A Journey Across Continents

It’s a bittersweet day for us. Our good friend and neighbor is returning to South America for the first time in eight years to visit his family.

When he left in 2001, it was in the dark of night, escaping from the Mafia who had threatened to kill him because he refused to participate in drug transport schemes. His story is fascinating, but it is his and I won’t recount it here other than to say that those of us in America have no idea how truly blessed we are that we usually do not have to worry about these types of threats.

The threat that he faces now, though, is from the US Government and its bureaucracy.

I’ve helped him fight through the Department of Homeland Security’s oppressive regulations to enable him to become a permanent resident here. That just happened a few months ago, after more than two years of red tape.

I learned that anyone who wants to do that type of work needs to do it full time. You cannot “dabble” in immigration, any more than you can in Social Security or tax law. You have to devote your mind and soul to knowing how to work the system and which button to push at which time.

I have a high tolerance for government forms; after all, I spent years writing a good number of them but I found myself numbed at the instruction sheets most of the time, much less attempting to compile the information. I don’t see how anyone who holds English as their second language could begin to muddle through.

The rules say that he can travel up to six months on his Permanent Citizen card without needing any other forms or permits. I’ve confirmed that with immigration attorneys who say that’s the rule, but sometimes the staff at the border decide to use a different standard. There’s no way to foresee whether there will be problems or not.

I know what a parent feels like when their child takes off, though. He is our friend, and has become a member of our family, joining us at birthdays, holidays and “just because” dinners for several years now. I feel very responsible, and hope that no border agent decides that he should be singled out for some reason. I have seen it happen when we’ve been returning to the US from abroad, and know how intimidating it can be, and it worries me.

But I can’t make the journey with him, nor do I know that I could do anything to help get through the system even if I were there. In the past, we’ve followed the rules, made appointments and then driven an hour to Charlotte only to be turned away because the appointment was cancelled just minutes before it was to occur.

No, there was no supervisor to talk with. We were not even allowed to enter the building, told we should try again another day.

Things have changed for him since he left his native country. His mother has died, other family members have aged, grown, married, and had children. There are easily as many toys for the babies in his luggage as clothes. He is, however, excited to see his family again. He suggests that it will provide closure, and that he will probably not make the journey again in his life.

I only hope that he is able to return to us, to rejoin our family of choice, and to continue his life here.