Not Hate.org - On The News

November 24, 2008 I was a normal wife and mother. Thanksgiving was three days away. I’d started my day feeding the chickens and goats on our small farm, did some shopping, spent time on the phone coordinating schedules for the multi-family dinner planned for turkey day and took my teenage son to his jujitsu class. November 26 found me sitting in a police station looking into an abyss of international politics stemming from the end of the Cold War and coordinating the dissolution of the various pets and belongings that had been a man’s life. My mind raced to keep up with everything I was being told, everything that had happened and that I had just learned. I stood lost in a jungle of government agencies and national egos. The task facing me was to find navigable pathways back to safety for a close friend, Audrius, and if I was to help him, for myself. Thanksgiving was a day away and totally forgotten. I’d been ICEd.
Well over a million people are ICEd by the government every year in the United States. They aren’t killed. That would be the old meaning of the term. This is the new, updated twenty-first century version where people are left walking around, existing under crushing mental torture, perhaps wishing they’d been killed instead. ICE stands for Immigration and Customs Enforcement. It is part of DHS, the Department of Homeland Security. They are responsible for handling the detention and deportation of immigrants within this country. Please note: I did not say “illegal” immigrants.
One of the first things that happens to a person who has been ICEd is they suddenly start to speak in acronyms. ICE, DHS, INS . . . for those who are still walking around unaffected it begins to sound like their friend’s speech has been taken over by some form of gibberish. The acronyms give comfort. Like the inhabitants of a Harry Potter book who refuse to speak the name of the ultimate evil, not speaking the name of these agencies leaves one with a shred of hope, allows the illusion that your own government has not become the resident evil in your life. Only corrupt governments attack and destroy the lives of their own people and this is the United States. This doesn’t happen here – and so those who have been ICEd speak in acronyms and pretend.
According to a recent survey, one in five residents living within the United States is a recent immigrant or closely related to one. ICE looms over every one of their lives, a constant boogey man lying in wait to pounce at the first sign of vulnerability. Over 400,000 people were detained and deported by ICE in the last year. Most have families and loved ones living legally here in the United States. Citizen parents are helpless to prevent their adult children, brought here as refugees while still very young, from being deported to dangerous countries they have never known for minor offenses that even the last three men elected to our presidency have committed. Citizen children watch in horror as their parents are ripped from them with no regard as to those children’s future, with no regard for their future co-workers and neighbors, the citizens of the United States of America. There’s a whole lot of pretending going on.

In the summer of 2008 Audrius Kazenas, a well known and friendly resident of our small community in Northern New Hampshire, asked if I would help a neighbor with a problem she was having. Could I write something up for her that would illuminate an injustice that had happened? I had known Audrius, his wife and his young children for a few years. He was and is a friendly and caring man, always looking out for his neighbors, forever lending a hand when someone was hurting, so I agreed.
While I was looking into the circumstances of this woman’s problem, Audrius mentioned that he wanted to get in better physical shape. I’d been having the same thoughts, so I offered him the use of the gym in my basement and myself as a training partner. Audrius proved to be an excellent partner with perfect timing. He knew when our workouts needed more drive, when to kick back a little and when it was time to knock off for the day, but we were not destined to be partners for very long.
Later that summer, on a trip back from visiting my daughter in Houston, I noticed some odd lights and flashes in my left eye. By the next morning two thirds of that eye’s vision was completely gone. I’m not good with doctors, was raised in a family that contained five of them and never developed the proper patient-to-doctor deference to authority that many expect. Added to that was the problem that I have proven to be allergic to a large number of drugs. Many land me in the emergency room or have the opposite effect on me. Sedatives tend to result in the need to peel me off the ceiling. I had discovered this as a teenager in the 60s, a condition that forced me to go through that entire era watching my friends dropping out and turning on while being forced to remain totally straight myself. While this did keep me out of trouble then, it continued into adulthood and extended to prescription drugs, a fact that had caused many frightening incidents over the years. Now I was going to need a doctor, and for the first time in my adult life, surgery. Drugs would be unavoidable.
I saw an optometrist and had an appointment to see a Retinologist the next day. Already I was becoming irritated with the process and starting to consider the option of refusing treatment and learning to live with the loss of sight. Audrius called to check on my condition. As soon as he heard my voice he said, “I’m coming over,” and hung up the phone. He sat with me for hours that night, listening to my concerns, making me laugh, restoring my willingness to endure the challenges that fixing my vision would require and giving me the courage to face down my fears.
The next few days were filled with doctor appointments and driving long distances to Burlington, VT and finally to Boston where I had surgery at Mass Eye and Ear under the capable hands of Dr Mukai. The trips to and from totaled seven hours and had to be made each day. Audrius took over all the details that my husband and I could not give our attention to. He did not wait to be asked, he just did what was needed. He went to our house daily, checked on our teenage son, Naji, and then stayed till I arrived home. Some days I would call him on the trip north and say Naji had things well under control and he didn’t have to bother himself. He’d let me know he heard me and would be there anyway when we returned. I did not want to burden him so much. He had plenty of his own chores and his own problems to handle and it worried me that we were taking up so much of his time. But Audrius knew a teenage boy sitting alone and worried about his mother needed company and so he would be there each time I walked through the front door. He’d ask how it went, I’d tell him all was okay, he’d look intently into my face as if reading what I wasn’t saying and then, satisfied, would leave to tend to his own duties. By this time he was known by our whole family, a regular feature at cookouts, barbeques and birthdays. We all loved him and had grown to rely on him, to consider him family, not by birth or marriage but by the simple act of loving and being loved.

That was the Audrius Kazenas known to us, a man who had been living in this country illegally for almost nine years. He had come here without obtaining the proper documents because he loved his wife and infant daughter and because the attempts to come legally were proving to be costly and futile. His wife could not join him in Lithuania. She had a child from a previous marriage and could not live outside the United States with him. Audrius had tried every approach he could think of to join her here, had even brought a professor of law from Vilnius University in Lithuania to the American Embassy to explain his case, only to be turned away unheard by an employee who could not be bothered to take the time for a young man longing to be with his family. He believed his wife and child were about to loose their apartment and feared for their safety, and so he came. Any one of us would do the same in such an impossible situation.
The police who detained him allowed me to sit with him while they prepared the paperwork necessary to take him to prison. They went about their business slowly, reluctantly. Our town is relatively quiet, our police are our neighbors and friends. This was not the sort of job any of them wanted to be doing, certainly not the day before Thanksgiving. As one fingerprinted and photographed Audrius, the other quietly told me what he thought of the situation. His private sentiments matched my own. Something was wrong with the way this was being handled – very wrong.
Audrius knew this might be coming. He had tried to prepare me, but he could not prepare me for the shock. Taking him to the police station, watching a kind and caring friend taken away in handcuffs, his life so undeservedly interrupted had a far deeper impact than I’d expected. The circumstances were heartbreaking, the timing cruel. As I sat with him I renewed the promise I’d originated to him the day before when I had given him a ride to see an immigration lawyer, when I’d first found out how serious his situation was. I repeated that I would stand by him and do everything in my power to help no matter where his journey might take him – even if that meant he was to be deported to his country of origin where many of the men from the detachment he served in during the war to free Lithuania from Soviet tyranny were dying at an alarming rate in rather unusual ways.

A month earlier he had learned of another death in that group of men. His “boss” as he called him was gone, leaving behind a wife and children. Audrius helped us move a church organ from another friend’s home to mine that day, but he was impatient, not his usual cheerful self. He’d mentioned the man’s death and that this man had been a mentor to him, then said no more about it. The original owner of the organ asked if I would take care of Audrius that evening. His wife was out of town, his children would be in bed early and he would be alone with his thoughts. None of us felt he deserved to be left by himself to deal with something that was obviously hurting him deeply and so I agreed. After the organ had been safely settled in our front room and Audrius had left, I made my apologies to my son’s Japanese teacher who was busy with his lesson, bolted out the door and headed back down the hill to Audrius’ house. This was not something to do over the phone. I caught him just as he was heading out to pick up his children from school. “Hey, you going to be around tonight?” I asked him, followed with, “Good, I’m coming over,” when he said he would.
That evening I dropped my son at his jujitsu class and headed to Audrius’. His children were just getting ready for bed and he was kissing them goodnight and shooing them upstairs as first one, then the other would come into the kitchen with a classic bed avoidance request. He told me he’d like to give his boss a proper military send off and asked if I could pick up some Scotch at the local state liquor store. “Sure, if they’re still open. Gotta take Naji back home anyway. I’ll be back in a little bit,” I said and headed out. The liquor store was already closed, so I picked up a six-pack of pre-mixed drinks at a local grocery, then drove to the dojo. Naji wanted to come with me. He loved listening to Audrius’ stories and I normally would bring him along, but this time I told him he needed to go home. Audrius took his responsibility to set a good example in front of children seriously. He’d be on his best behavior in front of Naji. That night, I figured he needed to be able to relax and say what was on his mind without having to self-censor.
When I arrived back with the drinks, the door was held open for me to enter by a giant of a man in a Lithuanian military uniform. His hat was rolled up and snapped into the front of his uniform. A gun sat holstered on his hip. This was not the Audrius I knew and so casually kidded. This man was taller, stronger, far more serious. You did not joke around with this man. He had the look of someone who has seen too much, has perhaps survived too much; the look of a weary, but proud soldier.
He showed me to the kitchen table, took out two glasses and placed one in front of me, then poured us both a drink. I cautioned him not to fill my glass. “You know I’m not much of a drinker. Besides, I’ve got to drive home,” I told him. Normally I’d have refused a drink completely, but tonight he needed someone drinking with him and I was elected. I did a quick calculation in my head of how much I could drink to be a supportive friend while still being safe to drive. The trip back to my house consisted of miles of back road, but I’ve always been prudish when it comes to drinking and driving. I love my friends, but that’s one rule I will not break for any of them.
Audrius removed his gun from its holster. “Tonight there’ll be no shooting and much drinking,” he said as he removed a bullet and put it down on the table. Another bullet clattered onto the table in front of me. I picked both of them up and handed them to him, unsure as to what he meant to do with them. “Thank you,” he said as he popped the one that had fallen back into the clip and returned the gun to its holster. He took the other bullet and stood it up on the table between us. “This one stays here,” was all he said as an explanation.
I had known Audrius the family man, the neighbor and friend for a few years. That night I sat and drank with Audrius the soldier, a man I had never met. I found I liked that Audrius best of all. He had always felt safe, a warm and secure man that you could trust. He felt the same that night, but there was something else. He was a man who had willingly risked his life for a cause, had faced the worst that humans can do to one another and who still found it within his heart to love those who had sent him into the hell of war. I sat and drank the night away while Audrius told stories of his boss, of the country he once knew, of war and why men do what they do. This was a peek into a world that few American women ever see. I felt honored, but also concerned for my friend.
One topic came up over and over that night as Audrius spoke. He was troubled. He did not know how his friend had died. He told me that many in his detachment were gone. Audrius was one of the older men from that group and he was only 39. These men were dying from causes like drowning while fishing, not that difficult to believe, but why would a man go fishing in a three piece suit and why were so many of them dead?
Audrius said his boss had started to talk of some of the things he knew. Now he too was dead and Audrius had been unable to find out the cause. He had scoured the internet searching, but there was nothing. “Deb,” he told me over and over, “there were articles about some stupid gang members who did some shooting last year, but not a word about him. All that we did, what was it for? He was a great man and there’s nothing anywhere about him. It’s like he never lived.” I’d never seen Audrius hurting like this. A few times he stopped and gazed across his kitchen at something that only he could see. I sat and watched him, listened as he told his stories and learned just a little of what it was to have lived under Soviet oppression. That night Audrius let me into the world he had so graciously protected us all from for so long. That night formed a friendship between us that would find me at his side when the hand of ICE reached into our town to take him from us.

Now, sitting in the police station I was under no illusion about the promise I’d made. If I joined him in his attempt to be free again, there was a chance that we would fail. This could be his last battle. Our failure could spell the end for him and continued life for me knowing my own failure had ended with a good man’s death.
I had no idea when I made that promise where it would lead, but I believed in our system of justice. I knew Audrius’ story and I knew the sort of man I was dealing with. I knew how much support he had within our community. He’d committed no crime in all his years living here, had not even worked for pay illegally. I felt that somehow this had to be sorted out and our world set to right again. This is America. Some things just are not done here. November 26, 2008 was the beginning of the end of this privileged American woman’s belief in a world where right always triumphs, honor prevails, and good men walk free in the end. It was the day I walked through the doors leading to reality and heard them slam and lock behind me.

As soon as Audrius was taken, well, more accurately after the shock wore off, I went to work trying to find some way to free him. My concern at the time was not the United States. My concern was Lithuania. He was a former officer in their military during the hard battles to oust the Soviets from that country and I knew that the men who had served with him who remained in Lithuania an alarmingly short life expectancy. Lithuania had Audrius listed as “wanted” but they would not say what he was wanted for. His father had tried to find out and had been told that it would be best for Audrius if he never returned. Audrius’ father was an active dissident and Audrius knew a great deal about the inner workings of that country. This was a potentially dangerous situation for him. His loss of family and friends was only part of his worries. This could end in the loss of his life. There was no way to know Lithuania’s plans, but their actions to that date did not engender confidence in their good intentions.
The mood amongst Audrius’ friends was somber, Thanksgiving was ruined. Soon after we began to discuss what had happened. Many who knew Audrius feared he was lost and were already mourning him to some degree. They counseled me to caution. “You can’t stand in the path of a hurricane, Deb,” one good friend told me. “There’s nothing any man can do against the government,” was another’s comment. Some expressed fears for my own safety. “If you challenge the government they will come and get you to,” I was told, “He’s already lost. We don’t want to loose you too.”
“My family goes back for centuries in this country. ICE can’t take me. Besides, if they did, where would they deport me to?” I would respond. I was shocked at the level of fear of government among our friends and angered by the fact that some had already written Audrius off as a dead man. The day after Thanksgiving my son and his fiancée visited our home for dinner. As we sat down to eat the phone rang and I jumped to answer it. Audrius had called me from the prison that first night and I had not been at home. He’d been unable to reach me since and I hoped it was him. The voice on the line was that of a woman. She introduced herself as the breeder of two of Audrius’ dogs and said she had been told that I now had them and wanted to check to see that they were all right. I assured her that they were fine and in good hands, gave her a quick resume of my experience training horses and dogs as well as animal rescue work over the years so that she would not worry.
Once she was assured that the dogs were taken care of she wanted to know the details of what had happened. She explained that she had known Audrius for some time and that when a puppy she had placed up in our area was lost in a storm Audrius had taken one of the German Shepherds, driven through the storm to pick her up and then the two of them had driven back up north to search for that puppy. She described to me how Audrius and his dog had continued searching for hours in the driving rain and wind, refusing to give up. Audrius himself had never mentioned this. There would be more stories like this coming my way over the weeks the followed – none of them stories that I had ever heard from him. The help he had so freely provided my family in our time of need was not an isolated incident. Apparently he did not consider his actions to be extraordinary or worth noting. He was just being Audrius.

I have learned much since that day. Audrius sits in prison doing hard time for not having proper documentation. Because he has committed no crime, is simply being held on civil detention, he can be held indefinitely and has been for nearly a year. He is considered guilty of any claim made against him until he can prove otherwise – a neat trick to do while kept behind bars. He has no right to a lawyer. We must find and pay for one or he goes without as it is has been the continued opinion of the Supreme Court that immigrants who are detained are not being punished or deprived of liberty and therefore have no right to a lawyer – justice reduced to definitions and technicalities, something I had always thought was the practice of criminals and their lawyers only. Audrius has no right to a fair and public hearing. If he had stolen property, sold drugs or assaulted another human being he would have all of these rights and more, but he has done none of that while here on United States soil. He is an immigrant, but not a criminal, and so he has no rights in our land. This country can do with him as it pleases – and since Audrius was taken from us ICE has made it amply clear that it intends to do exactly that. The rules and regulations regarding correct conduct in the treatment of criminals that law enforcement so loves to protest as excessive, the codes of conduct they claim are not necessary because they would never disrespect them anyway . . . all those things ICE is violating with abandon. The classic book, “The Lord of the Flies”, proposes to portray what would happen to children if all civilizing factors were removed. The daily actions I have witnessed on the part of this government agency stand as graphic testament to what can happen to adults.
I now spend eight to fourteen hours a day digging through the system, trying to be heard, trying desperately to find a way to save my friend. A problem has arisen that I did not foresee when I first made Audrius that promise. He is a man with a huge heart. It is why he is so loved by all who know him. He can not witness any form of suffering without doing everything within his power to alleviate it. He is now in a prison unit with many, many men who are dealing with all levels of problems, and so he feels compelled to help. But Audrius is a prisoner himself. His ability to act is limited. He comforts them, he counsels and encourages them – and then he brings them to me.
When he was first taken away his total focus was on getting out of prison – through bail, through a positive finding – any way that could be found so that he could rejoin his little girls. I was upset by what I was learning about the actions of ICE, furious as I learned more of how he had come to the United States, what his life had been like while here and what the future might hold for him. He counseled caution, to not act too boldly lest it anger ICE officials. They were already treating him badly; he did not want to be treated worse. He just wanted to rejoin his family, to be a daddy to his daughters again. Then one day, when I stepped into the visiting room and picked up the receiver while looking through the glass that separated us I saw concern and worry in his eyes. He suddenly seemed heavier, sadder, but his first words were strong and sure, more so than they had been since he’d been taken. “Deb, do whatever you have to do, don’t hold back. It’s not about me anymore.”
I asked what caused this sudden change of heart. Did he realize that if I started speaking out on what was going on within the deportation system that it might increase the chances he would be deported? ICE had a reputation for coming down extra hard on anyone who stood up to them. What had happened? He told me an immigration detainee had been beaten the day before over a piece of cake. The man had been taken to the hospital and might loose the sight in one eye. “This isn’t right, Deb,” he said, “We’ve got to do something. No one should be treated this way.”
How could I argue? I was well aware of the conditions within that prison. When Audrius was first moved down to Plymouth County Correctional Facility in Massachusetts he had weighted 185 pounds, rather light for his 6’5” frame, but he was a strong and powerfully built man. When I finally saw him three weeks later, before I was able to set up an account for him with the prison commissary so he could buy extra food and other necessities, he had lost a great deal of weight. He was thin and frail looking, bore the appearance of a man who had found himself on the wrong side of a concentration camp. “The food sucks,” he had said on that first visit.
“But Audrius, you’ve got to eat it,” I told him, trying to hide my shock at seeing the change in his appearance. I was surprised that a man who would take second and third helpings of whatever food I put in front of him at my house had suddenly turned into a picky eater. I’ve always been slightly domestically challenged. My cooking is decidedly average on a good day, but Audrius always devoured it and complimented me on my cooking.
“I do, I eat everything they give me,” he said, “but they don’t give me enough. There aren’t enough calories.”
I’d scrambled that day to get money properly credited to his commissary account so he could get enough to eat. Not all of the men held in prison have someone to do the same, and at that time, Plymouth County was keeping the criminals and the immigrants mingled together. Many immigrants became easy targets for hungry criminals, and so a man had been beaten severely and been sent to the hospital, over food.
Audrius had seen enough. He could not stand by and take care of himself while so many about him were suffering too. He did what he has always done as long as I’ve known him – he shared what he had with the others and what he had was his friendship with me. He did not once pause to wonder if I would be up to the task or willing to do it. He assumed that I would. At times I would feel overwhelmed by the enormity of what I was looking at and protest that I might not be equal to the job. “Deb,” he would say, “I would not ask you to do anything you are not capable of.” His voice was so firm, his expectations so sure, I would continue on, my confidence restored. I could not bear the thought of disappointing this man. And so my life has become immigration and all the complexities, the injustices, the tears and losses that are life brought to a stop within the iron fist of ICE.

I still believe this fight can be won, that somewhere there is a hero out there who can restore our belief in justice in a world turned upside down. Audrius was our town’s hero, always there to save the day when someone was hurting or needed help. Now he needs help. I find it impossible to think that he could be the only hero. There have to be other people of courage, compassion and conviction who can help bring him back home to us and who can help free the countless unfortunate immigrants he has brought my way since that cold November day. I search endlessly for such a person.

I have yet to succeed, but I have only been looking for just under a year. I pray that this story will have a happy ending and prepare in case my friend is unsuccessful in his bid to stay in this country with his family. I dread the possibility that he may be deported, that I may have to bear witness to his death or worse. I know that for Audrius there are fates worse than death. What he is enduring now, being locked in a cell for months on end is one of those.
For a man who seldom sits down, whose greatest joy is fixing what plagues others, whether that be a piece of furniture that needs leveling, machinery that does not work or a friend’s problems, to sit idly in a cell is pure torture. As I write these words I can not know what will happen to him. He is wise in the ways of the world, but even he has been caught off guard by the heartlessness of the system he has found himself in. He has seen war. He has experienced the collapse of governments and the lengths to which some countries will go to maintain control of what they perceive to be theirs, but even Audrius was unprepared for what has been done to him here. ICE is not what he expected to find in the United States. Their actions are unlike any agency he has seen, for me they are unlike any I have ever encountered as an American citizen. Neither he nor I had any idea that there existed within our borders an agency that would, that could, conduct itself in such a manner; an agency that apparently answers to no one – who cares not one bit what it does to an individual, a family, a neighborhood, a whole town.
This is the story of my experience trying to help Audrius and others survive being targeted by ICE. It is a very personal quest for me, for my ancestors were immigrants. They started coming here in 1632. One signed the Declaration of Independence and The Constitution. I bear his name between my given and last names. With my heritage you would think I would not know ICE as intimately as I do, but for me ICE is now my life, my unwelcome, dictating spouse, ever at my side expertly crushing all hope, denying my escape back to a peaceful existence, violating my faith in the innate decency of man.
If this can happen to me, it can happen to any citizen. One need only have a spouse, a close friend or perhaps an in-law who develops problems with immigration. If you believe in always standing by family and friends and in the responsibility of US citizens to uphold the values of Liberty and Justice for all then my story can become your story, but before I tell that story, let me introduce you to some of the people I have met along the way as well as some ICE “detainees” who are currently kept in prison for months, sometimes years for no crime. Be forewarned. They are not who you have been told they are.

Chapter II SKETCHES OF DEPORTATION

A devoted father from Eastern Europe living here for over eight years, greatly loved for his compassionate nature by all who know him, is taken from his community and is now doing hard time in prison while he attempts to convince the court that he deserves to stay in this country with his children. He was the primary caretaker for his two young daughters, both citizens. Now they must visit him through thick glass and talk with him over a grimy telephone. His only offense? – not having proper documentation.

A professional woman from Russia, who came here legally and is employed by our federal government lives in fear of deportation if she does not do everything her citizen husband demands and stay silent about his abuse. She has not been married to him long enough to become a citizen and when she has, she still can not obtain her citizenship without his signature. She knows if she leaves him she must leave her job, her friends and this country or risk being put in prison to do hard time while her case goes through the courts.

An educated family from Algeria mourns their beloved son, picked up by police during a day of celebrating his favorite basketball team’s victory. The police were seeking two Middle Eastern males. He and his friend did not fit the suspects’ description, their clothes and all other details were different except for their ethnic background. The suspects were described as Middle Eastern and these two young men looked Middle Eastern. They were arrested, and charged.
As soon as this young man posted bail he was taken by ICE. With no evidence to support the original charges the case was dropped. He is a legal refugee who is being kept in prison indefinitely under civil detention. He has committed no crime, but has been doing hard time for well over a year. ICE is doing everything within their power to deport this college student back to Algeria, a country he does not know and that does not want him. His family’s finances have been destroyed trying to save him from deportation. They love America and can not understand why this is being done. I have spoken with this young man. It is like talking to any American college student. He has lived here since he was two. He knows no other country but the United States. He is as American as any of us.

A gentle man from the Caribbean, here legally, married a citizen and has been denied his chance for citizenship by his American wife and her family for four years while working long hours and submitting to their every demand to prove that he did not marry her just to get citizenship. Picked up with a small amount of pot, he is sentenced to one year and one day of probation in exchange for a guilty plea. He is not told that his sentence is just enough to make him eligible for deportation. He was detained by ICE, ordered deported and is now doing time in prison waiting to be sent back to his country. He is ready to go – wants to go. He has had enough of the United States, but apparently the United States has not had enough of him as he remains locked up. His wife refuses to help him or give him a divorce. She is also pregnant with another man’s child. His belief in the “land of the free” is greatly diminished. To date he is still doing time as an ICE detainee with no actual deportation date in sight.

A man from Czechoslovakia, a leader of the Velvet Revolution, called that because no one was hurt during that revolt that freed his country from Soviet tyranny – the revolt that was the beginning of the end of the Cold War – sits in prison for close to three years with no end in sight. This young man has been hailed by the likes of Nelson Mandela and Desmond TuTu for his accomplishments and his courage. He faced danger in his country because of his revolutionary actions and was brought to this country legally. His courage during those tense days of 1989 were publicly praised by President Bush during a visit to Prague in what is now known as the Czech Republic while he himself sat in an American prison, no longer welcome here because he had converted to Islam. Still a human rights activist, he wastes away in prison while ICE attempts to deport him back to a country that no longer exists. He left Eastern Europe a revolutionary, a gentle revolutionary, but a revolutionary none-the-less and it is likely he will be killed if he returns to Eastern Europe. He has no funds with which to obtain a lawyer, but he is a highly educated man, adept at speaking, reading and writing in many languages and so he does write. He has written our president and other officials seeking justice. He has written human rights groups. To date his pleas have been ignored. He sits in prison an insignificant number, just another prisoner lost in a vast system as if he had never done anything extraordinary, as if he had never defied the Soviets, never stood up to oppression, never began a movement that changed the course of history to our country’s benefit. And yet . . . he did.

A gentle, spiritual mother, again from the Caribbean, who fled for her life to America and became a citizen, weeps for her son, eleven years old when he came here, now in his late twenties, sitting in prison for over a year, ordered deported. His documents would have been fine, should have been processed when he was a minor and she became a citizen. If the Immigration and Naturalization Service (INS) had done their job at the time they would have been. INS did not do their job and she trusted them, did not want to make waves – did what they told her to do without question. Now she and her son’s fiancée cry while he is held in prison paying the price for INS’ mistake. Update/ We helped this woman file to get her original documents showing she had filed properly with INS and that her son should have had his citizenship. She told him the good news while visiting him at the prison, told him that they would be able to appeal his deportation. The next night ICE came in wee hours of morning and took him from his cell. Without the required prior notice to allow his family to provide him with clothes make arrangements for him they put him on a plane to Trinidad. His pleas with the agent who accompanied him at the airport were finally heard and he was allowed to call his by now frantic mother to let her know what was happening. He is now in a country he does not know without a job or any way to support himself. His mother is devastated.

A young man from Bosnia, just ten years old when the men of his village laid down their arms with a promise of UN protection. There was no protection and every male over ten was rounded up by Serbs and massacred. His father, brothers, uncles and grandfather all died that day. His father gave him all the money he had in his pocket before he was marched away to his death and told the boy he was now the head of the family. He and his mother came to America as refugees. He received no help, had to handle the horror he had just lived through on his own. He now has a drug problem and because of that he is doing hard time as an ICE detainee while he awaits deportation away from the last remnants of his family – back to where, as a child, he watched the men of his family and village marched away to their death. While he waits and waits to be deported hostilities in Bosnia begin anew. He is headed back to a changed and unfamiliar land with no family. He is headed back into danger. For a refugee such as this, the second chances we would afford our own family members struggling with a drug problem do not exist, and yet, this man experienced horrors as a young boy that no privileged American trotting off to drug rehab could ever imagine.

Two United States citizens struggle to grow up without their father. Their mother is a citizen, her family having lived in this country for many generations. Their father is from Africa. A marital disagreement resulted in his detention by ICE. A moment of “get-even” anger was soon regretted by his young wife, pregnant with their second child, but the damage was done and she could not undo it. ICE has no interest in the wishes or welfare of a common citizen except when those wishes parallel their mission – deporting as many immigrants as possible. So this young woman was left to give birth alone while her husband was kept locked in a prison cell, awaiting deportation. That was ten years ago. He now lives in Africa, his marriage gone, his daughters far away. The oldest has had difficulties growing up without her father, the youngest has never met him. They maintain contact, they know their father, but those moments when a father’s love and protection chase away the nighttime monsters, comfort a scrapped knee, teach the art of riding a bike, protect and counsel through words and actions as a little girl grows into a young woman . . . those moments they have never had. Those moments are gone for them forever. Their mother is a citizen, born and raised in the USA. Her parents, grandparents and great grandparents were all citizens. These girls are as American as any young child can possibly be. To our eyes, these children are our future. Their difficulties directly affect us all as we know they will grow to adulthood, will be our neighbors, our coworkers. In the eyes of ICE, their future is not relevant. In the eyes of ICE protecting the future of US citizens is not part of their job description.

A man from Portugal with a proven criminal record – held in detention and ordered deported. It seems his case would warrant deportation – some do. He was not taken to the airport on the day of his scheduled deportation – was transferred to another prison instead. He is suffering from colon cancer. On the day he was supposed to be put on a plane for Portugal, the day he was instead only moved to another facility, ICE canceled his medications. He sits in prison still, unable to leave, not knowing his fate, denied proper medical care. His protests and pleas for medication finally landed him in “the hole” (solitary confinement) as punishment. Update/ This man was finally given his medication and has since been deported. In his case, this is good news.

A man from Iran, his family friends with the former Shah, comes to this country for safety. He lives here legally for many years, marries, has children, starts and grows his own construction company. Unfortunately he develops kidney cancer. One kidney is removed completely. The surgery and the cancer cause terrible pain that prevents him from working. The prescribed pain medication costs $250 a week and leaves him too “spacey” to work. He must support his family so he self-medicates with $50 of heroin – an illegal solution, but one that leaves him able to work and continue providing for his family. It proves to be an unwise solution as well. He is arrested for drug possession and placed in prison by ICE. Proceedings are started to deport this Christian man with former ties to the ousted Shah and a drug problem to boot back to Iran, a country with zero tolerance for Christianity, friends of the former Shah or drug use. His citizen wife struggles to pay the bills and find him help without his income. His citizen teenage children struggle to live in a country, their country, which has removed their father and is now threatening to take him from their lives forever, all for the crime of being a cancer patient dealing with addiction.
While under ICE detention this man finds adequate drinking water to keep what remains of his one kidney properly flushed hard to come by. He develops pain, is denied medication and eventually placed in the hole. Finally his pleas and those of his wife are heeded (perhaps due to a little prodding from the ACLU) and he is given medication with the strict directions that he is not to be kept on an upper level or made to sleep on an upper bunk because the medication could make him dizzy. He is placed back in the general prison population on an upper floor and given an upper bunk on which to sleep. He falls from the bunk and then, dizzy and confused falls down a flight of stairs and is knocked unconscious. The next day he experiences blurred vision for which he is not initially treated. His wife calls me and tells me what has happened, tells me he is having trouble with his sight and I advise her that she must get him help right away – she must call his lawyer, the prison, call whoever she must, but the symptoms of blurred vision after a severe blow to the head like that could be life threatening – or they might be nothing serious, but only a qualified doctor would be able to tell the difference. She reports back to me later that he has been moved to the medical unit. A week later he is back in the same place as before.

A minister from Africa living in the United States legally becomes the victim of identity theft. The thief commits other crimes with this man’s identity and he is picked up by the police. It does not take long for the officers to determine that this man is not a criminal, but a victim of a crime. Unfortunately, by this time ICE has already been notified. The minister is detained and thrown in prison where he remains while his case slowly makes its way through the courts. Finally a judge orders him released. That was in early March, 2009. It is now fall of 2009 and the minister has yet to be released from prison. Update/ The minister has since been released.

A man from the Caribbean comes here legally. He is involved in a bar fight over a woman. He claims that he was breaking it up. One combatant says he had rings and cash stolen and he is arrested. When offered a plea bargain of ten months he turns it down, believing that the evidence will prove his innocence. Instead he’s convicted and sentenced to eight to ten years. He’s told if he appeals he will wind up with an even longer sentence and by now he is a believer.
While serving his sentence he angers one of the prison guards, words are exchanged and he is thrown to the floor. One guard places his knee in this man’s back while the other grinds his face into the floor with his boot, breaking his jaw bone severely. He is not a large man, perhaps a little over five feet tall and according to his account he was shackled at the time. When the swelling in his jaw does not subside after two weeks he is sent for a medical evaluation and finally to a hospital where it is determined that his jaw is broken so badly he will have to have a piece of thigh bone removed in order to repair it.
Soon after this he is told that if he signs deportation papers, he can leave prison and go back to the Caribbean. He signs willingly, by now eager to put some space between himself and this country. He remains in prison with an un-repaired broken jaw over three years later, barely able to speak or eat. Update/ As soon as this man found a lawyer willing to help him obtain medical treatment for his jaw he was deported back to his home country.

A United States military veteran who has lived here with his family since childhood sits in a town in Mexico, close to the American border, but unable to cross it to rejoin his family. He was here legally, was raised in California and served his country with honor and dignity. He did everything that was asked of him and put his life on the line to boot, but war takes its toll and he admits that he was self medicating for PTSD with alcohol and pot. He was arrested for having an ounce and a half of marijuana. He should have received probation and continued on with his family but instead he was deported to Mexico despite having a legal document stating that as a veteran he could not be deported.
His marriage did not survive the deportation. His family visits him rarely. They do not live near the border and the expense of plane tickets is too much for them to be able to make the trip frequently. He has been banished from the country he served for a crime that men elected to the Presidency have admitted to for three years. His heart aches. He misses being able to visit with family when he wants to, misses casual conversation, belonging and the warmth of a hug. By his reckoning he is an American. He fulfilled his end of the deal. America did not.

A young couple from Eastern Europe meets while here as exchange students. They fall in love, marry and have two beautiful children as young couples are prone to do. The children are American citizens and the couple does not want to remove them from the United States so they stay longer than their papers allow. Eight years later the mother is apprehended and put in prison while deportation proceedings are started against her. She is ordered deported, but the first time they take her to the airport she is hysterical, crying out for her children, so she is returned to the prison. On the second attempt to deport her she is forcibly injected with a large cocktail of psychiatric drugs and remembers no more after that. She and her husband and two children now live in Eastern Europe. The children miss their friends, schoolmates and teachers in America. They miss their country, but they can not return because their parents are not United States citizens and are now barred from entering this country.

A Vietnamese man sits in prison. He is a veteran of the Vietnam War, was wounded 7 times while helping us fight the Vietcong and after the US left was held captive and tortured by North Vietnam for doing so. He finally escaped to Malaysia and was brought to this country where he was awarded the rank of captain in the US Army. He has lived here ever since, has two grown children who were born here, but in 1989 he was picked up for driving without insurance in Massachusetts. That is enough for ICE to consider him deportable. He is now doing hard time while the government turns its back on him and tries to send him back to Vietnam. He is disabled and ill. He gave everything to this country and for his heroism this country is rewarding him with imprisonment and threatened banishment to a country in which he will not be safe because of the fact that he helped us. I wonder how he feels about the sacrifices he made now.

A man from Africa comes here legally and marries an American woman. He works hard and turns each paychecks over to her. He takes care of everything, accepts her claims that he is not good enough and works harder. When he speaks up for himself he is threatened with deportation so he stays silent and works more. He finally does get his citizenship and files for divorce. She threatens him with deportation again, but he is now a citizen, she can not control him any longer. He leaves the house with nothing but his clothes, but rebuilds his life, remarries, has children, and goes on to create a happy American family, to live the American dream. He is one of the lucky ones.

These are just a few of the people of immigration, the stories that the media does not tell you, the people living a private hell courtesy of the policies and enforcement tactics of ICE. These are my people now. We are all sharing the same fears, crying the same tears, praying the same prayers. To those in power I have but one request: Do the right thing. Let these people out of prison and grant them the same justice you would want for yourself were you in their position.
Our leaders know this is going on. They know it is wrong. They acknowledge that the immigration system is broken and offer legislation that will supposedly fix it . . . eventually, but these people do not need legislation as much as they need good old fashioned compassionate justice, a commodity in short supply for any immigrant living within the US borders these days. Our leaders point to 9/11 as if the horror of that day made every immigrant living in our country suspect, as if that act painted every immigrant with the brush of suspicion, made every immigrant guilty until proven innocent, made it acceptable to declare open season on immigrants.
While DHS promises reform and President Obama admits that the system is broken both have chosen to ramp up detentions, ignoring the fact that a broken anything is dangerous to run at any but the slowest speed. Their thirst for more prisons and ever increasing numbers of detainees and deportations flies in the face of their admissions that they are not able to adequately care for the people that they already have in their custody. There is no way of determining how many of the adults caught up in this system are innocent, how many deserve to be deported or do not deserve to be deported as the system is careening out of control with no one visibly at the helm. It is definite that every one of the children affected is innocent and has been traumatized at best and at worst caused permanent harm. It is definite that any sense of justice left this system some time ago. It is definite that we are committing multiple severe human rights violations on a daily basis.
Even those immigrants who are uniquely qualified to fight against terrorists, who have the special skills that are in short supply and which we desperately need to win in Afghanistan, men who were ready and willing to use those skills for our benefit, even those immigrants are being blindly swept up and sit behind prison bars, of no use to themselves, their families or to us. And our veterans, those who have already helped us, those men who put their lives on the line for us, is this how we reward such devotion to country? The system is beyond broken. It is criminal and dangerous and it needs to be stopped until it can show that it has been reformed and can conduct itself as a proper agency in a country founded upon a belief in Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness.

Chapter III LETTERS

Dec 08, 2009

Hi, Deb,

I didn’t think it will be so difficult to write in English. Believe it or not, I had to come up with couple of different first sentences, because of problems with spelling, but it’s o.k., something else to work on. I was really happy to get like three letters today. It does help a lot just knowing that people on the outside remember me. And you girl, sure as hell can write. Just please, don’t let this thing suck you in too deep. Like James said, you can help, but you can’t save me. And your help is greatly appreciated. I miss everybody, it’s sad that I can’t just swing by to chat, can’t stop by James’s place and annoy the living hell out of him again, and swing by your place for a cup (or four) of tea, but I guess that’s what jail is all about. At least I don’t have to worry about bills.

Actually the place is not that bad. My cellmate is from Vermont, 61 year old, funny as hell. There is a book written about him, by Hammilton Davis, “Mocking Justice,” and his lawyer, Peter Langrock wrote couple of books about his case.

It’s hard to believe, what’s going on. Sometimes I start questioning myself, if I really want to stay in this country. Don’t get me wrong, I am not giving up, but sometimes those questions rise, and it’s no surprise, a lot of people who are born in this country are thinking about it too. And I am really grateful for your help, because sometimes it’s only thing that keeps me going. You know how I hate doing nothing, I can deal with it, when I have to, but nothing can make me like it. I miss kids terribly and there is not a damned thing I can do about it. My life is put on hold, and that drives me crazy. So I guess I will get the dictionary, and start working. I believe you have some information about my life. I have enough material that can be published. So, I guess it’s time to get myself together, and start working.

P.S. Thank you for everything you are doing for me, I really appreciate it a lot.

Dec. 08, 2008

Dear Audrius,

You are so incredibly missed. James called me today and half the conversation consisted of me filling in for you, mostly about Aika – “What does Audrius think? Do you think he’d be okay with this or that?” Good grief, Big Dawg, I knew this was going to be tough. I knew I’d be called on to do things out of my experience, but I never expected I’d be called on to speak for you. You left some awfully big shoes to fill and I just am not you. That dog is well loved. She has a home for the rest of her life – a good home. You did well placing her there.

There’s an old saying from the Aghori, “Let man seek realization of the self and then whatever powers he may want will be his.” So, has what has happened caused you to do some serious self-examination? If you can lift yourself out of your present physical circumstances for periods of time it will help you maintain. If you focus too much on the injustices of this system it can trap you right into it. You are really seeing the ugly underbelly of this country now. It’s a dirty secret we’ve kept well hidden, but it’s getting so far out of control, it’s about time for it to be exposed. Of course you should pay attention to those who are around you, but maintain your own center first. Never forget who you are, Audrius. You are so far above these circumstances. They can’t hold you if you don’t let them. Your body, yes, they can hold that, but never you.

I have no idea how this will all end, it feels as though we are, all of us, trapped within a very tense movie with you. This doesn’t happen to people like us. We’re all just ordinary Americans, many generations removed from our immigrant ancestors. The closest any of us ever get to such things is a book, TV or the movie screen. Still, here we all are, and we’re all willing to experience this path with you to its conclusion because you have always been there when any of us needed help and now your life is on the line. You have done so much to help others over the years -it's your turn - you okay with that?

Of course, me, well give me something to write about and I’m in my element. I’m amazed who is talking to me these days. I’m more amazed at what I’m being told. Even people who work for the government are speaking with me on the side - not everyone who works within ICE or DHS is happy with how things are being done and they have interesting tales to tell. There are some real horror stories out there. It’s not comforting me, my stomach lurches each time, but I keep telling myself the worse this gets the more I’ve got to work with. Ordinarily I’d be grinning and declaring this wonderful as it’s a win/win situation. This time I can’t find it within myself to be so flip as the wins and losses are all within our camp. No matter what is gained, we will loose something important. There’s an old saying: “Tis better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all.” That’s the worse case scenario here, all of us who love and value you will loose you, but I’ve taken a survey – yup, I really have. There’s not one of us who would rather we hadn’t known you despite the agony we are all facing now.

Audrius, you are a human rights activist at heart. I’ve seen the way the injustices of this world touch you. I’ve seen how quick you are to take up for the underdog. You and I are too much alike in that way, but in this case that is good. I'm always so much more effective when I’ve got you to bounce things off of. You’ve been an incredible friend to me. I’ll do whatever I can to help you now. You’ve become an important part of our whole family and we would all be poorer without you. Never underestimate what you can do or how much you are needed in this world. Hang in there Audrius. We'll get through this together.

Here’s a poem my dad wrote. You might have seen it hanging on my wall:

Question
By Edgar de Santos

Always a question
Because we wonder
Does it make a difference
What we do or say?
Does it change the world
Does it move the pieces
Not in a hush
Not in thunder
But just in some way
Perhaps we hope not
It couldn’t – but it does
Tomorrow will be a little different
Because we said it right
Or even a terrible blunder
We have to chuckle
It’s full of wonder

I’m going to bed, Audrius. Good night my friend.

Dec, 15, 2008

Hi, Deb

How are you doing? Did you loose power up north? We here are sitting in the dark for couple days now, so most of the time we are locked up, for security reasons. See, government, especially federal, values us so much. They are afraid, some of us just might get lost, stolen, or misplaced in the dark. It is somewhat inconvenient, but on the brighter side, it’s so nice to feel loved, cherished and cared for. Most folks on the G block haven’t got so much love from their own mothers. I guess U.S. is a nice country after all. I tried to call you couple of times, but my timing was all messed up, so I didn’t catch you.

I thought a lot about where I am heading from here, what I am going to do with my life, and why and how I ended up in this mess. Probably it was bound to happen, ever since I started trying to straighten out my situation everything went to what brits describe as “rat shit.” I made two attempts before this one and each time money was not enough to sort out the mess, so here I am. Not something I had hoped for. I don’t know how it’s going to work out, and I don’t really care, because anything is better than what I was stuck in. Too bad it took me eight years to realize. The thing is I shouldn’t have to let things slide so I can’t even blame for it anybody but myself.

But enough about that. How is our little community doing? How is James and the boys? What they are up to these days? How is Ron and Ina? How is Kelly? Did you have a chance to talk to lawyers yet? I would much rather to talk to you on the phone about all of this, but nobody seems to know, when this black out is going to be over. I hope it’ll happen soon.

Miss ya,

Dec 21, 2008

Good morning, Audrius,

Yup, I’m doing a morning letter – it’s Sunday again and the snow is coming down hard outside the office window, but the outside animals are all done, the dogs are fed and have had their ear medicine – Vetra is lying at my feet watching Regan and Naji intently, I have my tea, and have settled in for a day of writing. When writing becomes your most important activity and all your other work is done, storms are welcome visitors. They leave you with nothing to tempt or interrupt.
Today is the shortest day of the year – from this point on the days become longer, the sun more powerful and the darkness looses its hold. I hate winter, but have learned from living where there is none that the spring and summer are never as sweet as they are after a hard winter. Our own lives go through the same cycles. The hardest losses and challenges, our winters, are what tempers us and makes us able to withstand future onslaughts. Heavy snows in the winter of our soul provide the water for the lush growth that follows in spring – and spring does always arrive. No winter is forever.

The severity of a winter is relative to the experiences of the observer. Those who have never known a blizzard perceive a flurry to be a disaster. Those who have nearly frozen to death in an inky, arctic wasteland perceive a blizzard as a minor incident. It is occurring to me this morning that to accomplish long and difficult tasks it is necessary that all involved must have successfully passed through some terrible winters at some point in their life and know that spring and summer will surely follow no matter the blinding dark or depths of snow. Those that have never known hardship will not help and those who continually look back upon their own winters instead of seeing the abundance of summer that presently surrounds them can not help.

Yesterday I spoke with two people. One was a friend who left me drained, questioning my sanity and struggling to regain my focus. The other was a stranger who had been through some of the old battles I’d been through and who did not flinch when I relayed the details of my experiences without softening a one. He even laughed with me when I balanced some of the harshness of my history with the sort of black humor that normally leaves those I’m talking with a bit disturbed. The more I talked with him the more I saw avenues open up, and the more faith I had in myself and the future. The first person can not imagine successfully changing the circumstances in her own home. The latter saw changing the world political map as something quite doable and home as a place you go to rest up just long enough to head out and fight again. Do you remember me telling you from time to time that one should never try to teach a pig to sing – you’ll frustrate yourself and annoy the pig? LOL, you’d think I’d be able to take may own advice, wouldn’t you? Sorry about that – I got a bit distracted trying to teach pigs to sing and I’m sure I’ve annoyed the hell out of them, so I need to stop that – cruelty to animals and all, ya know. If I want those around me to sing, I’ve got to quit working on farm animals and start hanging around people who like music.

Now that I look at that statement it looks so obvious. How’d I miss it? I underestimated how much rust and debris I’d gathered on the gears in my brain and how thoroughly I’d sunk into functioning on a level that just involved this lifetime. It’s taking me a bit to regain my faith in my own ability to walk straight through the darkest, coldest night and see the next morning. One day morning will arrive without me here in my present form, but I won’t notice – will be too busy heading off on the next adventure. How the hell did I get so far off purpose. For that matter – how did you? We are two driven and intelligent people. We both should have known better. I’m not doing a “blame, shame and regret” thing here – that’s wasted energy – I’m just sayin’ . . .

You say you will not be fooled or used by anyone again, but being used is not always a bad thing. Being used means you are useful – and that’s not a bad thing when you are useful to good people and/or a good cause. Now, as to being fooled: My dear, precious man, if you ever hook up with another soul sucking situation like the one you were just in it won’t have time to make your life miserable – I will be there to do that first. If I’m long dead with my ashes sprinkled over the top of Ancestor Hill I will leave wherever I am, seek you out, and shake your teeth right out of your head! If something unforeseen occurs to take me out of the picture (hey, nothing is guaranteed in this life) do not think for a second that you will be free of me. I will still keep a bit of energy on you for the sole purpose of making sure you don’t get stupid. Take that as a threat or a promise – whatever gets through.

You are the sort who has large difficulties. There is nothing small about you anywhere. You need people around you who can maintain through whatever comes your way – at the very least not get in your way, but even better – be of some help. Anything less will not work well for you. As to the opposite sex . . . there are things you can’t fix and women are a big one of those. You can help a woman find or re-connect with parts of herself that are already there, but if you do she’d better have something within her that contributes back to you. There is no team when there is only one playing the game. You can’t make a woman into what you want her to be and you can’t save anyone from themselves – and you know that I’ve learned all this by making my own major mistakes, right? Don’t think I’m lecturing you; I’m just sharing what I’ve learned by totally messing up in my own life.

I just barely got around to looking through last Sunday’s newspaper and in the comics (yes, I read the comics – they keep me from taking myself too seriously) there was a strip where a rabbi was giving advice to a young man on a bus. It fits where I find myself right now so well I cut it out and taped it to my desk. He says, “The greatest victory is doing what others say you cannot do! A determination to succeed is the only way to succeed!” The boy next to him says, “Um, in other words, our greatest victory is not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall.” These are concepts you and I know well, but it sometimes helps to be reminded. I have a Boondocks strip from a couple of years ago that I keep taped next to my computer. It is my absolute favorite. In it, Huey is making his New Year’s Resolutions. He says, “What other resolution is there to make? I resolve to mercilessly abuse my illusions and smack stupidity in the mouth. I resolve to never acquire a taste for the bitter lies I am fed. I am making a resolution for revolution! This year, I resolve to change the world!” The he asks, “Who will join me?” His friend answers, “I resolve to learn how to do the Rerun Dance.” His brother, Riley, says, “I resolve to throw chairs at people.” Huey comments, “Good to see us all striving for greatness,” while Riley continues, “Go to a couple of ball games, award shows – by this time next year they’ll be calling me Chairman Riley.” Okay, so this year I’m throwing in with Huey – and leaving those who insist on setting their sights lower behind.

Audrius, I’m glad I found you up here, or you found me – whatever. I’m glad we got to know each other well over an extended period of time and got to see each other at our worst as well as our best and I’m glad you’ve shaken my whole world up and made me scramble. Keep on keepin’ the faith.

Hang in there buddy,

Chapter IV TIME STOLEN FROM A SPARSE ACCOUNT

Time is money, that’s how the saying goes. It’s wrong, you know. Time and money can not be compared. You can make more money. You can never make more time. The time you have in your present life is finite and if some of it is stolen from you, wasted, there will be no tally at the end of your days, no keeper at the gate saying, “Oh, it says here that ten months of your life were wasted, so we are going to give you those ten more months back. No – once taken, time is gone for good. There’s no “do-over.”

My friend, Audrius, has had two complaints since he was taken from us by ICE that he tends to repeat: his life is being wasted stuck in that cell and he’s bored. He doesn’t say it often, but it has come up multiple times. What can I do other than empathize and continue onward trying to find some way through this Gordian knot of immigration “justice” that no one has been able to cut through to date? He says he is not afraid to die and going back and being killed is preferable to sitting and sitting in a cell, doing hard time indefinitely. He says he was not meant to be a slave, to live life on his knees, that being locked in that cell is not living. He’s a man of action. I know he means what he says. This is extreme torture for someone like him, but I am selfish. I want him back in our town, back drinking tea with me at the kitchen table arguing with me about politics, philosophy, religion, teaching me history from a European perspective, making me laugh . . . and so I try to reassure him and beg him not to give up, to please not agree to be deported. I tell him that is what they want, that is what they are trying to get him to do with all their delaying tactics – that they are trying to wear him down, wear us down. I remind him that he has children who need him and many people who love him and that with that comes responsibility to consider them along with himself.

He knows this and grumbles that he doesn’t really mean it, he’s not going to give up, but he’s bored and tired and wants to go home. He jokes a bit: “I told them I was tired of this, that I didn’t want to play anymore and I’d like to go home now, but they won’t let me.” He asks, “What have I done that is so bad?” I laugh with him at his jokes, but have no answer for his questions. How does one explain what is being done to him?

We are working on our eighth month of Audrius’ incarceration as I write this. This can no longer be called detention, even by the most liberal of government double-speak. It is the day after July 4th – the day after Independence Day and as I glance out the window I notice that the flowers on my garden rue have passed, have just a shred of their soft lilac flowers left clinging to a few stubborn stems. I note that I never got a chance this year to enjoy their show – hardly noticed they were in bloom.

My gardens are my delight. When we moved here after my father’s death I teased them out of the remaining stubborn perennials that peeked through here and there amongst the weeds along the edge of the lawn, remnants of my mother’s love of gardening that had been abandoned after she passed away. I beat back the jungle that so loves to take over anything left fallow here in Northern New Hampshire and put in gardens, all by hand as we are not wealthy and with one son still in his studies there is no money for power equipment. With shovel and wheelbarrow I changed the earth around our home and planted garden after garden.

Mine were not the spare, carefully mulched gardens of the suburbs. No, I put in full gardens packed solid with perennials so that all weeds were crowded out and a riot of colorful blooms provided a constant display for those passing by. I removed the small lawn in the front of my house that was never mowed enough anyway and put in a huge garden. People would stop to enjoy it as they drove by, would stop to comment and frequently would drive away with a plant or two from a clump I had just divided to add to their own garden. And so my garden grew, around my own house and on to the homes of my neighbors and friends. Those days are no longer.

Last year work done on our dirt road changed the contour of our land and my gardens no longer lay above the road. It was going to be necessary to raise the front section along the road by about two feet. I planned it out and started to haul earth, wheelbarrow by wheelbarrow. I dug up plants and moved them to a new plot I had made by the front door and promised many of them that it was only temporary, that they would be returned soon. Yes, I talk to my plants. As I dug and hauled dirt and found myself envying those who have a tractor I told myself how I was getting a good workout minus the gym fees and I should be glad for the opportunity. That pep talk has worked for years and helped me pull many large projects through to completion, but last summer it was not to be.
I noticed one night that my sight was blurry. I’d just flown back from visiting my daughter in Houston, so I attributed it to exhaustion and went to bed. The morning brought no improvement – I had gone suddenly blind in most of my left eye – the one with the better vision. The rest of the summer was filled with doctors, an operation to restore at least some of my sight and strict orders to do no bending or heavy lifting. My gardens, all torn up and looking forlorn, would have to remain as they were till next year.

Audrius checked on our teenage son and helped him take care of the animals and the house while we traveled the many hours back and forth to Boston for the operation and follow-up care. He would be there each night when we got home, quickly check to make certain I was okay and then hurry home to take care of his own children, his own animals, his own house. Some days I would call him on the way back and tell him that he didn’t have to come by, that my son had everything under control. He would let me know he had heard me and then would be there anyway when we got back, only to leave quickly as soon as he knew all was well. He had his own problems to tend to, but he always made time for us and never let on that he was carrying a terrible burden himself.

That fall the burden he had carried was revealed to us when ICE had him placed in prison the day before Thanksgiving. I had promised my garden that I would be back to it with the coming of the spring, but spring found Audrius still in prison and me returning the love and caring he had always given to us all so freely by standing by him. He wants to return to his children, to his friends, and a promise made must be honored. I work with him to find a lawyer, do the leg work to get documents and find information. I contact everyone I can think of who might be able to help. I start my morning in front of my computer or on the phone and end my day the same way. My life has become the property of ICE. To break free of them would require that I abandon my friend as well as the other men sitting in that wretched prison with him and their families. That is not an option I can consider.

Spring is left to pass without notice. Claims made by ICE can not be proven because documents have been lost. Those documents would prove the claims to be untrue once translated, but they are gone, Audrius’ file is suddenly empty. The prosecutor says he is in constant touch with the investigator on the case and the documents are coming any day now. Audrius’ case is postponed over and over again and he is sent back to prison to wait some more while I am sent back to my computer and phone. This continues over and over while my garden grows wherever it likes, filled with weeds, totally wild and untended. Finally a new prosecutor takes over and tells the judge that actually, the investigator has not been heard from since the beginning of this case so she now needs more time to find those documents. The case is continued again. By now we are well into summer.

When this started, I had no idea what I had just promised. He’s Audrius. Every single hurt, every problem that the other prisoners around him have he sees as his responsibility to fix, and so I find myself helping every one he presents me with. I learn his language. When he calls and asks me to do him a favor, I know he wants me to make a call for another prisoner who needs help and can not call out. Or he wants me to find out something for some other prisoner. If he wants help for himself he does not ask for a favor. He knows the difference between what I do for him and what I do for others for him. I have become an extension of his intentions, a way for him to still be effective, to continue being Audrius. Soon after he landed in that prison he saw that there was little to no justice remaining in this country’s immigration system and it needed fixing. Audrius fixes things, that’s what he does, and so I now find myself helping him with that. It’s an adventure, one I would not trade for anything. I have learned much about compassion and courage working with Audrius since he has been held in prison these many months. But it is also a journey that would be completely unnecessary if just the most basic agreements contained in the Universal Declaration of Human Rights were being followed by our government.

My garden was supposed to be done by now. I’d promised myself last year, that come spring work would resume and by June it would be completed, that my neighbors would once again be able to enjoy it’s profusion of blooms, that I would visit friends with a fresh bouquet in hand, that I would again mark the passing of summer by the blooming of peonies by the front walk, the lupine covering the hill across the street, the garden rue by the stone steps that lead to the basement door, the lilies and asters that fill out the summer and carry the garden into fall.

Because Audrius still remains in bondage, I’ve had no time to walk in my garden, no time to finish the project started over a year ago and so rudely interrupted by physical limitations. Now that I am healthy enough to continue the work. I long to go outside and dig in the earth, to build up garden beds, pull out weeds, place plants, pave the center with flat stones pulled from the earth as I dig, to put in an area to sit with a friend and have a cup of tea while watching the butterflies and hummingbirds go about their business amid the blooms. Instead my summer is again being stolen from me, not by disability this year, but by a cold government agency that has its own agenda, heeds no plea for mercy and feels no call to answer to mere citizens. This time will never be returned to me. Like this year’s blooms that hang in teasing remnants about my garden rue, it hangs in tattered, taunting shreds about me and I am powerless to retrieve it.

I am no longer a young woman. This summer I will turn sixty. A close friend has just turned fifty. Audrius will turn forty. The three of us had planned a huge party – to celebrate each of us reaching a decade mark. Audrius is still quite young and if he’s not deported, if he survives this experience, he has many years still ahead of him to raise his children and enjoy the birth of his grandchildren. My friend is dealing with menopause and the reality that half her life is probably past her now. I’m well beyond all that. My last child is quickly becoming a man. This last year has matured him quickly as he’s had to pick up some of my duties, something he automatically did without being told or asked – his contribution to freeing a man who has always had time for him. My other children are all grown and settled into adulthood. I’ve rejoiced at the birth of grandchildren, adjusted to the bodily changes that this last decade brought and dealt with the reality that my life is very likely winding down. I hope that I am granted more time, but there’s a biological clock ticking for me now, and it’s not the one for starting a family that people talk about so freely. It’s the ticking of the time I have left with this body, this life.

This year’s birthday is supposed to be a special celebration for three of us – a celebration of life as it progresses – a celebration of friendship across the generations and cultures. Audrius is supposed to be part of that celebration. It is just six weeks away now and I’m realizing that there may be no party at all, just as there was no Thanksgiving and no Christmas. I may not enjoy any of the passing of summer. I may not ever celebrate the dawning of my next decade. Audrius may still be in prison, still sitting and waiting. We may all be still sitting and waiting. I am old enough to know the finality of that, to know what ICE is robbing us of.

I have lost much money since Audrius has been picked up. Our personal finances took a powerful hit trying to cover the costs involved with supporting a person doing time. We struggle to maintain paying our mortgage, keep food on the table and gas in the car while we care for our captive friend. I leave last winter’s tires on the car, sell some of my jewelry, my books. It’s hard, but we are relatively healthy. We will make more money. This summer, though – this fleeting time that is so treasured here in the frozen north – that can never be remade. My sixtieth birthday will never come again. It has been and is being stolen from me by a government agency casually going about its business heedless of the agony it is causing the citizens of this country, gone now forever from my life. I may have many summers left, I may have none. There is no way to know, but I do not willingly grant my government this summer. I do not offer ICE this part of my life freely. They have taken it, they have stolen it as a common thief steals a woman’s wedding ring and nothing can ever replace it. The damage is done. The only question left is: How much more damage will they continue to do?

Chapter V

Chapter VI COMING SOON - WORKING ON THESE CHAPTERS NOW:

HOW THE DEPARTMENT OF IMMIGRATION AND CUSTOMS ENFORCEMENT
BETTER KNOWN AS ICE
IS:

RAISING YOUR TAXES

PROMOTING CRIME

ENFORCING SLAVERY

SUPPORTING DOMESTIC ABUSE

ENABELING DRUG DEALERS

INCITING MURDER

TERRORIZING CITIZENS

DEMORALIZING OUR TROOPS

VIOLATING HUMAN RIGHTS

DESTROYING FAMILY VALUES

DISHONORING AMERICA

SABOTAGING THE AMERICAN DREAM

TORTURING AND KILLING HELPLESS PEOPLE

NOW THAT YOU KNOW WHAT ICE IS DOING, WOULD YOU LIKE TO KNOW WHO IS RESPONSIBLE FOR THESE POLICIES AND WHY THEY ARE ALLOWED TO CONTINUE? I KNOW I WOULD.

MORE THAN ANYTHING I WANT TO KNOW:

WHY ARE WE HOLDING PEOPLE IN PRISON INDEFINITELY WHO HAVE COMMITTED NO CRIME IN THIS COUNTRY?

WHY ARE WE TREATING THESE PEOPLE WORSE THAN CRIMINALS?

WHY ARE WE NOT GRANTING THEM THE BASIC HUMAN RIGHTS WE AGREED TO UPHOLD IN 1948?

Chapter VI

VIII

XII

XIII

XIV

XVI

XVII

XVIII

XIX

XXI

XXII

XXIII

XXIV

XXV

XXVI

XXVII

XXVIII

XXIX

XXX

All material contained on this site is the property of Deborah Sherman de Santos. It is available to you for non-commercial use only as specified above. Any other use is prohibited without the expressed written consent of Deborah de Santos.