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Friday, September 16, 2011
Thursday, September 8, 2011
Gripping Narrative of One Individual Deportee - In His Own Words
I just ran across this story today on Huffingtonpost and thought I should rebroadcast the story because it is a firsthand account of what happens and what it feels like to be picked up and put through the ringer by ICE.
To my kind Friends,
Pardon any spelling and grammatical mistakes, this was written on my phone during a 19hr ride to Cd. Juarez.
On the morning of August 8th, 2011, my boyfriend Eric and I made a wrong turn. Unfortunately, for me, this would be a point of no return. While on our way to South Padre Island, in the southeastern tip of Texas, we were stopped by an immigration officer. It seemed just like a regular check -- making sure we were not smuggling weapons, drugs, or people. They questioned Eric and had me stay still in the car with my hands on the dashboard. They checked the trunk and under the car, then things got weird.
A total of three more border patrol trucks came by and Officer Johnson* simply took a look at me and asked to see some form of identification. I reached for my wallet and pulled out my California issued identification. He walked away with it, checked it, and I overheard them say that there was nothing wrong.
He then input my name in his database. He came back to me and told me to stop lying to him. He wanted me to admit that I had just crossed the border. I told him I wasn't lying. He told me to step out of the vehicle. He gave me an ultimatum and told me that if I did not tell him the truth, he would press other charges against me. He turned to Officer Castillo and told him to take me with. I faced the car, put my hands behind me, and felt the handcuffs close around my wrists. Their reasons? They told me there were many people with my name who were criminals and had warrants out for their arrest.
Eric looked at me in disbelief. He looked as if he were waiting to wake up from a horrible nightmare. I smiled, I him it would be okay. What was there for me to fear? I had a job permit, a social security number, a state issued ID and had a clear record. As they put me in their truck, forcing me to sit back with my wrists aching from the handcuffs, I smiled one last time at Eric knowing it would all be over soon. This was a misunderstanding.
I was transported to an immigration processing office in McAllen, Texas. I was stripped of my belongings. My prints and my pictures were taken. They pulled about every single criminal record they couldfind which correlated in any way with my name and birth date and nothing showed. I saw them print blank page after blank page. All they said to one another was "still nothing".
And then he arrived. Their supervisor. He ordered them to pull up my immigration case files, I could tell this was an unusual proceeding, since the officers had no idea on how to do it. After waiting over an hour sitting in a concrete bench, they found something. Something I was unaware of until that point. Something that if I would had known, I could have fixed. Something that in a second crushed my dreams.
According to the case file, in 2003 I was issued a departure order. They told me it would have come in the mail, but I had no inkling of such a letter ever reaching me. Perhaps it got lost in transit. It did not matter. I was told I would have to leave the country voluntarily or go to jail and wait until I could get a hearing -- but they said it would take months before they could process me.
You know how they say your heart breaks? Well, I don't think it does. I think your heart hardens. I felt it. My heart became heavy as a stone, and I felt it slowly drag down from my chest to my stomach.
I asked to make a phone call, and I called Eric. He had followed us to the station and waited in the lobby. I told him what they'd found, I told him I had never heard of the departure order, and I told him I was Mexico-bound. His voice shook, told me not to leave, to stay -- to fight this. I am not cut out for jail and I was not ready to let a judge decide my fate. His last words still ringing in my ear, "I'm sorry," he said, "I ruined your life." I could hear his pain and his tears. But I tried to remain calm. I told him it was okay, and I would be back.
I signed my departure papers, and waited for the officers to finish their paperwork. I put my head down, and for the first time, I cried. I thought of the things that had just happened -- the things I could have done, the things I still had to do. But nothing, nothing made me feel any better.
The officers showed me to cell 9, a 10x20 concrete box with a metal toilet in the back. In the cell, Jesus and Miguel. They both had been detained that day, Jesus during his second attempt to cross, and Miguel during his third. They both had families waiting for them in Dallas -- families who had not talked to them in weeks. But they kept their faith. They knew they would be reunited again.
I sat on the cold concrete, staring at the wall. The wall was covered in writing: people professing their love for others, the names and dates of when they had been there, the names of their children, parents, espouses. Passages of the bible in Spanish, English, and Chinese. And I stared at that wall, wondering at the fate of all those people. Had Mariano Lopez been able to cross the border successfully and see his three children in Arlington, VA? Was Ramon with his daughters Mariela, Lucrecia, and Maggie?
One of the other detainees looked at me and asked me plainly if I was ok. The answer was plain and simple. I was not.
Dinner finally came to us, a thick piece of foul looking and smelling ham in two slices of white bread accompanied by a cooler of water. I asked for the time. The officer told me I shouldn't worry, that I'd be back in Mexico in no time. And my hunger died. The thought of the life I had just left behind filled the gap in my stomach as my heart got heavier and pushed down.
After a very long wait we were taken to a bus. Jesus sat next to me and assured me I would be alright. He then told me he also had been born in Veracruz. How the economy had taken a downturn and everything seemed to be collapsing except for a few people who were wealthy before and now were getting richer. It made sick. But that's the way economics work, even in the U.S. of A., I suppose.
We talked about his children, 2 and 5 years old, both born in Dallas. And I thought of the injustice it is to leave two kids fatherless, without means to fend for themselves other than one of the parents minimum wage income.
We arrived at the East Hidalgo Detention Facility. We were filed into the waiting room where we put our belongings into a big trash bag. We walked to a long hallway and we were given a brown suit to mark us as temporary holds, a thin blanket, a sparsely woven linen sheet, a 2" unbreakable toothbrush, a travel sized toothpaste and soap, and a roll of toilet paper. It was, by this time, 11:30pm. Splitting us in two groups, the guard showed us to a small 10x10 room and told us to change. It was amazing to see her lack of kindness, her eyes cold and unexpressive. We kept our shoes, and I noticed that everyone else's shoelaces had been taken away as means of preventing them from hurting themselves. I looked at my feet, naked with the sandals I had hoped would have been perfect to use at the beach.
I closed my eyes, and began to cry. I fell asleep for what seemed like countless hours when in reality it was only three. I woke up to a loud knock on the door but did not want to open my eyes, I wished with all my heart that I would wake up next to Eric on our bed.
The guard knocked again, he could not have been older than 23, and when I sat on my bed, he slid a food of tray in. On the tray, a stale biscuit, sweet beans, and, the only edible thing, green beans from a can. Time passed by once again, all I could do was watch the walls. Masterpieces by themselves, if taken out of context.
Once again, and this would not be the last time, they moved us to a different room where we waited and waited, and waited. At last, a guard came to get us, in groups of four. We stepped into the lobby area and awaited to enter another room where a gentleman from the Mexican Consulate was waiting to ask us some questions. One by one I saw those before me enter the room, and then came my turn.
I stated my name as asked, my date of birth, my place of birth. He then asked me how many times I had tried to cross the border, I responded none. He showed signs of being confused, as if he did not know what to write down. He asked if I needed him to notify someone of my departure, I gave Eric's cell phone number. He asked me what my address was. That's when I cracked.
"My address," as tears trailed my cheeks, "is 8600 FM 620 N, Austin, TX," I said. He shook his head and told me no, he wanted to know what my address in Mexico was. And I lost it. Between sobs I reinstated my address. I could picture BB, my cat, coming over and jumping on my lap, purring loudly as I caressed her ears. She, encompassing all my life was. My high school years in Los Angeles. My life in Grinnell College as a Posse Scholar.The life I had with Eric. The life I had designed after graduating college and deciding to stay in Iowa. My newly made life in Texas. My life as an artist.
I stepped out of the room, devastated. Having finally understood that this was the point of no return. That I would set foot in Mexico and perhaps never see my cat, Eric, or any of my beloved friends at home again.
I returned back to the room with the others, and waited for a very long time. We were given our tray of corn, cabbage, a fishy smelling brownie, and pasta with some sort of mystery meat. I could only eat the vegetables. My heart sunk as low as it could go. And the wait continued. We were moved again to the room where we first changed, they needed the rooms for other men who had been captured. Their faces also lacking any hope. That place completely drained hope.
In the small room, I encountered Jesus. He asked me if I would cross the border illegally, and I said no. I would come back to my loved ones the way I should. I would apply for reentry and hope for the best. I had faith in the legal system, I said, I believe it punishes, but it can also reward.
A couple hours later, we were rounded up outside the room, we faced the wall, and on went the cuffs around my feet. The metal chain hitting the floor and pulling the cuffs down cutting into my ankles. Then I was made to turn around, and my wrists were bound and held close to my belly by yet a another heavier chain that went around my waist.
I could hardly walk, and then we were pushed back into the small room. Overcrowded, hot, with no windows or airflow, we waited, I was able to sit down, but few had such a pleasure. The metal rings around their hands and feet making it impossible to move. We stayed like that for two hours until finally a bus came. We were taken to the bus in the order we had come in. The walk, an impossible feat. And we boarded the bus.
We rode the bus for another hour or so, till we reached a small commercial airport.A plane landed, and the guards came back inside, taking us to the concourse. There we saw a large passenger plane. 29 windows, of five seats rows. It unloaded many passengers either being released or being taken to the facility from which we came. And when they were all down, their buses gone, we started, one by one, in the order we had arrived, our way up to the plane.
The security team by AKAL formed two lines flanking the plane, and one by one we made our way to be patted down. My turn came and I stepped towards a young blond lady who greeted me with a frown. Her first question was if I spoke English, to which I replied yes. She ordered me to open my mouth and asked if I had any piercings as she patted me down. She then asked me how long I had been in the U.S. I told her 11 years. She seemed surprised. I told her I was leaving all I'd worked for behind, but I looked forward to have it back. She smiled, said my English was very good and I should be back. Just make sure you don't get caught this time, was her advice.
We flew from that far east Texas town all the way to Yuma, Arizona, 29 of us in a giant air craft. A great use of our tax money, if you ask me. We were given dinner, the white bread sandwich with ham and a small water bottle.
When we landed, I knew the journey would be over soon, I was eager to talk to Eric, to my mom and dad. We landed and were taken to another bus, this one at least had a step stool for the impossible climb up. The bus took us behind a building, to the dark area of parking lot, the guard instructed us, this time in Spanish, that we would step out, in groups of four and have our chains removed. Foreign relations, he said. As my chains came off my heart rose up. As if somehow hope had been restored. I stepped back to the bus this time as a hopeful man.
We rode the bus along the U.S. - Mexico border, a great rusted metal wall, which otherwise would had been an amazing Richard Serra installation. The wall that prevented many dreams from coming true, the wall that would come to signify the separation from my youth.
And so we arrived at the Calexico crossing bridge. We, among many, to step onto Mexican land as if for first time. And my mind was racing for the fight to come. The Mexican flag fluttered in the air, and it reminded me of the pledge of allegiance I said everyday in school. One nation under God, indivisible, with freedom and justice for all. But where had my freedom and justice been these last two days? The struggle was about to begin.
I stepped out of the bus, collected my bag with my wallet and phone, and set foot, for the first time in 11 years, in the land that saw me be born but no longer felt my own.
With all due respect,
Dani Zamora
The Story Of A Young Artist's Deportation: "In The Land That Saw My Birth, But Is No Longer My Own."
by Dani Zamora, Artist and graduate of Grinnell College, born in Mexico, raised in the U.S.To my kind Friends,
Pardon any spelling and grammatical mistakes, this was written on my phone during a 19hr ride to Cd. Juarez.
On the morning of August 8th, 2011, my boyfriend Eric and I made a wrong turn. Unfortunately, for me, this would be a point of no return. While on our way to South Padre Island, in the southeastern tip of Texas, we were stopped by an immigration officer. It seemed just like a regular check -- making sure we were not smuggling weapons, drugs, or people. They questioned Eric and had me stay still in the car with my hands on the dashboard. They checked the trunk and under the car, then things got weird.
A total of three more border patrol trucks came by and Officer Johnson* simply took a look at me and asked to see some form of identification. I reached for my wallet and pulled out my California issued identification. He walked away with it, checked it, and I overheard them say that there was nothing wrong.
He then input my name in his database. He came back to me and told me to stop lying to him. He wanted me to admit that I had just crossed the border. I told him I wasn't lying. He told me to step out of the vehicle. He gave me an ultimatum and told me that if I did not tell him the truth, he would press other charges against me. He turned to Officer Castillo and told him to take me with. I faced the car, put my hands behind me, and felt the handcuffs close around my wrists. Their reasons? They told me there were many people with my name who were criminals and had warrants out for their arrest.
Eric looked at me in disbelief. He looked as if he were waiting to wake up from a horrible nightmare. I smiled, I him it would be okay. What was there for me to fear? I had a job permit, a social security number, a state issued ID and had a clear record. As they put me in their truck, forcing me to sit back with my wrists aching from the handcuffs, I smiled one last time at Eric knowing it would all be over soon. This was a misunderstanding.
I was transported to an immigration processing office in McAllen, Texas. I was stripped of my belongings. My prints and my pictures were taken. They pulled about every single criminal record they couldfind which correlated in any way with my name and birth date and nothing showed. I saw them print blank page after blank page. All they said to one another was "still nothing".
And then he arrived. Their supervisor. He ordered them to pull up my immigration case files, I could tell this was an unusual proceeding, since the officers had no idea on how to do it. After waiting over an hour sitting in a concrete bench, they found something. Something I was unaware of until that point. Something that if I would had known, I could have fixed. Something that in a second crushed my dreams.
According to the case file, in 2003 I was issued a departure order. They told me it would have come in the mail, but I had no inkling of such a letter ever reaching me. Perhaps it got lost in transit. It did not matter. I was told I would have to leave the country voluntarily or go to jail and wait until I could get a hearing -- but they said it would take months before they could process me.
You know how they say your heart breaks? Well, I don't think it does. I think your heart hardens. I felt it. My heart became heavy as a stone, and I felt it slowly drag down from my chest to my stomach.
I asked to make a phone call, and I called Eric. He had followed us to the station and waited in the lobby. I told him what they'd found, I told him I had never heard of the departure order, and I told him I was Mexico-bound. His voice shook, told me not to leave, to stay -- to fight this. I am not cut out for jail and I was not ready to let a judge decide my fate. His last words still ringing in my ear, "I'm sorry," he said, "I ruined your life." I could hear his pain and his tears. But I tried to remain calm. I told him it was okay, and I would be back.
I signed my departure papers, and waited for the officers to finish their paperwork. I put my head down, and for the first time, I cried. I thought of the things that had just happened -- the things I could have done, the things I still had to do. But nothing, nothing made me feel any better.
The officers showed me to cell 9, a 10x20 concrete box with a metal toilet in the back. In the cell, Jesus and Miguel. They both had been detained that day, Jesus during his second attempt to cross, and Miguel during his third. They both had families waiting for them in Dallas -- families who had not talked to them in weeks. But they kept their faith. They knew they would be reunited again.
I sat on the cold concrete, staring at the wall. The wall was covered in writing: people professing their love for others, the names and dates of when they had been there, the names of their children, parents, espouses. Passages of the bible in Spanish, English, and Chinese. And I stared at that wall, wondering at the fate of all those people. Had Mariano Lopez been able to cross the border successfully and see his three children in Arlington, VA? Was Ramon with his daughters Mariela, Lucrecia, and Maggie?
One of the other detainees looked at me and asked me plainly if I was ok. The answer was plain and simple. I was not.
Dinner finally came to us, a thick piece of foul looking and smelling ham in two slices of white bread accompanied by a cooler of water. I asked for the time. The officer told me I shouldn't worry, that I'd be back in Mexico in no time. And my hunger died. The thought of the life I had just left behind filled the gap in my stomach as my heart got heavier and pushed down.
After a very long wait we were taken to a bus. Jesus sat next to me and assured me I would be alright. He then told me he also had been born in Veracruz. How the economy had taken a downturn and everything seemed to be collapsing except for a few people who were wealthy before and now were getting richer. It made sick. But that's the way economics work, even in the U.S. of A., I suppose.
We talked about his children, 2 and 5 years old, both born in Dallas. And I thought of the injustice it is to leave two kids fatherless, without means to fend for themselves other than one of the parents minimum wage income.
We arrived at the East Hidalgo Detention Facility. We were filed into the waiting room where we put our belongings into a big trash bag. We walked to a long hallway and we were given a brown suit to mark us as temporary holds, a thin blanket, a sparsely woven linen sheet, a 2" unbreakable toothbrush, a travel sized toothpaste and soap, and a roll of toilet paper. It was, by this time, 11:30pm. Splitting us in two groups, the guard showed us to a small 10x10 room and told us to change. It was amazing to see her lack of kindness, her eyes cold and unexpressive. We kept our shoes, and I noticed that everyone else's shoelaces had been taken away as means of preventing them from hurting themselves. I looked at my feet, naked with the sandals I had hoped would have been perfect to use at the beach.
I closed my eyes, and began to cry. I fell asleep for what seemed like countless hours when in reality it was only three. I woke up to a loud knock on the door but did not want to open my eyes, I wished with all my heart that I would wake up next to Eric on our bed.
The guard knocked again, he could not have been older than 23, and when I sat on my bed, he slid a food of tray in. On the tray, a stale biscuit, sweet beans, and, the only edible thing, green beans from a can. Time passed by once again, all I could do was watch the walls. Masterpieces by themselves, if taken out of context.
Once again, and this would not be the last time, they moved us to a different room where we waited and waited, and waited. At last, a guard came to get us, in groups of four. We stepped into the lobby area and awaited to enter another room where a gentleman from the Mexican Consulate was waiting to ask us some questions. One by one I saw those before me enter the room, and then came my turn.
I stated my name as asked, my date of birth, my place of birth. He then asked me how many times I had tried to cross the border, I responded none. He showed signs of being confused, as if he did not know what to write down. He asked if I needed him to notify someone of my departure, I gave Eric's cell phone number. He asked me what my address was. That's when I cracked.
"My address," as tears trailed my cheeks, "is 8600 FM 620 N, Austin, TX," I said. He shook his head and told me no, he wanted to know what my address in Mexico was. And I lost it. Between sobs I reinstated my address. I could picture BB, my cat, coming over and jumping on my lap, purring loudly as I caressed her ears. She, encompassing all my life was. My high school years in Los Angeles. My life in Grinnell College as a Posse Scholar.The life I had with Eric. The life I had designed after graduating college and deciding to stay in Iowa. My newly made life in Texas. My life as an artist.
I stepped out of the room, devastated. Having finally understood that this was the point of no return. That I would set foot in Mexico and perhaps never see my cat, Eric, or any of my beloved friends at home again.
I returned back to the room with the others, and waited for a very long time. We were given our tray of corn, cabbage, a fishy smelling brownie, and pasta with some sort of mystery meat. I could only eat the vegetables. My heart sunk as low as it could go. And the wait continued. We were moved again to the room where we first changed, they needed the rooms for other men who had been captured. Their faces also lacking any hope. That place completely drained hope.
In the small room, I encountered Jesus. He asked me if I would cross the border illegally, and I said no. I would come back to my loved ones the way I should. I would apply for reentry and hope for the best. I had faith in the legal system, I said, I believe it punishes, but it can also reward.
A couple hours later, we were rounded up outside the room, we faced the wall, and on went the cuffs around my feet. The metal chain hitting the floor and pulling the cuffs down cutting into my ankles. Then I was made to turn around, and my wrists were bound and held close to my belly by yet a another heavier chain that went around my waist.
I could hardly walk, and then we were pushed back into the small room. Overcrowded, hot, with no windows or airflow, we waited, I was able to sit down, but few had such a pleasure. The metal rings around their hands and feet making it impossible to move. We stayed like that for two hours until finally a bus came. We were taken to the bus in the order we had come in. The walk, an impossible feat. And we boarded the bus.
We rode the bus for another hour or so, till we reached a small commercial airport.A plane landed, and the guards came back inside, taking us to the concourse. There we saw a large passenger plane. 29 windows, of five seats rows. It unloaded many passengers either being released or being taken to the facility from which we came. And when they were all down, their buses gone, we started, one by one, in the order we had arrived, our way up to the plane.
The security team by AKAL formed two lines flanking the plane, and one by one we made our way to be patted down. My turn came and I stepped towards a young blond lady who greeted me with a frown. Her first question was if I spoke English, to which I replied yes. She ordered me to open my mouth and asked if I had any piercings as she patted me down. She then asked me how long I had been in the U.S. I told her 11 years. She seemed surprised. I told her I was leaving all I'd worked for behind, but I looked forward to have it back. She smiled, said my English was very good and I should be back. Just make sure you don't get caught this time, was her advice.
We flew from that far east Texas town all the way to Yuma, Arizona, 29 of us in a giant air craft. A great use of our tax money, if you ask me. We were given dinner, the white bread sandwich with ham and a small water bottle.
When we landed, I knew the journey would be over soon, I was eager to talk to Eric, to my mom and dad. We landed and were taken to another bus, this one at least had a step stool for the impossible climb up. The bus took us behind a building, to the dark area of parking lot, the guard instructed us, this time in Spanish, that we would step out, in groups of four and have our chains removed. Foreign relations, he said. As my chains came off my heart rose up. As if somehow hope had been restored. I stepped back to the bus this time as a hopeful man.
We rode the bus along the U.S. - Mexico border, a great rusted metal wall, which otherwise would had been an amazing Richard Serra installation. The wall that prevented many dreams from coming true, the wall that would come to signify the separation from my youth.
And so we arrived at the Calexico crossing bridge. We, among many, to step onto Mexican land as if for first time. And my mind was racing for the fight to come. The Mexican flag fluttered in the air, and it reminded me of the pledge of allegiance I said everyday in school. One nation under God, indivisible, with freedom and justice for all. But where had my freedom and justice been these last two days? The struggle was about to begin.
I stepped out of the bus, collected my bag with my wallet and phone, and set foot, for the first time in 11 years, in the land that saw me be born but no longer felt my own.
With all due respect,
Dani Zamora
Thursday, September 1, 2011
Syracuse University Report on Asylum Rates of Indiviudal Immigration Judges
The Transactional Records Access Clearinghouse (TRAC) at Syracuse University released information about the asylum decisions of 233 individual judges in the nation's special Immigration Courts. This report is available in an updated application developed by TRAC their website.
What is interesting to note, the overall denial rate of all asylum petitions in 53.2% during the latest period reviewed, 2006-2010. However, if the alien is not represented by an attorney, as 11% of all asylum seekers were, then that subcategory's denial rate rises to 88%.
In our immigration courts in San Francisco, IJ Murry leads the pack in denying over 90% of all the asylum cases he hears.
This is the link for the full statistics of all the IJ's across the country.
TRAC website
What is interesting to note, the overall denial rate of all asylum petitions in 53.2% during the latest period reviewed, 2006-2010. However, if the alien is not represented by an attorney, as 11% of all asylum seekers were, then that subcategory's denial rate rises to 88%.
In our immigration courts in San Francisco, IJ Murry leads the pack in denying over 90% of all the asylum cases he hears.
This is the link for the full statistics of all the IJ's across the country.
TRAC website
Thursday, August 18, 2011
President Obama Announces New Priorities for DHS and Deportation
In a Press Release, the White House announced that they would be changing the priorities of DHS to no longer actively seek the deportation of noncriminal aliens, with the announcement that it would halt potentially thousands of cases in federal immigration court if they do not involve criminals or people with flagrant immigration violations.
Homeland Security Secretary Janet Napolitano said today that the agency will launch a case-by-case review of 300,000 cases pending in immigration courts across the nation to focus on the federal government’s top priority, detaining and deporting criminals and serious violators of immigration law.
Immigrants classified as low-priority cases could receive a stay of deportation and the chance to apply for a work permit.
The following is the full text of the Press Release of today.
"President Obama is deeply committed to fixing our immigration laws and has been aggressively searching for partners in Congress who are willing to work with him to pass a new law. As he focuses on building a new 21st century immigration system that meets our nation’s economic and security needs, the President has a responsibility to enforce the existing laws in a smart and effective manner. This means making decisions that best focus the resources that Congress gives the Executive Branch to do this work. There are more than 10 million people who are in the U.S. illegally; it’s clear that we can’t deport such a large number. So the Administration has developed a strategy to make sure we use those resources in a way that puts public safety and national security first. If you were running a law enforcement agency anywhere in the world, you would target those who pose the greatest harm before those who do not. Our immigration enforcement work is focused the same way.
Under the President’s direction, for the first time ever the Department of Homeland Security has prioritized the removal of people who have been convicted of crimes in the United States. And they have succeeded; in 2010 DHS removed 79,000 more people who had been convicted of a crime compared to 2008. Today, they announced that they are strengthening their ability to target criminals even further by making sure they are not focusing our resources on deporting people who are low priorities for deportation. This includes individuals such as young people who were brought to this country as small children, and who know no other home. It also includes individuals such as military veterans and the spouses of active-duty military personnel. It makes no sense to spend our enforcement resources on these low-priority cases when they could be used with more impact on others, including individuals who have been convicted of serious crimes.
So DHS, along with the Department of Justice, will be reviewing the current deportation caseload to clear out low-priority cases on a case-by-case basis and make more room to deport people who have been convicted of crimes or pose a security risk. And they will take steps to keep low-priority cases out of the deportation pipeline in the first place. They will be applying common sense guidelines to make these decisions, like a person’s ties and contributions to the community, their family relationships and military service record. In the end, this means more immigration enforcement pressure where it counts the most, and less where it doesn’t – that’s the smartest way to follow the law while we stay focused on working with the Congress to fix it."
Here is the Link to the Press Release
Homeland Security Secretary Janet Napolitano said today that the agency will launch a case-by-case review of 300,000 cases pending in immigration courts across the nation to focus on the federal government’s top priority, detaining and deporting criminals and serious violators of immigration law.
Immigrants classified as low-priority cases could receive a stay of deportation and the chance to apply for a work permit.
The following is the full text of the Press Release of today.
"President Obama is deeply committed to fixing our immigration laws and has been aggressively searching for partners in Congress who are willing to work with him to pass a new law. As he focuses on building a new 21st century immigration system that meets our nation’s economic and security needs, the President has a responsibility to enforce the existing laws in a smart and effective manner. This means making decisions that best focus the resources that Congress gives the Executive Branch to do this work. There are more than 10 million people who are in the U.S. illegally; it’s clear that we can’t deport such a large number. So the Administration has developed a strategy to make sure we use those resources in a way that puts public safety and national security first. If you were running a law enforcement agency anywhere in the world, you would target those who pose the greatest harm before those who do not. Our immigration enforcement work is focused the same way.
Under the President’s direction, for the first time ever the Department of Homeland Security has prioritized the removal of people who have been convicted of crimes in the United States. And they have succeeded; in 2010 DHS removed 79,000 more people who had been convicted of a crime compared to 2008. Today, they announced that they are strengthening their ability to target criminals even further by making sure they are not focusing our resources on deporting people who are low priorities for deportation. This includes individuals such as young people who were brought to this country as small children, and who know no other home. It also includes individuals such as military veterans and the spouses of active-duty military personnel. It makes no sense to spend our enforcement resources on these low-priority cases when they could be used with more impact on others, including individuals who have been convicted of serious crimes.
So DHS, along with the Department of Justice, will be reviewing the current deportation caseload to clear out low-priority cases on a case-by-case basis and make more room to deport people who have been convicted of crimes or pose a security risk. And they will take steps to keep low-priority cases out of the deportation pipeline in the first place. They will be applying common sense guidelines to make these decisions, like a person’s ties and contributions to the community, their family relationships and military service record. In the end, this means more immigration enforcement pressure where it counts the most, and less where it doesn’t – that’s the smartest way to follow the law while we stay focused on working with the Congress to fix it."
Here is the Link to the Press Release
Friday, August 12, 2011
General Zapata's Grandson is an Undocumented Alien Working as a Busboy in Texas
Amazing story on the wire today about the heroic Mexican Martyr, General Emiliano Zapata's grandson who has been working for the last 10-years as an undocumented illegal alien busboy in Dallas, Texas.
General Zapta is still revered to this day around the world for the ideals and principles he brought to the Mexican revolution, and for his passionate defense for the land and liberty of dispossessed peasants everywhere.
His cause was joined by millions of poor Mexicans, driven by their common belief that “la tierra es de quien la trabaja” -- the land is for the person who works it. They represented a fundamental challenge to the wealthy and powerful -- and ultimately led to President Venustiano Carranza’s order to assassinate Zapata in 1919.
The son of the revolutionary leader, Diego’s father did not see much of General Zapata during his childhood, as the patriarch was always participating in peasant organizations and campaigns. “I remember the day he took my three brothers and I to register, as an aunt kept insisting, since we did not have birth certificates and were only accepted in schools as observers,” recalled Diego, who is now 46 years old.
His brothers and mother now all live in the U.S. Two of them are also undocumented; Jorge Gabriel, who lives in North Carolina and works as a gardener, and Diego Emiliano, who makes sandwiches at a deli in New York City.
The third brother, Alex Eufemio, is a naturalized U.S. citizen and a chef at a French restaurant in Brooklyn. He was the only family member able to travel to Mexico for their father’s funeral in 2008. Through Eufemio, their mother, Gloria Cordero, acquired permanent U.S. residence and works in a chicken processing plant in North Carolina.
Like his grandfather Emiliano Zapata, Diego was born in Anenecuilco, in the state of Morelos in Mexico, where he lived until he was 13 and his parents separated.
The full story is here.
General Zapta is still revered to this day around the world for the ideals and principles he brought to the Mexican revolution, and for his passionate defense for the land and liberty of dispossessed peasants everywhere.
His cause was joined by millions of poor Mexicans, driven by their common belief that “la tierra es de quien la trabaja” -- the land is for the person who works it. They represented a fundamental challenge to the wealthy and powerful -- and ultimately led to President Venustiano Carranza’s order to assassinate Zapata in 1919.
The son of the revolutionary leader, Diego’s father did not see much of General Zapata during his childhood, as the patriarch was always participating in peasant organizations and campaigns. “I remember the day he took my three brothers and I to register, as an aunt kept insisting, since we did not have birth certificates and were only accepted in schools as observers,” recalled Diego, who is now 46 years old.
His brothers and mother now all live in the U.S. Two of them are also undocumented; Jorge Gabriel, who lives in North Carolina and works as a gardener, and Diego Emiliano, who makes sandwiches at a deli in New York City.
The third brother, Alex Eufemio, is a naturalized U.S. citizen and a chef at a French restaurant in Brooklyn. He was the only family member able to travel to Mexico for their father’s funeral in 2008. Through Eufemio, their mother, Gloria Cordero, acquired permanent U.S. residence and works in a chicken processing plant in North Carolina.
Like his grandfather Emiliano Zapata, Diego was born in Anenecuilco, in the state of Morelos in Mexico, where he lived until he was 13 and his parents separated.
The full story is here.
Monday, July 25, 2011
Ninth Circuit Overrules Lujan Exception
Last week, in an en banc decision, the Ninth Circuit Court of Appeals overrruled the court's previous decision in Lujan-Armendariz v. INS, 222 F.3d 728 (9th Cir. 2000) in extending the same equal protection afforded citizens under the Federal First Offender's Act (FFOA) to non-citizens when considering the immigration consequences of a simple first-time narcotics offense.
Prior to this ruling, in the Ninth Circuit, a non-citizen would not be deported for a simple, first-time narcotics offense, such as under the influence, paraphenalia, or a possession charge. This exception has now ended and any non-citizen will be subject to deportation for any narcotics conviction, even a Prop 36 offense in California.
The full text of the decision is below.
Nunez-Reyes v. Holder
Prior to this ruling, in the Ninth Circuit, a non-citizen would not be deported for a simple, first-time narcotics offense, such as under the influence, paraphenalia, or a possession charge. This exception has now ended and any non-citizen will be subject to deportation for any narcotics conviction, even a Prop 36 offense in California.
The full text of the decision is below.
Nunez-Reyes v. Holder
Thursday, July 7, 2011
U.S. Department of Labor - Administrative Law Judge Rules in Our Client's Favor and Awards $160,000 in Back Pay
Major win in one of our office's cases involving back pay for an H1-B non-immigrant foreign national employee. Our office filed an U.S. Department of Labor complaint, which was initially denied after the Sacramento Field Office Investigator, Sheila Creel, found no violation of federal immigration law. We appealed the decision to the DOL Office of Administrative Law Judge.
After a trial in early June, we received the written decision last week, which found all of our claims to be true and awarded our client around $160,000 in back pay, with interest.
Here is the link to the published decision
The ALJ ruled in our favor because the employer had never perfected a bona fide termination of our client and therefore remained liable for all back pay under the Labor Certificate Application they had signed under oath.
Here are the relevant CFR's and case law on this point.
Huang v. Ultimo Software Solutions, Inc., ARB No. 09-044, 09-056, ALJ No. 2008-LCA-11, slip op. at 4 (March 31, 2011) (affirming the ALJ's finding that the employer \never effected a bona fide termination under 20 C.F.R. § 655.731(c)(7)(ii), as it must to be relieved of its obligation to pay [the beneficiary's] wages ); Amtel Group v. Yongmahapakorn (Rung), ARB No. 07-104, ALJ No. 04-LCA-006, slip op. at 2 & n. 4 (Jan. 29, 2008) [hereinafter Amtel II] (Order Denying Reconsideration); Gupta v. Jain Software Consulting, Inc., ARB No. 05-008, ALJ No. 2004-LCA-039, slip op. at 5 6 (Mar. 30, 2007); Amtel Group of Florida, Inc. v. Yongmahapakorn (Rung), ARB No. 04-087, ALJ No. 2004-LCA-006, slip op. at 9 12 (Sept. 29, 2006) [hereinafter Amtel I];see also 65 Fed. Reg. 80,171 (Dec. 20, 2000) (The Department agrees that an employer is no longer liable for payments for nonproductive status if there has been a bona fide termination of the employment relationship.
The Department would not likely consider it to be a bona fide termination for purposes of this provision unless INS has been notified that the employment relationship has been terminated pursuant to 8 CFR 241.2(h)(11)(i)(A) and the petition canceled, and the employee has been provided with payment for transportation home where required by section 214(E)(5)(A) of the INA and INS regulations at 8 CFR 214.2(h)(4)(iii)(E). (italics in original)).
But see, Administrator, Wage & Hour Division v. Ken Technologies, Inc., ARB No. 03-140, ALJ No. 2003-LCA-15, slip op. at 4 5 (Sept. 15, 2004) (indicating that failure to notify the immigration authorities is not conclusive on the issue whether the employee was terminated). The Board es more recent decisions such as Amtel I, slip op. at 11 12, can't be reconciled with the idea that a bona fide termination can occur without all three elements. Yet the Board hasn't explicitly receded from Ken Technologies. 31 8 C.F.R. § 214.2(h)(11).
A regulation of the Secretary of Labor repeats the requirement an employer with an approved labor condition application must inform the immigration authorities \that the employment relationship has been terminated so that the [H-1B] petition is cancelled, incorporating that same immigration regulation. See 20 C.F.R. § 655.731(c)(7)(ii).
After a trial in early June, we received the written decision last week, which found all of our claims to be true and awarded our client around $160,000 in back pay, with interest.
Here is the link to the published decision
The ALJ ruled in our favor because the employer had never perfected a bona fide termination of our client and therefore remained liable for all back pay under the Labor Certificate Application they had signed under oath.
Here are the relevant CFR's and case law on this point.
Huang v. Ultimo Software Solutions, Inc., ARB No. 09-044, 09-056, ALJ No. 2008-LCA-11, slip op. at 4 (March 31, 2011) (affirming the ALJ's finding that the employer \never effected a bona fide termination under 20 C.F.R. § 655.731(c)(7)(ii), as it must to be relieved of its obligation to pay [the beneficiary's] wages ); Amtel Group v. Yongmahapakorn (Rung), ARB No. 07-104, ALJ No. 04-LCA-006, slip op. at 2 & n. 4 (Jan. 29, 2008) [hereinafter Amtel II] (Order Denying Reconsideration); Gupta v. Jain Software Consulting, Inc., ARB No. 05-008, ALJ No. 2004-LCA-039, slip op. at 5 6 (Mar. 30, 2007); Amtel Group of Florida, Inc. v. Yongmahapakorn (Rung), ARB No. 04-087, ALJ No. 2004-LCA-006, slip op. at 9 12 (Sept. 29, 2006) [hereinafter Amtel I];see also 65 Fed. Reg. 80,171 (Dec. 20, 2000) (The Department agrees that an employer is no longer liable for payments for nonproductive status if there has been a bona fide termination of the employment relationship.
The Department would not likely consider it to be a bona fide termination for purposes of this provision unless INS has been notified that the employment relationship has been terminated pursuant to 8 CFR 241.2(h)(11)(i)(A) and the petition canceled, and the employee has been provided with payment for transportation home where required by section 214(E)(5)(A) of the INA and INS regulations at 8 CFR 214.2(h)(4)(iii)(E). (italics in original)).
But see, Administrator, Wage & Hour Division v. Ken Technologies, Inc., ARB No. 03-140, ALJ No. 2003-LCA-15, slip op. at 4 5 (Sept. 15, 2004) (indicating that failure to notify the immigration authorities is not conclusive on the issue whether the employee was terminated). The Board es more recent decisions such as Amtel I, slip op. at 11 12, can't be reconciled with the idea that a bona fide termination can occur without all three elements. Yet the Board hasn't explicitly receded from Ken Technologies. 31 8 C.F.R. § 214.2(h)(11).
A regulation of the Secretary of Labor repeats the requirement an employer with an approved labor condition application must inform the immigration authorities \that the employment relationship has been terminated so that the [H-1B] petition is cancelled, incorporating that same immigration regulation. See 20 C.F.R. § 655.731(c)(7)(ii).
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