Heartbreak

Several days ago I had the most exciting and fulfilling experience. The ARDC, my favorite volunteer site, is assisting many of the refugees that are registering for the green card lottery to the US. The United States issues about 50,000 "diversity visas" a year for citizens of countries who are underrepresented in immigration rates. It is not a terribly difficult process, but the requirements are very specific, so the volunteer staff at the ARDC have several days during this month where refugees can come in and apply, with our assistance.

We registered only a couple dozen applicants the first 2 days. Word began to spread and when I showed up for my regular shift on Sunday, I couldn't even get in the door of our building. Hundreds of people were crowded in the street, the alley of our building, the stairwell and our office. Because we assigned everyone a number, I can say with confidence that there were over 400 people at the ARDC seeking our help. As can be expected, it was a balagan! We were unorganized, understaffed and completely unprepared for such a large crowd. There was plenty of yelling, directing into lines, number assignments, threats to call the police or close down registration and, (it's worth saying twice) yelling. It was utter chaos- but there's nothing I love more than organizing chaos. It wasn't pretty, but we registered over 300 people for the lottery in about 7 hours. The remaining 100 with numbers already assigned, and the 100+ that has come in without numbers, were told to come back on Wednesday, when we would be back, and with a better plan. Although I usually only volunteer 4 hours a week with them, I agreed to come in on Wednesday and help out again.

I went home exhilarated after a 14 hour day. I like being busy, feeling useful and doing things that really do matter. I thought about all of the people I sat with that day. Many of them made a difficult choice to apply without their family, essentially denying their existence. To complete your applicant, you must submit a passport photo of all of the dependents (spouse and children) you're claiming. Since many refugees left their home country without their families, they do not have access to these photos. One loophole is to claim no dependents. By registering without them, they forfeit the opportunity to claim them if they were to win the lottery and receive a green card. I was shocked by how easily they made such a concrete and final decision. After considering it further I realized that, for many of them, denying their family on paper was the only way they could pursue the possibility of a better life for them in reality.

I went to the ARDC today, excited and ready for another full day of work. I was surprised to find things outside a bit calmer than they were on Sunday and was even more happy to find the stairwell and office almost empty. It seemed that they had created and implemented a better system than the one we were using. After sitting down at the front desk, I was informed that we had stopped registration for the day, a mere 30 minutes in. Many of the volunteers upstairs in the office were upset because our manager, who had not been there on Sunday to assist us in any way, walked in today and decided it was too chaotic and canceled registration. The police had been called and we were waiting for the street to be cleared before we could leave. I was under the impression that it had been an empty threat, similar to the ones we issued on Sunday, but the more time we sat in the office, the more clear it became that this was very much the reality of the situation.

I was angry with our manager for coming in and deciding it was too much, when it seemed much more organized than the previous session and, especially, because he had been of no assistance to us, even when we called and asked for his help. I sat for quite some time, hoping that someone would come up the stairs and tell us that all was resolved and we were going to resume registration. No one came and eventually I was kindly told to go home. I walked downstairs, considering whether or not I should express my disappointment in the manager. I opened the building door and saw several police officers yelling instructions to the crowd of refugees, explaining that there was no registration, the office was closed and that they needed to leave immediately. I had to wait for the crowd to clear, and as I stood in the alley, I watched as several hundred people processed the news that their chance to go to America, which was already microscopic, has vanished completely. Several people I had personally told on Sunday to come back today tried to get my attention, searching for recognition in my face. I realized that we had unintentionally chosen their fate on Sunday. Perhaps not as dramatic as life and death, but in a sense, between a possible livelihood and a dead end.

Tears began to sting in my eyes and I tried to stop them from rolling down my cheeks, knowing it wouldn't help the situation at all. As the volunteers began to emerge from the crowd (having tried to do their best to peacefully sending the refugees on their way), I saw them same emotions reflected in their eyes. The landlord of our building approached our manager and began yelling at him, making it very clear that a crowd like this was never to be outside the building, implying eviction if there was ever a similar situation. The manager turned to me for a moment, and to my surprise I saw the same emotions, the same devastation, and the same sense of helplessness in his face. I realized that he had been painted as the villain, responsible for yanking away my newfound sense of purpose and passion, but he too, so much more than me, had been disempowered by someone above him. I shared an empathetic half smile with him, walked through the crowd of people with my head hung low, and allowed the tears to fall freely as I biked away.