By Anna Pier
With a glance at the votive candle I’d lit, and a silent prayer, I leave my house to drive to an established gathering place where I will meet my “compa.” In this case, my “compas,” the couple I am accompanying to a court hearing for asylum seekers in San Francisco. I and four others are compañeros, and for this family of two children, it turns out we are also compadres. This familiar, comforting label, compas – not legalese, not official, implying familial, existing relationship – invites us, on this warm morning, to connect with these strangers in a strange land, who have a summons to appear in Immigration Court at one o’clock today.
The person heading up our group has met several times with the family previously, and has carefully prepared us in advance for what’s to come, including various scenarios, the most dire of which would be the detention by ICE (Immigration and Customs Enforcement) of our compas, and even, with provocation, of us.
The news, social media, all outlets, wherever you look, has assaulted our senses with reports of ICE detentions just about everywhere, and certainly, outside Immigration Courts. The tense, subdued greetings of the mother, and the tight-lipped silence of the father, reveal that without question my compas have seen it all on the news. They know the danger they face, but they also understand they face a worse outcome if they don’t report for the asylum hearing – certain deportation.
The solemn gaze of the nine-month-old, sparse hair immaculately combed and brushed and topped with two tiny pink bows on miniature braids, surveys these strangers surrounding her parents. Buckled into a strange car seat in a large, unfamiliar van, but next to her mother, she maintains her watchful gaze all the way to the City. Her five-year-old sister, with shiny, beautifully combed long hair held by a classic trenza (braid), sits beside her father and takes on the older sibling role of responsibility for the whole family. She acknowledges introductions, says “thank you” as she selects a gift of a small pink rabbit for herself and a pale blue bear for her baby sister, and watches to see what is expected of her parents.
I have the challenging task of explaining in Spanish certain details to the young couple. It is legal for them to be represented by an attorney, but there is an unprecedented demand for the limited number of pro bono (low-cost or free) immigration attorneys, so they are representing themselves. They have been able to have a legal consult, and they have an upcoming appointment with an attorney at Vital Immigrant Defense Advocacy and Services (VIDAS), in Santa Rosa.
The most painful task is reminding them of what to do in the event the attorney from the Department of Homeland Security (DHS), a constant presence in a Department of Justice Immigration Court, should request the judge to dismiss the case. Dismissal is a calculated move which allows ICE agents outside the courtroom to apprehend and deport the respondents. The young man, who will speak for the family, practices in Spanish the sentences that the legal representative prepared for him – asking the judge to keep their case in the court, requesting that the DHS attorney present the motion in writing, reminding the judge that they have been complying with the requirements of their judicial case. On the other side of the paper he is now silently studying are guidelines for what to do if they are apprehended by ICE, including reminders of their rights. The atmosphere in the car is very solemn.
We drive past Chinatown and down Columbus, reminders of the earlier Chinese and Italian immigrations to San Francisco, preceding the current large wave of Mexican immigrants. Not just accepted today, the Chinese and Italians’ vibrant cultures are now embraced as integral to the richness of the city. But as immigrants both groups faced virulent prejudice and nativist hostility like that directed by the current administration and its followers toward immigrants from south of our border.
We park in the business district near where San Francisco’s other Immigration Court building is located, at 100 Montgomery Street. The StarWars lighted elevator whisks us to the eighth floor of the nondescript office building. The experience that unfolds reflects a US government Department functioning at its highest and best. The asylum-seeking family passes a security check managed by a courteous agent from a private company who has learned some Spanish to be able to direct them. We observers follow them into the small, classic walnut-paneled courtroom, dominated by the huge bronze seal of the Department of Justice, promising in English and Latin to dispense just that.
The benches are filled with about 35 or 40 people waiting for the judge to appear. When she does, she points out the baskets of children’s books and coloring supplies, then writes down the names and organizations of all the observers, who include a representative from the pro bono Lawyer of the Day organization. In our group we have locked our phones, after deleting facial recognition; our usual i.d. and cards were left at home. There are eight respondents – individuals or family groups – that have received a summons to appear at this Master Hearing.
Probably because they have children, the family is called first. The judge is serious, patient and compassionate, admonishing the couple and all present that if they fail to appear for a hearing, “I will deport you,” while making sure they understand how to file a change of address with the Court, so they don’t miss a hearing notice. She recalls our couple’s previous appearance in February, and that they were working on completing the asylum application at that time. Due to the challenges of understanding the interpreter through headphones, and the tension of the moment, they don’t respond, and the judge warns that time is running out to submit their asylum application, giving them their final hearing date. Fortunately, the judge goes through their papers and finds the letter addressed to her that they had brought from the attorney at VIDAS, affirming their appointment to complete the application.
We are all anxiously keeping an eye on the DHS attorney, who is seated with her back to us, but she makes no move. The family is excused, we stand up to leave, and the volunteer Court Watch observer goes out into the hall and lobby first, to assure us that she sees no ICE agents. We exit the building, and when there is no one waiting outside, we are almost giddy. I translate for the couple another observer’s remark, “What a relief!” The young father, who up to the moment hadn’t spoken more than a couple of words at once, smiles and replies, “If you think you’re relieved, can you imagine how I feel?”
The trip back home, despite a traffic delay, seems short.
So grateful to see this writing and the ability to feel along with the moments mentioned. A nightmare avoided and a legitimate governmental activity well drawn. The horror stories defame so much today it is gracious to be exposed to experiences such as this described. Thanks Anna and all involved.