised.”
I tucked his card into the glove compartment.
We still don’t know about legal representation. It seems for every three questions we text to D and K’s lawyer at the Santa Fe Dreamers Project we might get one answer. That said, D and K are fortunate that the Project is working so hard to find them pro bono representation; many, if not most, compas and their sponsors start fundraising for expenses such as legal fees immediately.
When we got back home later that day, I had a message from a friend, cautioning us not to use a certain local law firm and suggesting a well-qualified local immigration attorney.
“And whatever you do, steer clear of xxx!”
Oh, my gosh.
I laughed out loud.
The lawyer to avoid at all costs was the same man whose business card we’d gotten that very morning!
If there’s a moral to this story, it’s probably to recognize the value of connections and to reach out to the web of “good people” for advice and assistance as much as possible.
Than again, it could be—stay clear of stray lawyers.
Journey of Accompaniment: Part 17
Accompaniment Story: “It took awhile for the relief to sink in.”
by Karen Lauer
Trust. And keep moving in the right direction. It seems to work. All the same…!
You know that feeling at the peak of the roller coaster – just as the car plunges but your body lags behind? Suddenly the ground drops out from under you and you hear a somewhat distant full throttled scream – only to realize moments later that scream is your own?
Now imagine riding that coaster for more than a week straight.
That’s what this past week has been like.
Last week, D and K reached out to NIJC (National Immigrant Justice Center), an organization in Chicago that Wes Brockway, their lawyer from the Santa Fe Dreamers project thought would take their asylum cases pro bono, but were denied. We frantically tried to reach Wes, but he didn’t return our calls.
Now, I need to make it clear that Wes Brockway works day-in and day-out fighting for the rights of asylum-seekers. His entire career is dedicated to securing the safety of desperate people. In no way through all of this do I want to impugn him, his staff, nor the Santa Fe Dreamers Project.
That said, we were definitely frustrated and desperately worried. K has a hearing in immigration court in Omaha February 20 and there was no way we could leave her without an attorney.
We figured that Wes just hadn’t believed us when we told him that pro bono immigration attorneys or organizations are practically non-existent in this part of the country.
We reached out to Des Moines-SURJ and the group agreed to mobilize to raise money to pay attorney fees. I called every possible avenue for pro bono help and encountered, well, nothing.
We had no choice – I started calling immigration attorneys. One firm didn’t have an appointment opening until the end of February. Finally, a firm in Beaverdale could get D and K in for consultations – $100 each – Friday morning, Feb. 8. The receptionist told us the typical cost for an asylum case is $10,000, but it can be more.
I apologized to D and K for all the stress and assured them that, no matter what, we would ensure they had representation for their asylum cases. My exact words were, “You deserve safety and freedom. We will fight for you.”
And I knew in my heart I meant it.
No way could we leave these young women to the fates. They have to do nothing, nor be anything, other than fellow human beings to deserve justice.
And I will fight for them.
Fast forward to Friday morning.
I’m putting the lawyer’s contact information and address into my cell phone as I ready to take
K and D to the consultation when my phone rings.
It’s Michael, calling from work.
Wes had just called and apologized profusely for the confusion. The “usual” person at NIJC was out of the office, and the person D and K spoke to gave them incorrect information. A different contact at NIJC will review their asylum cases; and if the organization decides not to represent them, Wes vowed, again, to litigate their asylum cases himself.
It took awhile for the relief to sink in.
I can’t help but think of the thousands of desperate people who don’t have these resources.
A friend suggested we form a “plan B” in case pro bono representation ultimately falls through. I still worry about that possibility, but plan B is exactly what we did this past week; calling on the SURJ community to help raise funds to hire an attorney.
But for now, we can take a deep breath and trust in the knowledge that D and K aren’t in this alone; Michael and I aren’t in this alone; there is a web of good people who care that will step forward when needed.
We may not need you all at this moment, but undoubtedly we’ll be calling for help in the future.
Tuesday morning update: NIJC told K she would have to request a continuance on the 20th based on the need to find legal representation. Michael has been texting with Wes all morning; he tells us he is trying to arrange to represent K via telephone for her scheduled hearing in immigration court next week.
Wednesday, late afternoon update: Wes has arranged to represent K via telephone next week. Please keep us all in your hearts.
Journey of Accompaniment: Part 16
Accompaniment Story: Trust
by Karen Lauer
As we move further into the sponsorship relationship, I find myself having to trust others in a way I never have before. We are always living into the edge – certainty seems so very long ago.
It’s difficult to figure out just what we can trust right now; certainly not the government, nor the immigration system; not the immigration courts nor ICE. It’s hard to even find a “process” to trust in right now.
So where does that leave us?
Our First Unitarian community – and the wider Iowa Sanctuary Movement Community – have already helped in myriad ways. Donations of kitchen supplies, artwork, clothing, gift cards to grocery stores and pharmacies. It’s been amazing.
But the unknowns are always right around the corner.
From the time D and K were released from detention, their lawyer Wes Brockway, who works for the Santa Fe Dreamers Project, has assured us – and them – that they would have pro bono legal support.
Michael handles the “legal stuff” – filling out forms and filing paperwork, and communication with Wes. As December turned into January we pressed – and pressed – Wes for information. At one point, toward the end of January, he flat-out told us, “Look, don’t worry. I have this covered.”
But January turned into February, and with K scheduled to appear in Immigration Court on February 20, we needed clarity – she deserved clarity – on what to expect. Finally, Wes send an email with instructions for D and K to contact the National Immigrant Justice Center (NIJC) in Chicago to see if the organization would represent them or prepare them to represent themselves (pro se).
In immigration court?
That can’t happen.
We quickly checked with Justice for Our Neighbors (JFON) – if needed, would they review D and K’s cases?
We’re not sure why, though JFON is overwhelmed right now.
No choice but to wait.
D and K were given separate phone appointments to discuss their cases. D let us know yesterday that NIJC refused to take her case. Apparently they are only accepting cases of people in detention or living in the Chicago area. K presumed she would also be denied.
Yesterday Wes sent D a list of other organizations to contact for pro bono legal representation. We haven’t seen the list yet. We have calls in to both Wes and his assistant.
Where to put our trust now?
We have applied to the Iowa Sanctuary Movement asylum support fund for assistance with medical bills, utilities, bus passes, and groceries for D and K. But the fund isn’t just to help us with D and K and already has commitments to other asylum-seekers in Des Moines.
What to do?
We don’t know whether pro bono legal support will be forthcoming after all. It’s possible Wes will represent K at her February court date, but what then? It’s possible to request a continuance – basically, postponing the court date for a period of time while K searches for legal representation; but that would stop action on her work permit.
I’m extremely worried.
No one stands a chance in immigration court without a lawyer – it’s just the way it is. We cannot leave these two young women without legal representation and Michael and I cannot afford it ourselves. D and K have been through unspeakable violence and trauma in their home countries solely because of their identities – and to risk them being denied asylum without a fighting chance makes me ill.
It’s possible this will all work out.
Maybe a different organization will take their cases.
I’ve reached out to the Des Moines chapter of SURJ to ask them to consider fundraising for legal fees. Some sponsors have GoFundMe accounts and SURJ-Memphis regularly holds fundraisers in local businesses. I’m waiting until Friday to call local immigration attorneys.
Are they accepting new clients?
How much is a retainer?
How much will it cost to handle their entire asylum cases?
We’ve seen numbers that are truly frightening in other situations; $3500 retainer; $12,000 to see the case through.
We may be facing a lesson in trust unlike any other.
Journey of Accompaniment: Part 15
Accompaniment Story: Things I know and things I wonder about
by Michael Lauer
“K and Donna possess the same inherent worth and dignity that I believe I deserve. Four months ago, three months ago, two months ago; I would have said this exact same thing. But now I feel it in my heart, in my bones.”
Johely, the transgender woman who we were supposed to sponsor for asylum, had an immigration hearing scheduled for January 11. Johely was denied bond and remains incarcerated in Cibola County Correctional Facility in New Mexico.
We were afraid she would be deported after this hearing, but we hadn’t heard from her or her lawyer, Wes. I texted her lawyer asking for the outcome of the hearing. We’ve stayed in contact with Johely through the mail and deposit money in her commissary account to give her access to items that are not standard issue when in ICE detention. We also didn’t know what happens to funds remaining in a detained person’s commissary account when they leave detention; whether released, deported, or transferred to another facility.
We wanted to make sure she had some money in her pocket if she were deported. How awful it would be to be dropped off across the border with no money at all. And how dangerous to be dropped off at the border with too little or too much money. We can imagine, but we can’t know.
Her lawyer, Wes, got back to us quickly. Johely’s hearing had been postponed to later this month. He didn’t say why. Is it because of the government shut-down I wondered? Is it because someone or the system was overbooked? Is it an arbitrary way to mess with a detainee’s mind? Is it an intentional effort to keep detainees, lawyers, and advocates off-balance? Wes didn’t seem disturbed by the postponement, but then, he knows the way the system works. He did share a glimmer of hope: the residual commissary funds are distributed to the detained person when she is released. How cynical of me to suspect that CoreCivic, the corporate entity that manages the largest share of detained immigrants in the country and that profits hugely under the current administration’s immigration policies, would simply pocket the money, or charge a large ‘maintenance fee’ for managing a detained person’s commissary account.
I was fortunate that Wes actually called so I could talk to him. I asked him about Johely’s prospects. He was more optimistic than I expected, indicating that there may be a couple of options for her if the decision at the hearing went against her. He didn’t elaborate on what the options might be, but it gave me a little hope. Is that hope groundless? A good attorney will exhaust every option for his client to be able to plead her case fully before the court. Maybe the judge will look favorably on her in this stage of proceedings, or maybe in the next stage… I can’t help worrying about what might happen to her.
Since I had him on the phone, I asked how the government shutdown was affecting current cases and the scheduling of pending cases. He said that hearings that are currently on the docket may well proceed. This tells me that K’s February hearing in Omaha may occur as scheduled. We need to make sure we have K at her appointment unless we have a written notice of delay/reschedule from the immigration court. And I wonder whether they have her current address; we sent the change of address form but of course, never received confirmation of receipt. Maybe we should have paid extra for USPS letter tracking? Regardless, unless we get written notice of a change, we will have her at her hearing.
And D has no court date. What about her hearing? Under the shutdown there will be no hearings scheduled. There are currently nearly 800,000 pending immigration cases in the US. We are in the Omaha jurisdiction where there are 10,650 pending cases with an average wait time of 866 days. What does this mean? A person in the asylum process without a court date might have to wait more than 2 years and 3 months for a hearing? What happens to the immigration court backlog when the government is shuttered? A person could be in limbo for years. The uncertainty is exhausting. And I have only begun this journey. And I am in accompaniment, not subject to the system. My future, my safety, my life are not in jeopardy.
I was also able to inquire about the status of K and D’s work permits. It turns out they have not yet been submitted. If an asylum seeker is granted asylum, she can apply immediately for a work permit. But this does not happen quickly or often and has not happened for them. If not immediately granted asylum she must wait 150 days with ‘no decision’ from the court before she can apply.
In 2018, US Customs and Immigration Service (USCIS) began scheduling recent asylum cases before earlier ones. This prevents the 150-day clock from starting and can delay and discourage individuals seeking asylum. The system is complicated, and the approach introduced by USCIS in 2018 makes it more so. Here is what I found on the nolo.com website:
“Your wait to apply could be even longer than 150 days. Various things can occur to “stop the clock” (stop the counting up of the 150 days). For example, if you request more time or fail to show up for a fingerprinting appointment, the government will stop the clock during this time. If USCIS requests more evidence from you in order to be able to make its decision, the clock will stop until it receives your response. If you’re in removal proceedings, the clock will stop if you ask for your case to be postponed so you can get an attorney; if you ask for more time to prepare your case; if you say no when the judge asks you if you want your asylum claim to be heard sooner than normal; or if you file a motion that delays your case.”
We should receive D and K’s applications for work permits from Wes’s assistant in New Mexico soon. Then K and D need to provide two passport style photos, sign the form and return it. It is unclear to me that this assures that the ‘clock’ will start. The assistant will try to get the $495 application fee for the permits waived or reduced.
We will need to stay vigilant to get the ‘clock’ started and that we keep it running. We will need to learn everything we can to ensure we follow every arcane procedure that affects the process. I don’t know how to do this. I’ve never done it before. It is confusing. It is frustrating. But then, what would it be like to try to navigate the process if English was not your mother tongue? How terrifying would it be to navigate the process if your life was on the line? What if you made a mistake then? And if I make a mistake, lives are on the line.
I entered into sponsorship aware, in the abstract, of possibilities for personal growth that might come of this. I was aware that providing assistance in partnership with asylum seekers might have benefits for me. As I enter into relationship with K and D I learn about myself. I explore my fear of failure. I grapple with mistakes, and now I can’t turn away when mistakes make me uncomfortable. I tend to ‘group’ individuals, to generalize and categorize, to name and in so doing somewhat negate individual value. But K and D don’t belong in a group. They are individuals and deserve to be seen as such. They possess the same inherent worth and dignity that I believe I deserve. Four months ago, three months ago, two months ago; I would have said this exact same thing. But now I feel it in my heart, in my bones. They are giving me a great gift. They are accompanying me without knowing it, as my welfare becomes more entwined with theirs. They are leading me to an unaccustomed space. I am becoming vulnerable in this journey. I am becoming more human. It is a little thrilling. It is more than a little scary.
Journey of Accompaniment: Part 14
Accompaniment Story: “simple gestures of human kindness”
by Karen Lauer
Right before we left on vacation in November, Michael sent a note to Johely in Cibola County Correctional Facility in New Mexico. Johely is a transgender woman seeking asylum who we were originally assigned to sponsor; but she was deneid bond and will have to stay in detention while her asylum case proceeds. We continue to support her through small deposits in her commissary account – she has told us it is difficult to manage her diabetes with the meals the inmates are served there. With money in her account she can purchase supplementary foods and personal care items.
We came home to find our note returned as undeliverable. I feared that Johely had been deported, but a text to her lawyer assured us she is still in Cibola.
Puzzled, I pulled up the sponsorship document we received and found the page on how to send mail to inmates. Michael had addressed the letter to Johely by copying the return address on the letter she sent to us which had her name and A#, followed by the facility name and address; but in order for mail to reach her, the envelope must first list the name of the facility, followed by the inmate’s name and number, then the address.
I quickly sent her a letter and explained why she hadn’t heard from us. That very day we received a letter from Johely. I waited a couple of days to open it, fearful that she had felt abandoned. Instead, the letter was filled with her gratefulness to us; offering us blessings and asking god to do the same.
I’ve been struggling with our relationship with Johely. Not the support itself; sending letters and a little money to her commissary account is easy. It’s the gratitude that is hard to accept – her reaction almost makes me ill at times. To her our relationship means she has not been forgotten, that somewhere, far from her prison, there are people who care that she exists. To me, it is a constant reminder of the horrors our government is inflicting on innocent, desperate people.
What does it say about us – as a people, a society, a country – that such simple gestures of human kindness are so unexpected, so rare?
What must it be like to leave everything you’ve ever known, not because you want to, but because it is unsafe to simply be who you are; to seek safety in a country that is your only hope, yet be thrown into prison, held captive when you have committed no crime. How does one hold onto hope? Is it even possible to keep from sinking into despair?
It always takes me a couple of days to work up to opening a letter from Johely. I set the letter aside, relieved to hear from her but hesitant to expose myself again to her reality. I can’t find the words to explain how desperate I feel about her suffering, the worry I hold for this person I have never met, but whose life is now tied to my own.
I haven’t figured out yet what to do with my own feelings – a mixture of despair, anger, and helplessness. How do I encourage others to become aware? Take action? How do I react appropriately when family members continue to say to me, “But we can’t just take all those people into our country…”
How do I begin to accept the undeserved gratefulness?
Johely’s court date is January 11.
We have asked her lawyer to let us know the outcome.
He already has told us he doubts her asyum case will move forward.
I hope to find out this week if she will be given money left in her commissary account when she is deported.
I’d like her to have a little money in her pocket when she’s dropped off – migrants from Mexico are usually flown to U.S. border cities and either walk or are bused across the border.
Journey of Accompaniment: Part 13
Accompaniment Story: “Out of the mouths of babes.”
by Karen Lauer
Last week the children in our Soul Matters for Kids class created holiday cards to send to shelters in the southwest that are helping asylum-seekers as they are released from detention. The Unitarian Universalist Service Committee (UUSC) is collecting the cards to send messages of welcome and support to asylum-seekers to help counteract the hateful rhetoric so prevalent throughout the U.S. today.
In preparation for card-making, we shared some of what UUSC staff member Hannah Haftner witnessed in a trip to the border last month.
I had the uncomfortable task of explaining to this group of 4th-6th graders that our government is holding more than 2000 kids just a few years older than they are in tents in the desert , behind barbed wire and under guard. One child reflected, “That’s like what happened to Japanese-Americans during WWII.”
Out of the mouths of babes.
The compas are doing well and are so thankful for the help they have received from First Unitarian – they also had a great time at the holiday party! They both were delighted with the Christmas tree – it certainly makes their place more festive. We can’t thank this wonderful community enough for the support we’ve received. Thank you doesn’t seem adequate.
K and D took English placement tests and will start ESL classes through DMACC at First Christian Church in January. I was delighted to find out the classes – which run M-Th mornings – are free! They continue to be involved in the many activities at Trinity Las Americas Methodist church as well. K has a court date in Omaha in February, but we haven’t received word of D’s court date yet.
I continue to struggle with trying to speak Spanish – and hope I don’t sound as goofy as I feel. Google translate is my constant companion, though I often forget – and confuse the poor program – by speaking very broken Spanish into the microphone when I’m supposed to speak English.
My youngest daughter and I took the compas to their second ICE check-in this week. All went smoothly for them, but it’s hard to explain the almost tangible feeling of despair; every smile shared masks the fear that lies just below the surface. While we waited for D and K’s turn, we saw people unsure of where to go or what to do as there are no signs and no directions once you figure out you’re in the correct room. One must fill out check-in forms, written in English, though there is a form taped to the wall indicating in Spanish – but no other languages – what information is needed.
The small room was full of people, all of us crammed into three rows of chairs; many clutching manila envelopes full of official documents. Taped to one woman’s envelope was a large sign, “I DO NOT SPEAK ENGLISH. WHICH BUS DO I TAKE?”
Two ICE officers sit in vestibules in front of computer screens; everyone tries to remember who came in first, as there is no system for deciding who is interviewed next. A woman stands in the doorway with two teenagers, a boy and a girl; she speaks English and says she is the children’s neighbor. The ICE officer tells her the children are in official deportation proceedings; apparently they missed their court date in Omaha. She doesn’t seem to know anything about this; the officer tells her he won’t take them into custody, though he could. They have one month to either show proof of plane tickets back to Guatemala or evidence that they are fighting the deportation order.
My daughter asks if I can give them information; next time I’m there I will carry cards with AFSC-Iowa’s phone number. But there is little anyone can do to help; without legal assistance the teens have no hope of asylum, and there are few pro bono or low cost immigration legal resources in the Des Moines area.
My daughter also notices that the young mothers have ankle monitors. Why them and not others? I wonder the same. I doubt there is any official policy determining who must live under “house arrest” with monitors and who has more freedom of movement.
While we wait, a 30-something man is interviewed. Were you here with a child? I can’t hear his answer, but there is no child with him today. The ICE officer escorts him through a door that leads deeper into the building. He is to be deported.
D and K’s next ICE check-in is March 12.
Journey of Accompaniment: Part 12
Accompaniment Story: A Letter From Johely.
by Karen Lauer
A couple of weeks ago, I sent a letter along with the cards of our Soul Matters for Kids class, to Johely, the compa who was denied bond. She remains incarcerated at the Cibola County Detention Facilty in New Mexico, the same facility where K and D were held, while her asylum case moves through immigration court.
Just a few days later, faster than I imagined a large manila envelope could navigate the U.S. post and the prison system, I received a letter from Johely! Written in Spanish, I could get the gist of what she wrote, but I needed to understand her correspondence more fully.
Michael works with a man from Costa Rica; he took the letter to work to ask if Federico would translate it for us. Later that day, I arrived early for an appointment. I opened my email in the car to find a voice recording of Fed translating Johely’s letter.
The “blessings” she speaks of are the cards and letters the children sent; when she speaks of food being expensive, she’s referring to foods separate from the standard cafeteria meals. We were dismayed to hear she had not yet received the $50 we had sent to her commissary account.
Here is her letter:
It took me a minute to catch my breath from this brutally heartbreaking expression of thankfulness. Actually, I’m still trying to recuperate from the raw emotion, the desperate need, the unnecessary inhumanity our politics is inflicting on thousands of people.
On second thought, I don’t want to ever recover.
We quickly added an additional $50; there is no way to verify that a deposit actually makes it into the desired prisoner’s account; we had a “receipt,” but no way to double check. All we could do was wait to hear from Johely.
Thankfully, just last week we received another letter from Johely; she finally could access the funds in her account. We plan to deposit $50 in her account monthly and to stay in touch via mail. While we have the contact information for her lawyer (the same lawyer helping the compas we are sponsoring), he doesn’t have the time to keep us
informed about her case. I can only imagine the hours he dedicates to helping asylum seekers on both sides of the border.
I encourage everyone to consider sponsoring an asylum-seeker; there are many different levels of support available, from writing letters to migrants living in detention, to providing them financial support, to housing a compa. Follow this link for more information: http://www.showingupforracialjustice.org/caravan.html
Journey of Accompaniment: Part 11
Accompaniment Story: Tuesday, Nov. 20, 8:15 a.m.
by Karen Lauer
We assemble the same cast of characters from last week (Michael and myself, D and K, and a friend fluent in Spanish). Through security, elevator to first floor; the light in the hallway is on this time! We enter the small waiting room. I grab two check-in forms. K and D fill them out with our friend’s help. There are two small offices right off the waiting room; a ICE officer in each. There aren’t any instructions, but there are several families and individuals in the room, and we watch what they do. We make sure not to choose the officer we encountered last week. This officer searches through K’s and D’s papers, instructs them on how to mail in change of address forms, and gives them their next check-in date: December 18, Tuesday, 8-12. The compas’ lawyer told us to submit written notice that we will be out of the country for two weeks, including the name and contact information of a “temporary sponsor” for while we’re gone. Michael explains to the ICE officer, but he doesn’t want the paper and makes no notation of the information. “We don’t keep any paper files here.”
And that’s that for this check-in.
K and D are ebullient – no confusion, no belligerent officer, and no ankle monitors.
We have arranged for a two-bedroom house for D and K to live in for 6 months; once they get work permits, they can choose to stay and pay (some) rent or move to their own apartments. It’s a lovely house near the North Side library, a grocery store, and CVS/Walgreens. It’s also on a DART bus line. There are so many things they will need to learn how to navigate, but most will have to wait until we get back.
Today my oldest son (home for Thanksgiving) figured out how to add international minutes to the compas Tracphones; after a fruitless trip to a local Walmart (the phones were purchased at a Walmart in New Mexico shortly after their release from detention), he was able to find the information online; and after 2 months for K and 3 for D, they were finally able to speak with their families in Mexico and El Salvador. Such a simple thing, making a phone call to your mama or abuelita; as a mom, I can’t imagine the worry and fear I would experience if my child made the perilous journey these young women have, not knowing where they are or whether they are safe. Making the calls, K and D’s excitement was contagious.
We have a crew of friends from First Unitarian, Trinity Las Americas, and from the ELL program at Las Americas, who will assist K and D while we are out of the country the next two weeks. It’s hard to leave the compas barely two weeks after their arrival, but I trust in their ability to persevere and in the dedication and caring of those who are ready to help while we are gone. The two organizations that coordinate compa sponsorships emphasized the importance of developing a community of caring to assist us in this endeavor. I am proud to know that we are part of such a community.
Journey of Accompaniment: Part 10
Accompaniment Story: Welcome to insanity
by Karen Lauer
We just had the most bizarre experience today at the Des Moines ICE office. I’m not sure I can accurately describe how stressful and surreal the encounter was.
K and D have official paperwork – U.S. government/Homeland Security paperwork – that required them to go to the ICE office in Des Moines for check-ins Thursday, Nov. 15, at 9 and 9:15. Fortunately, a friend who is fluent in Spanish (and who graciously hosted us in her home for brunch the other day) came along – I don’t think google translate could possibly have explained what transpired.
I had heard through the grapevine that the Des Moines ICE office reduced its hours for check-ins (and any other in-office services) to Tuesdays, so we were able to warn the compas that the office might be closed. So the compas, our Spanish translator, Michael and I, all piled into our van and headed downtown.
We went through security, which directed us to the ICE office on the first floor. The hallway was dark, the door was locked, and there a sign, “Closed. Return next Tuesday between 8 and 12” posted in English and Spanish. Earlier in the week we spoke to a New York imigration attorney during a conference call for sponsors and told him that the Des Moines ICE office had restricted its hours; he was flabbergaste. He warned us to carefully document that K and D had indeed come at the appointed date and time for their check-ins.
Michael had his phone out to record and I took a picture of the sign on the door; then I noticed an intercom.
So I pushed the button, and pushed the button, and finally, a disembodied voice a la wizard of Oz, said, “We’re closed. Come back Tuesday.”
The voice demanded that Michael put his phone away, “It’s illegal to video in the Federal Building.” So the phone now in his pocket, Michael asked the voice if there was a way for us to prove the compas had arrived for their scheduled appointment times.and After repeated explanations and multiple requests, the voice finally consented to write down (as far as we knew) K and D’s “A numbers” – immigration identification numbers.
He didn’t ask for their names.
We left the building, but in the skywalk our translator suggested we go to the senators ‘offices to let them know that people are being given appointments only to show up to a closed office and the demand to come back on Tuesday. We trooped back in through security; when the guard said he didn’t need to see our ids this time, I quietly joked about Trump’s assertion that people could leave, put on a disguise, and vote a second time. I gently pushed back when he asserted, “We wouldn’t have a problem if everyone had to show an id to vote.”
I pushed back ever so gently.
This visit isn’t about me.
So up we trooped to Senator Ernst’s office, where a nice young woman was obviously surprised at our story. We filled out forms allowing her to copy K and D’s paperwork (as further proof that they had indeed come for their scheduled appointments). While photocopying their papers, she noticed that the room they were to report to was actually on the 5th floor, not the 1st, where we had gone. Whew. I was relieved – and we still weren’t late!
She came with us to the fifth floor only to find another sign, directing us back to the ICE office on the second floor, not the first floor where we spoke to the voice. Back into the elevator we travelled to the second floor, to find a sign directing us back to the first floor where appointments were only from 8-12 on Tuesdays. We pushed this intercom button and this time the wizard actually came out from behind the curtain.
“You were just here. Are you a lawyer? I explained to you. Why is she here? Why are you trying to get me in trouble?” For the next 15 minutes or more, we tried to explain that we weren’t trying to get him in trouble; that yes, he did tell us to come back on Tuesday, but we had no proof that K and D had appeared when and where they were supposed to according to Homeland Security; that we didn’t want to harm their cases by doing something wrong; that we went to the senator’s office so we had proof and to let the senator know that people are being given appointments for ICE check-ins in Des Moines when the office was actually closed; something that ought to be fixable.
Meanwhile, he was joined by another ICE officer (who was much calmer). I couldn’t help but wonder that there was time to argue with us in the hallway (under constant watch of security) but not time to note that K and D had checked in.
We did our best to try to smooth his feathers, to try to make him understand that lawyers told us to document our visit, that we are official sponsors (he actually argued for several minutes that there was no such thing, until he stopped blustering long enough to actually listen to us). I used my calmest voice, the tone I would use to coax a frightened cat out from behind the couch, when what I really wanted to do was tell him what a jerk he was being. Doesn’t he realize he’s messing with people’s lives?
But again, this isn’t about me. Right now, it’s about K and D, and making sure nothing interferes with their asylum cases. I think we might finally have calmed him down, though I don’t think he could see past his persecution complex, and we left the building.
All of us are rattled, anxiety riding high. Michael headed to work, K and D headed upstairs, I’m sure to decompress from the experience, and I made myself a giant mug of coffee and a Pop Tart.
Welcome to insanity.
Thank goodnes we had a translator with us. I can’t imagine how stressful it was for K and D.
Next check-in, Tuesday, 8-12.
Journey of Accompaniment: Part 9
Accompaniment Story: “K and D were granted parole”
by Karen Lauer
I got home late Tuesday afternoon and opened my email to find a simple note: “K and D were granted parole and will be released tomorrow. Have you heard from ICE?”
And ICE still hasn’t contacted us.
We don’t know why, but the women were released without bond (yay!) – there’s a team in New Mexico who picked them up from detention and gave them a few days to decompress before sending them on to Des Moines. Thankfully, they were able to fly here on Saturday, with us only contributing to the cost of the tickets.
Many of you know that I have a diagnosed anxiety disorder; my anxiety generally has been manageable these last couple of years, but the past few days have been difficult. Thankfully Michael is steadfast and has kept me relatively sane. Poor guy; apparently I can be mean when I’m anxious. Ahem.
We have a large, finished attic, that we fixed up as a bedroom/hangout space; Friday I bought an inexpensive internet-ready television at Walmart; Michael set it up so that the instructions are in Spanish, so K and D can stream Spanish-language movies, shows, and music.
Thank goodness for Google translate, a free app for phone and computer! My limited Spanish is getting a workout and even Michael can communicate the basics; K and D can use the app to translate into English.
Saturday night our son Zachary came over for pizza; his Spanish minor is only about 6 years old (while mine is 30+); and our daughter Sarah came over Sunday afternoon. Michael asked them what items they needed to “feel human again;” turns out a trip to Walgreens to buy makeup did the trick.
We haven’t asked any questions about what they’ve been through, though bits and pieces of their experiences have come out. We don’t have a right to their stories and are honored just to be in a position to facilitate their journeys. We will not be sharing any details of their stories here or elsewhere, except to say that K was in detention for 2 months and D for 3 months; they have shared that the experience was frightening and horrific.
They both have appointments with ICE Thursday morning. I spoke with one of the coordinators working with SURJ and UUSC yesterday. She wants to speak with the women to prepare them for these appointments. She said it is imperative that they understand that ICE officers are not their friends. She has witnessed situations in which a Spanish-speaking Latino officer tries to entrap an asylum-seeker into inconsistencies and/or confuse them about whether/when they can work. ICE officers in Des Moines do not allow anyone to accompany the asylum-seeker into appointments, while other ICE offices do. She also wants to prepare the compas for the possibility that they will be given ankle monitors; again, there is no rhyme or reason, no consistent policy across jurisdictions about who gets the monitors or why. If they do, they will face additional restrictions. We have asked a friend who speaks Spanish to come with us to help ensure they understand the proceedings.
Sunday we took K to church at Trinity Las Americas where services are conducted in both English and Spanish. We were warmly welcomed and saw many familiar faces from the Iowa Sanctuary Movement. The compas will meet with Rev. Alejandro on Tuesday and we will offer to take them to ELL classes at Las Americas Tuesday and Thursday evenings. Wednesday evening there is a Spanish-language Bible study there as well. We will offer, but it might be too early for them to jump into activities, though we’ve also been counseled that it’s important for them to “keep moving” so they don’t get depressed.
Please keep them – and Michael and me – in your thoughts this week as we stumble along.
Journey of Accompaniment: Part 8
Accompaniment Story: “The right path became clear.”
by Karen Lauer
This past week has been so full – of life and the transformative power of living our faith that I’m not sure where to start!
A couple weeks ago Michael and I had the opportunity to spend the afternoon with two women from El Salvador who are in Des Moines seeking asylum. They speak no English and my Spanish had to be dredged up from 30-plus years ago. As the afternoon wore on, and with ample help from Google translate, I could understand more and more and make myself understood much better. But conversational Spanish it was not.
As I thought about this experience, and added taking Spanish classes to my to-do list, I had a thought. My “having a thought” usually means Michael needs to brace himself, and this was no different. What if we sponsor two transgender women instead of one? Two women who know each other from detention and can help each other with the transition to living first with us, then on their own here in the U.S.? At the very least, they would have the comfort of having someone to talk with!
To his credit, Michael readily agreed and we contacted their lawyer, Wes, with the Santa Fe Dreamers Project. who is working pro bono with the women in detention at Cibola County Detention Center where many of the compas from this spring’s migrant caravan are interred. There are many women there in need of sponsors, so Wes was happy to pair us with our new compas – K, from Mexico, and D, from El Salvador.
We still don’t know when their bond will be set, whether we will be able to pay the bond ourselves or if we will need to reach out to the community for help; we don’t have any idea when they will arrive.
In our 33 years of marriage, Michael and I have never taken a vacation that didn’t include children or wasn’t attached to another event (such as General Assembly) – we never even had a honeymoon. In August we took the plunge and planned our vacation – a trip to Morocco through Smithsonian Journeys. When we decided to sponsor an asylum-seeker, we were sure he/she/they would have been with us for a month or two at least by then. But as time keeps ticking away and situations have changed (our first match found family to sponsor him; our second was denied bond), we began to worry about whether the compa would arrive before our trip. My anxiety began to grow, as it is wont to do, and in a tearful discussion we decided to tell the lawyer that the compa couldn’t arrive until after our return in early December.
The selfishness of this decision – to possibly force two trans women to remain in prison because of a vacation – underscored our privilege, again. Then my phone rang. It was K and D, and through a friend in Cibola who is fluent in both Spanish and English, they told us how grateful they are to us. They couldn’t believe there were people they didn’t even know who care for them. They called upon god to bless us for our kindness.
And just like that, the right path became clear.
It really was clear all along.
We aren’t worthy of their blessings or admiration; we are simply facilitators on their road to freedom and safety.
And I have yet another chance to live more deeply into my discomfort.
We sent another email to Wes; we will welcome the women whenever he can secure their release.
Journey of Accompaniment: Part 7
Accompaniment Story: We Begin Again
I still feel so badly about missing Joely’s calls and hope to stay in touch via mail while her asylum case is processed. I’ve thought a bit more about that forgery conviction that prohibits her release from detention.
It makes me wonder if she forged some kind of identification – maybe to be able to work or to drive. And I worry that this will also be a roadblock for her asylum case. Out of curiosity I looked for stats on asylum cases from the immigration court in Omaha where Iowa cases are litigated; between 2012-2017, more than 80 percent of asylum cases were denied.
I help Tracy Beck with our Soul Matters for Kids class; an engaging and energetic group of 4th – 6th graders – and all boys! With this month’s theme of “Sanctuary,” we have talked about immigration and what it means that we are a sanctuary church. The kids know that Michael and I have applied to sponsor an asylum seeker, and I had told them about Joely.
Last Wednesday, I told the kids that Joely would have to stay in detention and wouldn’t be coming to live with us. We talked about how lonely and scared she must be and I asked the kids if they would make her cards and letters. I wrote out several phrases in Spanish – and looked up several more – as they diligently worked.
Sometimes the news of the day is so disheartening that’s it’s easy to lose faith in my fellow human beings. But seeing the kindness and welcoming spirits this group of children showed for a transwoman they have never met helped restore my faith – and my soul.
And the next day I packed all those beautiful pictures and loving words into a large manila envelope bound for the Cibola County Correctional Facility, hoping that Joely will feel the loving embrace from a group of kids in Iowa who have never met her, but welcome her just the same.
Journey of Accompaniment: Part 6
Accompaniment Story: Bond Denied
by Karen Lauer
Several days had passed since we’d heard anything.
The bond hearing before an immigration judge in New Mexico, where Joely, the compa we were to sponsor during her asylum case, is in detention, was to have been on Friday. (“Compa” is Spanish for “friend”).
It was already Monday, and her pro bono lawyer, an attorney with the Santa Fe Dreamers Project, had not yet contacted us.
How high would the bond be? Could we cover the cost ourselves or would we need to ask for help? Had the hearing been postponed again?
Over the past week I had received a number of calls from an 866 area code; the caller didn’t leave a message and a return call didn’t connect. I mentioned this to MIchael – who realized it was actually Joely trying to reach me from Cibola Detention Center! Michael had added the detention center number to his contacts but not mine! I felt horrible when I realized she’d tried to reach us; how could I have made such a terrible mistake? Did she think we didn’t care?
I emailed our SURJ contact; was there any way to let Joely know?
There is a group of women in New Mexico who are helping the compas in Cibola, she would have them tell Joely of our error. Thank goodness.
But what about her bond?
Her lawyer reached us late on Monday; Joely’s bond was denied because a criminal conviction for forgery subjects her to mandatory detention while pursuing asylum. He tried to argue for bond anyway, but the judge refused.
She could appeal, but her lawyer believes it makes more sense to move forward with her asylum claim, rather than delay any further.
Joely will remain in detention.
We will to continue to support her as best we can; we can send letters and will try to keep funds in her commissary account. But that’s all we can do.
Michael is traveling this week. When he gets back, we’ll send in the paperwork to sponsor a different asylum-seeker; the lawyer said there are many women in need.
Yesterday my phone rang – it was Joely!
I quickly answered, but the recorded instructions were in Spanish. I tried to follow directions, but after I pushed “1” the call ended. I’d missed her again.
I reached out to my SURJ contact – what do I do?
She told me the recording goes something like this, “You are receiving a call from Joely, a detainee at Cibola County Detention Center, to accept this call press “1” now.” Please note, she added, that if you press “1” before the option comes up the call does not get connected.
All I can do is hope Joely calls today.
Hope that I don’t mess up on my end – again.
And hope we can understand each other enough that I can tell her I’m sorry.
Tell her that we care.
Journey of Accompaniment: Part 5
First step in helping compa
by Karen Lauer
Our SURJ (Showing Up for Racial Justice) contact tells us that most of the single men SURJ and the UUSC (Unitarian Universalist Service Committee) on their list have found sponsors – would we consider a transgendered person? And I am reminded of the prejudice people face simply because who they are falls outside of societal norms.
I don’t know any details of her case nor why she left Mexico for the U.S. but I suspect our compa (Spanish for friend) faces discrimination and persecution because of her gender identity. And I am thankful the prejudice in the United States less pronounced, less dangerous.
Of course we’ll sponsor her. Joel/Joely Campos Cervantes.
Thankfully Michael has taken on the task of filling out all the paperwork and navigating the detention system; my anxiety disorder is rearing its ugly head and I think the frustration might just tip me over the edge!
Our first step is to deposit money in our compa’s commissary account so she can make phone calls, buy necessities, maybe buy a little extra food to make her life more comfortable; and we enter a vicious circle. Each detainee has an “A” number, used to identify and track them through the Immigration and Customs (ICE) system. Joely is in the Cibola County Detention Center in New Mexico.
Our instructions are to go to the Cibola County Detention Center website to locate an “inmate.” And again we are confronted by the inhumanity of our asylum system; words such as “detainee” and “detention facility” are merely euphemisms. Asylum-seekers, people in fear for their lives, lawfully present themselves at our border and we – our government – imprison them.
We search the Cibola site for Joely and are rerouted to the CoreCivic homepage. CoreCivic (Better The Public Good), is the second largest private prison company in the U.S. Listed on the NYSE, CoreCivic’s largest source of revenue in 2016 came from contracts with ICE
So we select the Cibola facility on the CoreCivic homepage, and are kicked right back to where we started – the Cibola webpage. A closed loop.
Several days and multiple emails later, we are told CoreCivic is in the midst of rebranding itself (it used to be Correction Corp. of America) – so we try the old website. And we find her!
But we cannot deposit funds into her commissary account without her commissary number – which none of our contacts have. The deposit will have to wait several days until Joely’s pro-bono lawyer from the Santa Fe Dreamers Project is able to meet with her in person.
It’s taken more than a week, multiple emails, and a great deal of patience, to make that deposit.
Joely has a hearing in front of an immigration judge to determine bond today. Yes, parole is the only option she has to be released from detention – even though she has committed no crime. I check my email and discover the hearing has been moved to Friday.
And we wait.
Journey of Accompaniment: Part 4
Community Support Helps Lauers Offer Sponsorship
by Michael Lauer
A number of people have expressed admiration that Karen and I are volunteering to sponsor an asylum seeker. We appreciate the admiration, but we do not seek it, nor are we worthy of it. We chose to offer support for an asylum seeker as a natural extension of the journey we have been on for the past 19 months as individuals and members of the Immigration Justice and Sanctuary Team. Together we all have learned and grown so much. We’ve begun to understand the complexities of our immigration policies, how those policies impact human lives, and how our government interprets those policies in ways that dehumanize our neighbors at the margins of society.
At one point, Karen and I realized that we were capable of sponsoring an asylum seeker. So what was holding us back? Our fear? Our comfort? Our busy lives? Upon reflection we realized that our inaction was a position we could not abide. We also realized we had access to resources far greater than we had previously considered. Our First Unitarian community, relationships we’ve built with the members of our Immigration Justice and Sanctuary Team, the year-plus we have worked with the Iowa Sanctuary Movement, the Des Moines SURJ (Showing Up for Racial Justice) community. We take this step not alone, but in accompaniment with all of you.
We are humbled and honored to be associated with you all on this journey.
Journey of Accompaniment: Part 3
Getting Closer to Sponsoring an Asylum-Seeker
by Karen Lauer
“Are you open to sponsoring a woman? A family? A man? A transgender person?”
At first I was taken aback. The idea that I would put conditions on whom I would sponsor seemed callous; how could I put my own “comfort” ahead of an individual’s freedom?
Now, I understand why those questions needed to be asked, and that there are real and valid reasons a sponsor might need to choose one gender over another. But Michael and I have no need to put conditions on our sponsorship.
So I answered as honestly as I could, that we would sponsor anyone and would work hard to help him/her/them find community in Des Moines.
A few days later I had my second interview. A woman working for SURJ (Showing Up for Racial Justice) called from Tennessee; she had a list of men in need of sponsors; two men from Eritrea, two from Mexico, and two from India. Did we have a preference?
Again, I couldn’t make such a choice, and suggested we be assigned the next person on her list. We would sponsor a 23 year-old man from India who speaks Hindi.
There are two primary ways people enter the U.S. undocumented; if you are wealthy enough to come here on a tourist visa, you simply stay in the country once the visa expires. For everyone else, the entry is through the southern border.
My anxiety went into overdrive as we hurried to assemble our sponsorship documents; copies of our passports, proof of income, and letters of support, including signatures and scans of driver’s licenses.
I quickly contacted Rev. Jen and Katie Allen, our social justice counselor, as I knew Michael and I would need support from our First Unitarian community in ways I’m sure we have yet to imagine. Jen suggested we write an account of the process so the
congregation could follow along with us.
Michael scanned and sent all our documents, while I asked our contact a million frenzied questions. We might move to a different house, is that okay while the compa(term used by UUSC and SURJ for the asylum-seekers) is with us? Once he/she/they have some time to decompress from their ordeal, we’d like to find an apartment to give the compa more privacy; and honestly, as an introvert, to give me much needed space and solitude. Is this okay?
She reassured me that after a few weeks, most compas start to live their own lives. She reminded me that the compas are likely the most resilient and capable individuals I might ever meet, and cautioned me not to infantalize them. I am a sponsor, not a parent.
Shortly after our paperwork was sent, we learned that “our” compa found family to sponsor him. Great news! The best for him.
Would we take another?
Journey of Accompaniment: Part 2
The Steps in Needed to House an Asylum-Seeker
by Karen Lauer
So what does it mean to sponsor an asylum-seeker? It’s complicated.
With the arrival at the border of this spring’s migrant caravan, grassroots advocacy groups asked for volunteer sponsors. That’s when Unitarian Universalist Service Committee (UUSC) and Showing up for Racial Justice (SURJ) got involved.
As members of SURJ, Michael and I knew we had to step forward.
Our SURJ contact warned us to expect the unexpected, which doesn’t help with the overall anxiety I feel about the process. It is overwhelming in so many ways; having a stranger who doesn’t speak English live with us, the knowledge that they might not be granted asylum, a fear for that person’s future. There’s also simpler concerns, like having to do more cooking than I typically do now that we’re empty-nesters, and visions of sitting uncomfortably together in a room without knowing what to say.
We’ve been trying to learn as much as we can about the asylum process, but the rules seem to change daily and often at the whim of individual within Homeland Security. But here’s the gist: An asylum-seeker must first pass a “credible fear” interview with USCIS, proving to the government agent that he/she/they fear returning to their home country because of persecution based on race or ethnicity, religion, nationality, political opinion, or because the person belongs to a specific social group; if the fear doesn’t fall under one of this categories asylum is likely to be denied.
When migrants arrive in the U.S., they are frequently detained for months or years while they pursue an asylum claim, unless they qualify for parole and can live with a U.S. citizen who vouches for them. An additional requirement for parole is payment of an immigration bond, paid in cash; the law calls for bond to be set at a minimum of $1,500, but it’s often much more. It’s important to understand that “detention” is a euphemism for “prison.”
As sponsors, we agree to support the individual for the first 6-12 months, making sure they attend ICE check-ins, and providing housing, food, transportation, assistance integrating into the community, etc. After 6 months, the individual can apply for a social security number and a work permit. Until these is granted, they cannot work.
It is also imperative to find legal assistance for the asylum case, as the vast majority of asylum cases ultimately are denied, especially if they have no legal representation.
Once we are assigned an asylum-seeker (“compa”) we will send copies of our passports, proof of residence, proof of income, letters of support from the community, and a letter from us stating that we agree to sponsor the individual to Homeland Security for approval. Once approved, we will be given the detention number of our compa so that we can put money in their commissary account; enabling purchase of necessities and the ability to make phone calls.
More than 250 people nationwide have volunteered to be sponsors through SURJ and UUSC; it’s important to understand that Michael and I could not even have considered this path without the support of our Immigration Justice and Sanctuary Team members, the First Unitarian Church community, and our local Des Moines-SURJ community.
The system is designed to create as much confusion as possible; to be so expensive and convoluted, so demoralizing, that people will give up. At this moment in history, it is imperative that those of us who are able take a step forward. Thank you for taking a stand for justice with us.
Journey of Accompaniment: Part 1
The Decision to House an Asylum-Seeker
by Karen Lauer
I tried to take the easy route.
I really did.
This spring when I heard about the migrant caravan, displaced people traveling from Central America to seek asylum in the U.S., I couldn’t imagine the desperation and fear, nor the courage, it would take to leave everything you had ever known; family, friends, culture, language.
But the migrants were greeted at our border with National Guard troops, many not allowed to legally request asylum; it was heartbreaking.
So when national SURJ (Showing Up for Racial Justice) and the UUSC decided to work together to help the compas (“friends” in Spanish) I was relieved.
Someone was helping. Whew.
I quickly signed up for all the “easy” ways to help: letter-writing to members of the caravan in detention, sharing the story and ways to help on social media, connecting to local faith communities (via this Intercom). And for a while, I felt I had done enough.
But throughout the summer, government persecution of immigrants intensified; homeland security tore children from their parents, the anti-immigrant law SF 481 took effect in Iowa, and I witnessed the impact of ICE raids and deportations on members of my community.
And so Michael and I agreed; to do less than we truly are able in this challenging time would do more harm to our own humanity than to embrace the unknown in service to justice.
I contacted SURJ and asked them to amend our paperwork: we will open our home to an asylum-seeker.
“The ultimate tragedy is not the oppression and cruelty by the bad people but the silence over that by the good people.” — Martin Luther King, Jr.