Fuck ICE

I had to pick Marley up from the vet today- she’s been there for two nights since half her face swelled up with a dental abcess. By the time I handed over half my paycheck and dropped her at home, I got to the office pretty close to the start of client hours. On my way into the building, Dilo started to tell me about a new client who had stopped by earlier. “He has REALLY red hair” he said emphatically. I figured he meant a natural bright red like my childhood hair before it darkened with growing up and lack of sun. With that expectation, I was startled when a tall, pale young man with hair dyed intense orange appeared in the doorway. Folding his long self into the chair in the small space between my desk and a cabinet, he explained that he had come from Siberia with his boyfriend looking for a place they could be themselves as openly gay men. He told me about being bullied through the lower grades and how it intensified in college until he dropped out and considered suicide, about his dream of going to hairdressing school. I thought about how often I have heard that story from Americans, about school bullies eroding the self esteem of queer youth until it leads to suicidal thoughts or attempts, and how 6,000 miles apart, the hate endures. He and his partner arrived in California, and watched as the other new arrivals were paroled into the country with immigration appointments but because Russia is a “banned country” they were tossed in immigration detention, where they remained for 11 months. “I feel traumatized,” he said of his experience. At that, I pause, opening up a space. People who have been through these things often need to tell me the story with every excruciating detail. Sometimes it comes pouring out, like contents under pressure, vomiting out the toxins. Other times it's more halting, dredging up the memories and hauling them into the light to be witnessed, made really real. But that's not where he is in his process, so we let the moment pass and move on. He added that he wanted to talk to a journalist so that people would know what was going on inside the detention facilities. I always want to apologize when people tell me about being in immigration detention, as though I could apologize for this whole shamefully ignorant and inhumane country. I offered to connect him to journalist contacts, and assured him that some of us do know and have been protesting, gesturing to my shirt. which says “fuck ICE”. I asked him if he knew about RUSA, the LGBTQ Russian organization and he told me he is afraid of meeting other Russians, that it will take time for him to get used to the idea of accepting Russians. I told him he’s not alone in that response. I have heard the same thing from other migrant clients about their own countries. In the end, despite the horror of detention, he and his boyfriend were lucky- when they finally got before a judge, they were granted asylum unlike my clients who were not detained but have been waiting for years in limbo.and now in extreme fear. But asylum does not give you a place to stay, and although it gives you the legal right to work, it’s a long wait for the actual permit without which most employers won’t take the risk. At 24, he was just over the limit for the youth shelters, and understably terrified of the men’s shelter. There is one LGBTQ adult shelter but it’s not a same day thing since they require an interview. I sent an urgent request asking them to expedite the process, and got an appointment for the 20th, fast for them but long for someone with nowhere to go. I tried everything I could think of- Sylvia’s was full, other options were unavailable. In the end, he wound up going back to the couples’ shelter to wait, uncomfortably sharing a room with the boyfriend he had broken up with, almost free.