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The Border Patrol Agent stepped away from his computer for just a moment allowing me a quick glance at the thick stack of papers revealing the contents of the mystery envelope. It arrived the week before at my husband’s apartment in Canada. I opened it giddily, like a child at Christmas. The envelope arrived, along with my husband’s passport, in an Express Mailer with security taping and “Do Not Open” seals all around it. I opened the passport immediately searching for the visa. I had to touch it to make sure it was real. I ran my fingers over the paper and felt ridges of the print and security seals.

Now, in the customs office, the documents were separated so I could see them. It was a thick stack of my work, letters to consular officials, applications documenting our paper voyage through Citizenship and Immigration to the National Visa Center, from one consulate to the next for security checks, waiver applications, and congressional inquiries. Because of my work, I would finally get to live in the same country with my husband. I could go to work knowing that I would not have to fly to another country every time I got a few days off. I would no longer be compelled to troll online immigration forums and read and reread the Immigration and Nationality Act. I could stop drafting letters to Congressmen and I could stop stalking the Department of State inquiry line, whose number I had memorized.

Our case was a complicated one. My husband is a Pakistani born Canadian citizen. He and I were detained at the border while trying to enter together for a visit in January, 2005. The border agent took one look at the Pakistani visa in his passport and sent us to secondary inspection. We were questioned for more than nine hours before the officer decided to invoke an, “Expedited Removal.” The effect of this is much the same as deportation by an immigration judge, with a few differences. An expedited removal carries half the ban as a deportation by an immigration judge, five years instead of ten. There is no appeal and no court has jurisdiction over the decision. There is no right to an attorney and no time to argue your case. The decision has very little requirement for proof. All who appear at the United States border are assumed to be “intending immigrants,” and that is all it takes. M was deported without even being inside the United States.

I spent most of my first legal consultation crying. The attorney was thorough, but painted a picture I was not ready to handle. It was too much truth all at once. Over the course of researching and fighting our case, I went from the crying girl in the attorney’s office to someone able to quote immigration law from memory. Able to fight the consulate when in error, they demanded two different waivers when only one was legally necessary. I became someone who, after consulting six different prominent attorneys, was completely unable to hand the case over to anyone.

deadpoetnsp wrote:This flows much better and is a compact story and a quick read! I can't point to anything wrong with it.

Saltqjibo wrote:pretty good! at first I didn't understand which border you were at and who was getting half-deported

crysmissmichelle wrote:

deadpoetnsp wrote:This flows much better and is a compact story and a quick read! I can't point to anything wrong with it.

Thank you so much!

Does it seem easy to understand? I'm worried that I may leave out important explanations with the edits.

crysmissmichelle wrote:Does this seem to be too much change? It is at 517 words and it needs to be less than 500 for one of the schools. I took out the closing paragraph. . .it seemed really, really out of place.

The Border Patrol Agent stepped away from his computer for just a moment allowing me a quick glance at the thick stack of papers revealing the contents of the mystery envelope. It arrived the week before at my husband’s apartment in Canada. I opened it giddily, like a child at Christmas. The envelope arrived, along with my husband’s passport, in an Express Mailer with security taping and “Do Not Open” seals all around it. I opened the passport immediately searching for the visa. I had to touch it to make sure it was real. I ran my fingers over the paper and felt ridges of the print and security seals.

Now, in the customs office, the documents were separated so I could see them. It was a thick stack of my work, letters to consular officials, applications documenting our paper voyage through Citizenship and Immigration to the National Visa Center, from one consulate to the next for security checks, waiver applications, and congressional inquiries. I would finally get to live in the same country with my husband. Because of my work, my husband could finally live with me in the US. I could go to work knowing that I would not have to fly to another country every time I got a few days off. I would no longer be compelled to troll online immigration forums and read and reread the Immigration and Nationality Act. I could stop drafting letters to Congressmen and I could stop stalking the Department of State inquiry line, whose number I had memorized.

Our case was a complicated one. My husband is a Pakistani born Canadian citizen. He and I were detained at the border while trying to enter together for a visit in January, 2005. The border agent took one look at the Pakistani visa in his passport and sent us to secondary inspection. We were questioned for more than nine hours before the officer decided to invoke an, “Expedited Removal.” The effect of this is much the same as deportation by an immigration judge, with a few differences. An expedited removal carries half the ban as a deportation by an immigration judge, five years instead of ten. There is no appeal and no court has jurisdiction over the decision. There is no right to an attorney and no time to argue your case. The decision has very little requirement for proof. All who appear at the United States border are assumed to be “intending immigrants,” and that is all it takes. M was deported without even being inside the United States.

I spent most of my first legal consultation crying. The attorney was thorough, but painted a picture I was not ready to handle. It was too much truth all at once. Over the course of researching and fighting our case, I went from the crying girl in the attorney’s office to someone able to quote immigration law from memory. Able to fight the consulate when in error, they demanded two different waivers when only one was legally necessary. I became someone who, after consulting six different prominent attorneys, was completely unable to hand the case over to anyone.