A NEW HAMPSHIRE YANKEE ON ICE
By Deborah Sherman de Santos
A small taste of a book in progress:
Chapter I - ICED
November 24, 2008 I was a normal wife and mother. Thanksgiving
was three days away. I’d started my day feeding the chickens and
goats on our small farm, did some shopping, spent time on the phone
coordinating schedules for the multi-family dinner planned for turkey
day and took my teenage son to his jujitsu class. November 26 found
me sitting in a police station looking into an abyss of international
politics stemming from the end of the Cold War and coordinating the
dissolution of the various pets and belongings that had been a man’s
life. My mind scrambled to keep up with everything I was being told,
everything that had happened and that I had just learned. I stood lost
in a jungle of government agencies and national egos. The task facing
me was to find navigable pathways back to safety for a close friend,
Audrius, and if I was to help him, for myself. Thanksgiving was a day
away and totally forgotten. I’d been ICED.
Well over a million people are ICED by our government every year in
the United States. They aren’t killed. That would be the old meaning
of the term. This is the updated, twenty-first century version where
average people are left functioning in our society while existing under
crushing mental torture, perhaps wishing they’d been killed instead.
ICE stands for Immigration and Customs Enforcement. It is part of DHS,
the Department of Homeland Security. They are responsible for handling
the detention and deportation of immigrants within this country. Please
note: I did not say “illegal” immigrants. By the summer
of 2009, it was reported that nearly 19,000 – more than half –
of the immigrants held in detention (prison) by ICE were guilty of no
crime. These detained immigrants who are not criminals have none of
the protections that are legally granted to murderers, rapists, drug
dealers and the like and so they can and are held indefinitely, some
for years, and under conditions that it is illegal to maintain criminals
in. The treatment of some while in custody is so damaging, if the same
were done to a dog, it would land the perpetrator in jail.
One of the first things that happens to a person who has
been ICED is they suddenly start to speak in acronyms: ICE, DHS, BIA,
. . . for those who are still walking around unaffected it begins to
sound like their friend’s speech has been taken over by some bizarre
babble. The acronyms give comfort. Like the inhabitants of a Harry Potter
book who refuse to speak the name of the ultimate evil, not speaking
the name of these agencies leaves a person with a shred of hope, allows
the illusion that their own government has not become the resident evil
in their life. Only corrupt governments attack and destroy the lives
of their own people and this is the United States. This doesn’t
happen here – and so those who have been ICED speak in acronyms
and hope that they will miraculously be spared.
According to a recent survey, one in five residents living
within the United States is a recent immigrant or closely related to
one. ICE looms over every one of their lives, an unfeeling predator
lying in wait to pounce at the first sign of vulnerability. Nearly 400,000
people were detained and deported by ICE in the last year. Many were
here legally, the majority have families and loved ones who are American
citizens or are living legally here in the United States holding down
vital jobs in the fields of health care, national defense, aerospace,
agriculture, engineering, computers and child care to name just a few.
Citizen parents are helpless to prevent their adult children, brought
here as refugees while still very young, from being deported to dangerous
countries those children do not know for absolutely no offense or a
minor offenses that even the last three men elected to our presidency
have committed. Citizen children watch in horror as their father or
mother is taken away in handcuffs ripped from them with no regard as
to those children’s future. Recently one boy in Boston on witnessing
his father, a legal resident and single parent, being taken away from
him, asked the agents where they were taking his daddy. An agent turned
to the 10 year old child and told him, “You are never going to
see your daddy again,” a cruel and unnecessary answer to a frightened
child that will ultimately travel forward and affect the lives of future
friends, co-workers and neighbors, courtesy of ICE. There’s a
whole lot of pretending going on.
Words come easily to me, they always have, but sitting
down to write out what has happened to me, my family and my friend,
Audrius Kazenas, since the United States government decided to dictate
to us who we could and could not love and associate with is incredibly
painful. It is nearly two years since Audrius was taken from our neighborhood
that fall day. He sits in a prison cell still. An immigration judge,
seeing the evidence, recognized the danger Audrius faced if deported
and granted him deferral of removal under the Convention Against Torture
(CAT), but the ICE prosecutor has filed an appeal with the Board of
Immigration Appeals (BIA). After using the fact that Audrius was under
oath to force him to state things that could increase his chances of
being killed she then did her very best to insure that he was deported
to that fate. The BIA remanded the case back to the immigration judge
wanting more proof, so we provided more, much more. Again the judge
found in Audrius’ favor and again the prosecutor reserved the
right to appeal. All this while, he sits in a prison cell. This form
of mental torture is literally painful, for Audrius and for us all.
To write this all out, to tell what has been done to our much loved
friend, to us . . . to me over the last year and a half is to relive
the tears, the pain, the terror and the hopelessness. My mind is reluctant
to cooperate. This experience is relegated to those things that one
would wish to forget.
It is my habit to take frightening and hard experiences
from my past and turn them into funny stories to tell at a party years
later. A story about my first trip away from New England on my own where
a wrong turn found me lost on a back road in the deepest part of West
Virginia’s Appalachia at 6am on a Sunday morning with a pregnant
horse, a van driver who had just had an epileptic fit and fallen unconscious
down a steep bank just short of a rushing river and a van with faulty
brakes makes for a hilarious story now, though it was frightening at
the time. The story I am writing here will never see such a humorous
retelling. Most people who survive what is being done to us do not speak
of it again . . . ever! This is not a tale of a mishap from which I
am rescued in the end by quirky characters that show up just when they
are needed. It has no reassuring tale of human compassion coming through
to save the day in amusing ways. This is the story of how a citizen
can become the random victim of a heartless act, not even directed at
anyone personally, just done because that person was there. It is the
story of the violation of a Yankee grandmother’s life by nameless
and faceless government agents using the power of laws our government
admits are unjust and unfair. I grew up in one of the oldest families
in the United States of America. My ancestors founded this country.
I thought I was safe from such things. Of course I should have known
better . . . when our most vulnerable are not safe from government abuse
and intrusion it is only a matter of time before none of us are safe.
There is nothing noble about protecting civil and human rights for all.
It is a matter of simple self preservation.
In the summer of 2008 my friend Audrius, a well known and friendly resident
of our small community in Northern New Hampshire, showed up at my door
asking if I would help a neighbor with a problem she was having. Her
husband had been seriously wounded in Iraq and she and her children
were struggling. He wanted to know if I would write something up for
her that would illuminate the problems she was having with the government
agency handling her husband’s affairs - something to help her
find a resolution. I had known Audrius, his wife and his young children
for a few years, our families had been good friends for a time. He was
and is a friendly and caring man, always looking out for his neighbors,
forever lending a hand when someone was hurting. He was also a veteran
of the war against Communism in Eastern Europe, had put his own life
on the line to help oust the Soviets from Lithuania – and keep
them out. I knew he considered all veterans who have fought against
the Communists and/or terrorists to be his brothers and had been friends
with this badly wounded veteran, so I agreed.
I had not seen Audrius much over the months prior. We
all liked him a great deal, but his wife was not a compatible fit with
my own family and friends. My husband would grumble when I mentioned
a dinner date at their house, my son flatly refused to go there if Audrius’
wife would be present. One couple that had included them in a group
dinner complained that they did not want her to return to their house
– Audrius and the children were welcome, but not her. When I asked
them why the woman of the house bluntly stated that the way she saw
Audrius’ wife treat him, she would no longer allow the woman in
her home; Audrius and the children were always welcome, but not his
wife. Our own observations and experiences mirrored this and so I made
excuses and cut down my visits until they dwindled into never.
I had heard recently that his wife’s new job with
the state prison was keeping her away from home all week and she was
only showing up on weekends. Audrius was left to care for his children,
his stepson and his wife’s dog breeding business by himself most
of the week. By then I knew that this man was not here legally, that
he owned nothing and had no ability to earn an income of his own. His
wife had confided in me early on and told me how she had found a way
to help him enter the United States through Canada. From that time forward
Audrius had had to depend on her. For eight and a half years he remodeled
and repaired their houses, entertained guests and cleaned the house
along with his main chores of childcare and tending to the dogs. He
was not the perfect house husband. Sometimes we would visit to find
him busily getting to work with his wife in a fury about how lazy he
had been, what a useless liar he was, how tired she was of having to
get after him. Audrius would say nothing and go about his work. It was
a difficult situation for all involved. Audrius was unable to operate
as a free man, his wife was the soul bread-winner – marriage is
an adventure at the best of times. This couple was forced to maintain
a relationship under the worst.
As I sat in the kitchen of Audrius’ wounded veteran
friend and listened to the man’s wife while going over her paperwork
I noticed that Audrius looked alarmingly thin and drawn. He had always
been lean, at a long-limbed 6’5” he needed a lot of food
just to maintain a normal weight. Audrius was always on the move, it
was seldom that he wasn’t found working at something. He seldom
took the time to eat enough and usually looked like he could stand to
gain a few pounds, but now he needed more than a few. As he drove me
back home he mentioned that he wanted to get in better physical shape.
I’d been having the same thoughts and saw an opportunity to get
some extra food into him, so I offered him the use of the gym in my
basement and myself as a training partner, figuring this would be a
good way to get him talking and find out what was going on. Audrius
proved to be an excellent training partner with intuitive timing. He
easily accepted instruction from me on weight lifting technique, something
I have found many men balk at despite the fact that I have years of
experience as a bodybuilder. He knew when our workouts needed more drive,
when to kick back a little and when it was time to knock off for the
day.
A cup of tea is the traditional offering to guests at
our house when we would like them to stay a while – to sit and
chat. I would tempt him with a cup along with some snacks after each
workout. If it was early enough and he didn’t have to hurry off
to pick up the children from school he would stay and talk and so that
summer began well, getting in shape and forging a deeper understanding
of a friend, but that was not destined to continue for long.
On a trip back from visiting my daughter in Houston, I
noticed some odd lights and flashes in my left eye. By the next morning
two thirds of that eye’s vision had gone black. I’m not
good with medical doctors, was raised in a family that contained five
of them and never developed the proper patient-to-doctor deference to
authority that many expect. Added to that was the problem that I have
proven to be allergic to a large number of drugs. An alarmingly large
number have landed me in the emergency room or have the opposite of
the desired effect. Sedatives tend to result in the need to peel me
off the ceiling. I had discovered this as a teenager in the 60s, a condition
that forced me to go through that entire era hanging out with friends
who were dropping out and turning on while being forced to remain totally
straight myself. While this did keep me out of trouble then, it continued
into adulthood and extended to prescription drugs, a fact that had caused
many frightening incidents. Now I was going to need a doctor, and for
the first time in over 50 years, surgery. Drugs would be unavoidable.
I saw an optometrist who insisted that I see a retinal
surgeon the next day. He explained that I had a macular hole and a detached
retina and that if I did not have surgery quickly I was in danger of
loosing my sight in that eye. Already I was becoming irritated with
the process and starting to consider the option of refusing treatment
and learning to live with only one good eye. My husband, Regan, did
not like the way this was going, but was getting nowhere convincing
me to change my mind. The rest of the family was equally unable to convince
me. The harder they pushed, the more determined I became. That night
Audrius called to see how the doctor’s appointment had gone. As
soon as he heard my voice he said, “I’m coming over,”
and hung up the phone before I could argue with him. He sat with me
for hours, listening to my concerns, validating my right to be concerned
and then he dropped the topic. He instead told stories, found ways to
irritate me till I started laughing and in that way subtly restored
my willingness and ability to endure the challenges that fixing my vision
would require.
The next few days were filled with doctor appointments
and driving long distances to Burlington, VT and finally to Boston where
I had surgery at Mass Eye and Ear under the capable hands of Dr Mukai.
The trips to and from totaled six hours and had to be made each day.
Audrius took over all the details that my husband and I could not give
our attention to. He did not wait to be asked, just did what was needed.
He went to our house daily, checked on our teenage son, Naji, and then
stayed till I arrived home. Some days I would call him on the trip north
and say Naji had things well under control and he didn’t have
to bother himself. He’d let me know he heard me and would be there
anyway when we returned. I did not want to burden him so much. He had
plenty of his own work and his own problems to handle and it worried
me that we were taking up so much of his time. But Audrius knew a teenage
boy sitting alone and worried about his mother needed company and so
he would be there each time I walked through the front door. He’d
ask how it went, Regan or I would tell him all was okay, he’d
look intently into my face as if reading what I wasn’t saying
and then, satisfied, would leave to tend to his own duties.
By this time he was known well by our whole family, a
regular feature at cookouts, barbecues and birthdays. A family activity
was not complete without Audrius, and frequently his children. His vast
knowledge of history, languages, literature (Audrius speaks, reads and
writes in 5 languages, English being his fifth, and can read and fully
retain the data in an average sized book in a day), martial arts, world
events, basic engineering combined with his experiences living on the
“other side” of the Cold War made him a fascinating addition
to our gatherings as well as a valuable person to have on hand whenever
help was needed. We had grown to rely on him, to consider him one of
us. He had become family, not by birth or marriage but by the simple
act of loving and being loved.
That was the Audrius Kazenas known to us, a man who had
by then been living in this country illegally for almost nine years.
He had come here without obtaining the proper documents because he loved
his wife and infant daughter and because the attempts to come legally
were proving to be costly and futile. His wife could not join him in
Lithuania. She had a child from a previous marriage and could not live
outside the United States with him. Audrius had tried every approach
he could think of to join her here, had even brought a professor of
law from Vilnius University in Lithuania to the American Embassy to
explain his case, only to be turned away unheard by an employee who
could not be bothered to take the time for a young man longing to be
with and care for the woman he loved. Through phone conversations he
had learned his wife, baby daughter and step son were about to loose
their apartment in the United States, that she was going to be homeless
if he did not come and he feared for their safety . . . and so, when
his wife sent him a plane ticket to Canada, he ignored the risks and
came, as any man would in such an impossible situation.
Our local police officers who were charged with the task
of arresting Audrius allowed me to sit with him while they prepared
the paperwork necessary to take him to prison. They went about their
business slowly, reluctantly. Our town is relatively quiet, our police
are our neighbors and friends. This was not the sort of job any of them
wanted to do, certainly not the day before Thanksgiving. As one fingerprinted
and photographed Audrius, the other quietly asked me if I knew how he
had come into this country. I told him what Audrius’ wife had
told me. I knew this officer was already aware of the conditions under
which Audrius had been living and what had gone on in that house recently.
His personal thoughts that he expressed to me mirrored my own, but there
was nothing he could do. It was not in his jurisdiction to investigate
further. While our officers waited for the okay to take him to prison
Audrius gave me the keys to his house and told me which animals he wanted
me to please take care of as his wife could not care for all the dogs
or any of the chickens while staying in the southern part of the state
for work. He knew she would want to take her breeding dogs and the two
puppies left from the last litter, but she was already well over the
legal limit for dogs and she couldn’t possibly handle the two
females that were too old to breed and one fixed male, so he asked that
I take them and find good homes for them. He took his and his wife’s
wedding rings that hung from a chain around his neck and asked me to
please keep them safe for him. He reassured the officers that this was
probably for the best - that he was relieved to be freed of the burden
he had been carrying for so long. None of us knew then what was waiting
for him. We did not know what it was to be ICED.
When the order to take him away came through I hugged
him and stood back as the officer who had done the fingerprinting put
handcuffs on him. He lifted them and looked at them calmly, as if to
demonstrate that he was okay and we should not worry and then he was
gone. For a moment I could not move from the doorframe that was by then
holding me up. I heard the officer who had asked how Audrius had come
here telling someone on the phone that there was more to this story
than they knew. When he walked out of the office I asked him who he
had been talking to. He said, “Immigration. I told them they needed
to investigate his wife.” I do not remember if he told me at that
time that immigration had assured him that they would do that and get
back to him or if that was later. I know it was said, but by that point
I was in shock. I knew one thing that Audrius had told the officers
was not true, everything was not okay. That lie was for our officer’s,
to make the process of taking him away easier for them. By then I knew
better, I knew Audrius had been imprisoned and tortured in Lithuania
in the past and that there were reasons that his leaving the way he
had had placed him in danger of being tortured and killed if he returned.
I knew his very life might depend on what I was able to do to help him.
I have never felt so incredibly powerless and lost in my life as I did
at that moment.
Audrius knew this might be coming. He had had me drive
him to an immigration lawyer the day before who had carefully explained
what was needed if Audrius was to be able to stay. The lawyer had stressed
that more than anything else, Audrius needed time, it was vital that
he not be detained any time soon so that he could obtain the documents
he needed from Lithuania to prove the severity of his situation. I knew
my friend was in very serious danger. Audrius tried to prepare me, but
he could not prepare me for this. Taking him to the police station,
watching a kind and caring friend taken away in handcuffs, his life
so undeservedly interrupted, had a far deeper impact than I’d
expected. The circumstances were heartbreaking, the timing cruel. As
I sat with him in the station that day I renewed the promise I’d
originated to him when I’d first found out how serious his situation
was. I repeated that I would stand by him and do everything in my power
to help no matter where his journey might take him – even if that
meant he was to be deported to his country of origin where others who
were intimately involved with that tumultuous time as the Cold War wound
down were now dying at an alarming rate in rather unusual ways.
A month earlier Audrius had learned of another death in
that group of men. His “boss” as he called him was dead,
leaving behind a wife and children. Audrius helped us move a church
organ from another friend’s home to mine that day, but he was
impatient, not his usual cheerful self. He’d mentioned the man’s
death and that this man had been a mentor to him, then said no more
about it – unusual for a man who normally was quick to share his
feelings on any subject. The original owner of the organ asked if I
would take care of Audrius that evening. His wife was out of town as
usual, his children would be in bed early and he would be alone with
his thoughts. None of us felt he deserved to be left by himself to deal
with something that was obviously hurting him deeply and so I agreed.
After the organ had been safely settled in our front room and Audrius
had left, I made my apologies to my son’s Japanese teacher who
was busy beginning his lesson, bolted out the door and headed back down
the hill to Audrius’ house. This was not something to do over
the phone, I wasn’t about to give him a chance to beg off. I caught
him just as he was heading out to pick up his children from school.
“Hey, you going to be around tonight?” I asked him, followed
with, “Good, I’m coming over,” when he said he would,
then left quickly before he could protest.
That evening I dropped my son at his jujitsu class and
headed to Audrius’. His children were just getting ready for bed
and he was kissing them goodnight and gently shooing them upstairs as
first one, then the other would come into the kitchen with a classic
bed avoidance request. He told me he’d like to give his boss a
proper send off and asked if I could pick up some Scotch at the local
state liquor store. “Sure, if they’re still open. Gotta
take Naji back home anyway. I’ll be back in a little bit,”
I said and headed out. The liquor store was already closed, so I picked
up a six-pack of pre-mixed drinks at a local grocery, then drove to
the dojo. Naji wanted to come with me. He loved listening to Audrius’
stories and I normally would bring him along, but this time I told him
he needed to go home. Audrius took his responsibility to set a good
example in front of children seriously. He’d be on his best behavior
in front of Naji. That night, I figured he needed to be able to relax
and say what was on his mind without having to self-censor.
When I arrived back with the drinks, the door was held
open for me to enter by a giant of a man in a Lithuanian military uniform.
His hat was rolled up and snapped into the front of his uniform. A gun
sat holstered on his hip. This was not the Audrius I knew and so casually
kidded. This man was taller, stronger, far more serious. You did not
joke around with this man. He had the look of someone who has seen too
much, has perhaps survived too much; the look of a weary, but proud
soldier.
He showed me to the kitchen table, took out two glasses
and placed one in front of me, then poured us both a drink. I cautioned
him not to fill my glass. “You know I’m not much of a drinker.
Besides, I’ve got to drive home,” I told him. Normally I’d
have refused a drink completely, but tonight he needed someone drinking
with him and I was elected. I did a quick calculation in my head of
how much I could drink to be a supportive friend while still being safe
to drive. The trip back to my house consisted of miles of back road,
empty by that time of night except for the occasional deer or moose,
but I’ve always been prudish when it comes to drinking and driving.
I love my friends, but that’s one rule I will not break for any
of them.
Audrius removed his gun from its holster. “Tonight
there’ll be no shooting and much drinking,” he said as he
removed a bullet from the clip and put it down on the table. Another
bullet clattered onto the table in front of me. I picked both of them
up and handed them to him, unsure as to what he meant to do with them.
“Thank you,” he said as he popped the one that had fallen
back into the clip and returned the gun to its holster. He took the
other bullet and stood it up on the table between us. “This one
stays here,” was all he said as an explanation.
I had known Audrius the family man, the neighbor and friend
for a few years. That night I sat and drank with Audrius the soldier,
a man I had never met. I found I liked that Audrius best of all. He
had always felt safe, a warm and secure man that you could trust. He
felt the same that night, but there was something else. He was a man
who had willingly risked his life to help drive back the spread of Communism;
a man who had faced the worst that humans can do to one another and
who still found it within his heart to love those who had sent him into
the hell of war. I sat and drank and listened while he told stories
of his boss, of the country he once knew, of war and why men do what
they do. This was a peek into a world that few American women ever see.
I felt honored, but also concerned for my friend.
One topic came up over and over that night as Audrius
spoke. He was troubled. He did not know how this man had died. He told
me that many in his detachment were gone. Audrius was one of the older
men from that group and he was only 39. These men were dying from causes
like drowning while fishing, not that difficult to believe, but why
would a man go fishing in a three piece suit? Why were they committing
suicide by hanging when they had a fully loaded sidearm with them? Why
were so many who stayed in Lithuania dead?
Audrius said his boss had started to talk of some of the
things he knew. Now he too was dead and Audrius had been unable to find
out the cause. He had scoured the internet searching, but there was
nothing. “Deb,” he told me over and over, “there were
articles about some stupid gang members who did a shooting last year,
but not a word about him He was a great man, but for all he did there’s
nothing anywhere about him. It’s like he never lived.” I’d
never seen Audrius hurting like this. A few times he stopped and looked
across his kitchen. I sat and watched, listened as he told his stories
and learned just a little of what it was to have lived under Soviet
oppression. That night Audrius let me into the world he had so graciously
protected us all from for so long. That night formed a friendship between
us that would find me at his side when the hand of ICE reached into
our town to take him from us.
Now, sitting in the police station I was under no illusion
about the promise I’d made. If I joined him in his attempt to
be free again, there was a chance that we would fail. This could be
his last battle. Our failure could spell the end for him and continued
life for me knowing my own failure had ended with a good man’s
death.
I had no idea when I made that promise where it would
lead, but I believed in our system of justice. I knew Audrius’
story, knew his life and his family and I knew the sort of man and situation
I was dealing with. I knew how much support he had within our community.
He was guilty of no crime in all his years living here. I felt that
somehow this had to be sorted out and our world set to right again.
This is America. Some things just are not done here. November 26, 2008
was the beginning of the end of this privileged American woman’s
belief in a world where right always triumphs, honor prevails, and good
men walk free in the end. It was the day I walked through the doors
leading to reality and heard them slam and lock behind me.
As soon as Audrius was taken, well, more accurately after
the shock wore off, I went to work trying to find some way to free him.
My concern at the time was not the United States. My concern was Lithuania.
He was a former Soviet military officer; all young men in Eastern Europe
were required to serve in the Soviet military at the time. He had seen
a great deal during that time, had learned even more, which he later
used during the hard battles to oust the Soviets from Eastern Europe
that brought about an end to the Cold War. I knew that the men who were
in his detachment at one point during the many skirmishes that occurred
after the Soviets had been driven out had an alarmingly short life expectancy.
Lithuania had Audrius listed as “wanted” but they would
not say what he was wanted for. His father had tried to find out and
had been told that it would be best for Audrius if he never returned.
Audrius’ father was an active, well-known dissident and Audrius
himself knew a great deal about the inner workings of that country.
This was a potentially dangerous situation for him. His loss of family
and friends was only part of his worries. This could end in the loss
of his life. There was no way to know Lithuania’s plans, but their
actions to that date did not engender confidence in their good intentions.
The mood amongst Audrius’ friends was somber, Thanksgiving
was ruined. Soon after we began to discuss what had happened. Many who
knew Audrius feared he was lost and were already mourning him to some
degree. They counseled me to caution. “You can’t stand in
the path of a hurricane, Deb,” one good friend told me. “There’s
nothing any man can do against the government,” was another’s
comment. Some expressed fears for my own safety. “You can’t
challenge the government. Whatever you do, don’t let them know
you knew he was here illegally. They will take you too,” I was
told, “He’s already lost. We don’t want to loose you.”
I was amazed at the amount of fear the people of my community felt at
the mention of immigration authorities. This was a community where most
people trace their roots back to before the Revolution, where immigrants
are rare and yet ICE frightened them.
None of these people had even known that Audrius did not
have the proper documentation. They assumed, as I had till his wife
told me otherwise, that since Audrius was married to a naturalized citizen,
he would automatically be legal here. Those who had spent some time
around him and his wife would frequently speculate about why he stayed
with her, a few had figured there had to be something that was holding
him and would then attribute it all to a cultural quirk. It never occurred
to them that an American citizen would not be able to have their spouse
join them here or that this couple was living with an impossible set
of circumstances. Like most Americans, we knew nothing of difficult
and/or lazy American embassy personnel in other countries or of the
decades-long backlogs for visas to have foreign born family join an
American citizen in this country. When he was taken away by ICE suddenly
what had been puzzling his friends and neighbors made sense. There are
some bonds that are stronger than steel. For Audrius, the love of his
children was one of those. Deportation held many threats for him, but
the worst of those was never seeing his children again. That is why
he had stayed. It held Audrius as effectively as chains.
I responded to friend’s concerns by telling them,
“I come from some of the oldest families in this country. ICE
can’t take me. Besides, if they did, where would they deport me
to?” This last I would add in an attempt to lighten the mood and
convince myself that I did have this under control. I did not know then
that ICE has been known to take and hold American citizens in the indefinite
limbo of immigration detention, has even illegally deported them at
times. I was naïve in the dangers and power of that agency and
surprised at the level of fear of government among our friends. Rather
than fear for my own safety, I was instead angry that some had already
written Audrius off as a dead man.
The day after Thanksgiving my older son and his fiancée
visited our home for dinner. As we sat down to eat the phone rang and
I jumped to answer it. Audrius had called me from the prison that first
night and I had not been at home. He’d been unable to reach me
since and I hoped it was him. The voice on the line was that of a woman.
She introduced herself as the breeder of the two female dogs Audrius
had asked me to take care of. The woman said she had been told that
I now had those dogs and she wanted to check to see that they were all
right. I assured her that they were fine and in good hands, that they
were retired from breeding and gave her a quick resume of my experience
training horses and dogs as well as animal rescue work over the years
so that she would not worry.
Once she was certain the dogs were safe she wanted to
know the details of what had happened. She explained that she had known
Audrius for some time, that she had great respect for his ability with
animals and that when a puppy she had placed up in our area was lost
in a storm Audrius had taken one of the German Shepherds, Karo, driven
through the storm to pick her up and then the two of them had driven
back up north to search for that puppy. She described to me how Audrius
and Karo had continued searching for hours in the driving rain and wind,
refusing to give up. Audrius himself had never mentioned this. There
would be more “Audrius stories” coming my way over the weeks
that followed – none of them stories that I had ever heard from
him. The help he had so freely provided my family in our time of need
was not an isolated incident. Apparently he did not consider his actions
to be extraordinary or worth noting. He was just being Audrius.
I have learned much since that day. Audrius sits in prison
doing hard time for not having proper documentation. Because he is an
immigrant and has committed no crime, he is being held on civil detention,
which means he can be kept in prison indefinitely and has been for nearly
two years at this writing. He is considered guilty of any claim made
against him until he can prove otherwise - a neat trick to do while
kept behind bars. When he was picked up he had no right to a lawyer.
We had to find and pay for one or he would have to go without as it
is has been the continued opinion of the Supreme Court that immigration
detention is not punishment or deprivation of liberty and therefore
detainees have no right to legal council - justice reduced to definitions
and technicalities - something I had thought up to that point was solely
the practice of hardened criminals and their attorneys.
Audrius has no right to a fair and public trial. If he
had stolen property, sold drugs or assaulted another human being he
would have all of those rights and more, but he has done none of that
while here on United States soil. He is an immigrant, but not a criminal,
and so he has no rights in our land. This country can do with him as
it pleases – and since Audrius was taken from us ICE has made
it amply clear that it intends to do exactly that. The rules and regulations
regarding correct conduct in the treatment of criminals that law enforcement
so loves to protest as excessive, the codes of conduct they claim are
not necessary because they would never disrespect them anyway . . .
all those things ICE is violating with abandon. The classic book, “The
Lord of the Flies”, proposes to portray what children would be
capable of if all civilizing checks and balances were removed. The daily
actions I have witnessed on the part of ICE stand as graphic testament
to what adults are capable of under the same circumstances.
I now spend eight to fourteen hours a day digging through
the system, trying to be heard, trying desperately to find a way to
save my friend. A problem has arisen that I did not foresee when I first
made Audrius that promise. He is a man with a huge heart. It is why
he is so loved by all his friends and neighbors here in Northern New
Hampshire. He can not witness any form of suffering without doing everything
within his power to alleviate it. He is now in a prison unit with many,
many men who are dealing with all levels of problems, and so he feels
compelled to help. But Audrius is a prisoner himself. His ability to
act is limited. He comforts them, he encourages them – and then
he brings them to me.
When he was first taken away his total focus was on getting
out of prison - through bail, through a positive finding, through any
method that could be found so that he could rejoin his two small girls.
I was upset by what I was learning about the actions of ICE, furious
as I learned more of how he had come to the United States, what his
life had been like while here and what the future might hold for him.
He counseled caution, to not act too boldly lest it anger ICE officials.
They were already treating him badly; he did not want to be treated
worse. He just wanted to rejoin his children, to be a daddy to his daughters
again. Then one day, when I stepped into the visiting room and picked
up the receiver while looking through the glass that separated us I
saw concern and worry in his eyes. He suddenly seemed heavier, sadder,
but his first words were firm, more so than they had been since he’d
been taken. “Deb, do whatever you have to do, don’t hold
back. It’s not about me anymore.”
I asked what caused this sudden change of heart. Did he
realize that if I started speaking out on what was going on within the
deportation system that it might increase the chances he would be deported?
ICE had a reputation for coming down extra hard on anyone who stood
up to them. What had happened? He told me an immigration detainee had
been beaten the day before over a piece of cake. The man had been taken
to the hospital and might loose the sight in one eye. “This isn’t
right, Deb,” he said, “We’ve got to do something.
No one should be treated this way.”
I have no problem arguing with Audrius. We would heatedly
debate each other for hours over politics, philosophy, literature, just
about anything that came up. It was the glue that held the friendship
between a Yankee grandmother and a former Lithuanian military officer
together, but how could I argue this? I was well aware of the conditions
within that prison. When Audrius was first moved down to Plymouth County
Correctional Facility in Massachusetts he had weighed 185 pounds, rather
light for his 6’5” frame, but he was a strong and powerfully
built man. When I finally saw him three weeks later, before I was able
to set up an account for him with the prison commissary so he could
buy extra food and other necessities, he had lost a great deal of weight.
He was thin and frail looking, bore the appearance of a man who had
found himself on the wrong side of a concentration camp. “The
food sucks,” he had said on that first visit.
“But Audrius, you’ve got to eat it,”
I told him, trying to hide my shock at seeing the change in his appearance.
I was surprised that a man who would take second and third helpings
of whatever food I put in front of him at my house had suddenly turned
into a picky eater. I’ve always been slightly domestically challenged.
My cooking is decidedly average on a good day, but Audrius always devoured
it and complimented me with a request for more.
“I do, I eat everything they give me,” he
said, “but they don’t give me enough. There aren’t
enough calories.” I scrambled that day to get money properly credited
to his commissary account so he could get enough to eat. Not all of
the people held in prison have someone to do the same, and at that time,
Plymouth County was keeping the criminals and the immigrants mingled
together. Many immigrants became easy targets for hungry criminals,
and so a man had been beaten severely and been sent to the hospital,
over food.
Audrius had seen enough. He could not stand by and take
care of himself while so many about him were suffering too. He did what
he has always done as long as I’ve known him - he shared what
he had with the others and what he had was his friendship with me. He
did not once pause to wonder if I would be up to the task or willing
to do it. He assumed that I would. Many times I have felt overwhelmed
by the enormity of what I have witnessed and have protested that I might
not be equal to the job. “Deb,” he always says, “I
would not ask you to do anything you are not capable of.” His
voice is so steady, his expectations so sure, I find the strength to
continue. I could not bear the thought of disappointing this man. Audrius
must have been an incredible officer, And so my life has become immigration
and all the complexities, the injustices, the tears and losses that
are life made irrelevant within the iron grip of ICE.
I still believe this fight can be won, that somewhere
there is a hero out there who can restore our belief in justice in a
world turned upside down. Audrius was one of our town’s heroes,
always there to save the day when someone was hurting or needed help.
Now he needs help. There have to be other people of courage, compassion
and conviction who can bring him back home to us and help free the countless
unfortunate immigrants he has brought my way since that cold November
day. I search endlessly. I will not give up. I know people with the
strength and integrity of a hero with the position and power to help
are out there. Audrius is not the only one and I intend to find as many
as are needed. I’ve found a few, but this is a big task, and as
anti-immigrant sentiment builds in this country the need grows ever
greater.
I pray that this story will have a happy ending and prepare
in case my friend is unsuccessful in his bid to stay in this country
with his family. I dread the possibility that he may be deported back
to what, for him, is a dangerous place. I know that for Audrius there
are fates worse than death. What he is enduring now, being locked in
a cell for months and years with no visible end is one of those.
For a man who seldom sits down, whose greatest joy is
fixing what plagues others, whether that be a piece of furniture that
needs leveling, machinery that does not work or a friend’s problems,
to sit idly in a cell is pure torture. As I write these words I can
not know what will happen to him. He is wise in the ways of the world,
but even he has been caught off guard by the heartlessness of the system
he has found himself in. He has seen war. He has experienced the collapse
of governments and the lengths to which some countries will go to maintain
control of what they perceive to be theirs, but even Audrius was unprepared
for what has been done to him here. ICE is not what he expected to find
in the United States of America. Their actions are similar to agencies
he has seen before, but not in this country.
For me they are unlike any I have ever encountered as
an American citizen. None of the people who have been a part of this
story to date had any idea that there existed within our borders an
agency that would, that could, conduct itself in such a manner –
an agency that apparently answers to no one – that cares not one
bit what it does to an individual, a family, a neighborhood or a whole
town.
This is the story of my experience trying to help Audrius
and others survive being targeted by ICE. It is a very personal quest
for me, for my ancestors were immigrants. Deacon John Dunham came here
in 1632 to help build Plymouth Colony. My middle name of Sherman honors
Louisa Sherman (whose Bible I possess), one of the early builders of
Taunton, MA and Roger Sherman, one of the five to write the Declaration
of Independence and the only man to have signed all four great state
papers, including the Constitution. The Dartmouth/Cambridge Pooles of
my mother’s side had their hands in building much of what is today’s
Massachusetts and even the de Santos family of my paternal grandfather
came here in the 1800s. My roots within the United States of America
run deep. With my heritage you would think I would not know ICE as intimately
as I do, but for me ICE is now my life, my unwelcome, dictating spouse,
ever at my side expertly crushing all hope, denying my escape back to
a peaceful existence, violating my faith in the innate decency of man.
If this can happen to me, it can happen to any citizen.
One need only have a spouse, a close friend or perhaps an in-law who
develops problems with immigration. ICE does not discriminate. They
do not separate friend from foe, legal from illegal, citizen from immigrant.
They have no concern for the welfare of children and families destroyed
by their actions. They deport hundreds of United States Veterans of
foreign war every year along with the wives, children and family members
of our citizen servicemen who are serving or have served overseas. They
deport even the wives and children of our soldiers who have laid down
their lives in the service of this country. They have wrongfully detained
and sometimes illegally deported multiple United States Citizens every
year.
President Obama had increased the reach and activities
of ICE along with their budget. His first year in office has seen more
and more immigration units being opened up within the private prisons
in our country. This American nightmare has become an American horror
story for millions of innocent human beings. I am one of those. If you
believe in always standing by family and friends and in the responsibility
of US citizens to uphold the values of “Liberty and Justice for
all” then my story can become your story, but before I tell that
story, let me introduce you to some of the people I have met along the
way as well as some ICE “detainees” who are currently kept
in prison for months, sometimes years for no crime. Be forewarned. They
are not who you have been told they are.
