Sunset Moonrise Run

This afternoon I worked on our bills and taxes far longer than I should have. It was a beautiful day, for the first time in a very long time. 40 degrees and sunny. Not the day to sit at the dining room table and sort through the bills.

At 4:00, I slipped on my running shoes and salvaged the tail end of the glorious weather. We had to be at my parents' house to celebrate my grandmother's 91st (!) birthday at 5:00, so Nathan suggested that I just run to my parents. A quick look a google revealed that it would be about a 5.5 mile run. And it was perfect. The sun was setting behind me. A clear full moon was rising in front of me. And I felt like I could run forever.

Disappointed.

I do not generally follow this blog, but a few months ago, I happened upon it at one point and read this post. And then this week I lived through nearly the same thing that Emily describes in that post.

There are some differences. Our client was at an earlier stage in the process. She was applying for an affirmative grant of asylum by appearing at an asylum interview. We were not in court, but rather in a cramped, nondescript interview room in the JFK Federal Building when the fabric of our case began to unravel. The asylum officer was kind but firm, and he was visibly disappointed when my client told her first lie.

Here's the thing. The US government has computers. They have databases. When you ask for a visa, they save the answers you give into those databases on those computers. We cannot read what is in those databases ahead of time, but the government will read them and check the answers you give at your asylum interview against the answers you gave back then. If you lied to get a visa, that's probably ok, but you'll have to explain that you lied and why you lied to get out of your country and save your own life. If you did not lie to get a visa, you certainly cannot start lying now.

We stared in disbelief as our client repeatedly denied the veracity of the facts that the asylum officer had printed out in front of him. And then, the next morning, as we regrouped and tried to figure out how to dig out of the credibility hole we were in, we used google searches to try to figure out what the government knew about her family. We found that it was surprisingly easy to find these answers, once we knew the questions. And yet, our client came at us with at least three different versions of the "truth."

We spent dozens of hours on the case this week, meeting with our client three additional times for more than two hours each time. We prepared an affidavit and an amendment to her asylum application and did our best to pin down her explanation of why she had lied about things that were completely immaterial to her asylum application. We listened to her as, through tears, she declared that if she is returned to her home country, she will never reach her house. She told us that she would prefer to be killed here, where at least her daughter would be able to bury her body.

And all week I lingered between heartbroken, angry, confused, incredulous, and exhausted. In the end, I think I have arrived at disappointed. I am disappointed that I did not explain about government databases ahead of time. I am disappointed that my client did not trust me enough to tell me the truth and ask what to do about it. I am disappointed that, in all likelihood, I will not be able to secure asylum for this client.

And it's not over. As Emily's subsequent posts here and here demonstrate, there will be more chapters in my representation of this client, even though the ultimate outcome is perhaps 90% certain. I'll fight like hell for the 10% chance that we can rehabilitate her credibility.

The worst part: there is a beautiful, shy seven-year-old girl who did not lie about anything. I will fight for her.