“Yes.”
“Would you be harmed if you are returned to your home country of last residence?”
“YES.”
“Did you understand my questions?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have any questions or is there anything you’d like to add?”
“No.”
My uncle was then asked to sign the statement. He was supposed to have initialed each page of the translated transcript, but instead he signed his name on all five pages. A CBP log shows he was then returned to the waiting area, where at 7:40 p.m. he was given some soda and chips.
At 10:03 p.m., my uncle Franck received a call at his home in Brooklyn. The male CBP officer who called him asked Uncle Franck whether Uncle Joseph had filed an application to become a U.S. resident in 1984. Uncle Franck said no.
Later, Department of Homeland Security files would show that a September 22, 1983, request had been made by Kings County Hospital, where my uncle had had his surgery and subsequent follow-up visits, to the United States Department of Justice, about my uncle’s immigration status. As a result of this, on February 14, 1984, an immigration “alien” file, number 27041999, a file he was never aware of, was opened for my uncle. The file was subsequently closed.
“He’s been coming to the United States for more than thirty years,” Uncle Franck remembers telling the CPB officer who called him. “If he wanted to stay, he would have stayed a long time ago.”
Uncle Franck then asked if he could speak to Uncle Joseph.
“They say they’re going to put me in prison,” Uncle Franck remembers Uncle Joseph saying. It was difficult to register emotion on the voice box, but Uncle Franck thought he sounded like he was caught up in something he had no way of understanding.
“It’s not true. They can’t put you in prison,” Uncle Franck recalls telling him. “You have a visa. You have papers. Did you tell them how long you’ve been coming here?”
Uncle Franck then asked Uncle Joseph to put the CBP officer on the phone again.
“He’s going to Krome,” the officer said.
“He can’t,” Uncle Franck said. “He’s eighty-one years old, an old man.”
Uncle Franck then asked if he could speak to my uncle one more time.
The CBP officer told him, “We already have a translator for him,” and hung up.
At 11:00 p.m., my uncle was given some chips and soda again. At 11:45 p.m., he signed a form saying his personal property was returned to him. The form lists as personal property only his one thousand and nine dollars and a silver-colored wristwatch. At 1:30 a.m., I received my phone call. At 4:20 a.m., my uncle and Maxo were transported to the airport’s satellite detention area, which was in another concourse. By then my uncle was so cold that he wrapped the woolen airplane blanket he was given tightly around him as he curled up in a fetal position on a cement bed until 7:15 a.m. At around 7:30 a.m., they left the detention area to board a white van to Krome. Maxo was handcuffed, but asked if my uncle could not be handcuffed because of his age. The officer agreed not to handcuff my uncle, but told Maxo to tell my uncle that if he tried to escape he would be shot.
There is a form called a Discretionary Authority Checklist for Alien Applicants, which is meant to assist examining Customs and Border Protection officers in deciding whether to detain or release a person like my uncle. On the checklist are questions such as: Does the alien pose a threat to the United States, have a criminal history or terrorist affiliations or ties? Is s/he likely to contribute to the illegal population or pose some other credible threat?
Noting the “nature” of my uncle’s inadmissibility, Officer Reyes cited a positive Central Index System search involving the 1984 immigration file.
In the remarks section beneath his check mark, he wrote, “Subject has an A#” or an alien registration number. In a more detailed memo, he would later write, “The Central Index System revealed that subject had an existing A (27041999) number which revealed negative results to him being a resident. The Central Index System did not contain any information on the subject except his name and date of birth and activity date of 02/14/1984.”
Still, I suspect that my uncle was treated according to a biased immigration policy dating back from the early 1980s when Haitians began arriving in Florida in large numbers by boat. In Florida, where Cuban refugees are, as long as they’re able to step foot on dry land, immediately processed and released to their families, Haitian asylum seekers are disproportionately detained, then deported. While Hondurans and Nicaraguans have continued to receive protected status for nearly ten years since Hurricane Mitch struck their homelands, Haitians were deported to the flood zones weeks after Tropical Storm Jeanne blanketed an entire city in water the way Hurricane Katrina did parts of New Orleans. Was my uncle going to jail because he was Haitian? This is a question he probably asked himself. This is a question I still ask myself. Was he going to jail because he was black? If he were white, Cuban, anything other than Haitian, would he have been going to Krome?
“Are age and health factors in this situation?” demands the Discretionary Authority Checklist for Alien Applicants.
In spite of my uncle’s eighty-one years and his being a survivor of throat cancer, which was obvious from his voice box and tracheotomy, when answering whether there were age and health factors to be taken into consideration, Officer Reyes checked No.
Is the applicant a well-known public figure?
No.
Congressional or media interest?
No.
Does the applicant have a legitimate reason for entering the U.S.?
No.
Is the applicant’s reason for entry based on an emergency? No.
Credible claim of official misinformation?
No.
Is there a relationship to a U.S. employer or resident?
Yes.
Intent to circumvent admissibility requirements?
No.
Misrepresentations made by applicant during inspection process?
No.
Would the applicant be admissible if s/he had a valid passport and/or visa? (My uncle had both.)
Yes.
Is there relief for the applicant through the parole or visa waiver process?
No.
Tomorrow
