Must Asylum Lawyers Advise Our Clients to Enter the US “Illegally” Through Mexico?

by Jason Dzubow

Delays in the U.S. affirmative asylum system have just about reached a breaking point. In our office, the longest-waiting applicant recently passed the three-year anniversary of his asylum interview, with no decision in sight. And of course, it’s not just post-interview delays (usually due to security background checks) that are the problem. Anyone interested in asylum knows about the long wait times–anywhere from two to five years–before an applicant even receives her interview.

"At least we're all together."
“At least we’re all together.”

Perhaps these wait times are tolerable for a single person or a family that is together here in the U.S. After all, such applicants (eventually) receive a work permit, which allows them to work, attend school, obtain a driver’s license, and live a relatively normal life (though it is a life overshadowed by the uncertainty and stress of not knowing whether they can remain here).

But what about an asylum seeker who is here, but separated from his spouse and children? Can a person wait for three, four, five years or more to reunite with family members? Will a young child even know her parent, if the only contact she’s had with the parent over the last several years has been via Skype? And won’t such long delays make the process of integration that much more difficult for family members who are “following to join” the principal asylum applicant?

For all these reasons, I believe USCIS should be prioritizing cases of applicants who are separated from their families. Unfortunately, USCIS does prioritize such cases.

There is a possible alternative to waiting for years separated from family: Arrive at a port of entry without a visa and ask for asylum. There are different ways to arrange such an arrival. It can be done legally or illegally. It can be very dangerous or relatively safe. My question here is, what obligation do attorneys have to advise our clients about the different options?

First, though, I want to briefly discuss the various options, starting from the worst and working up to the best (or, more accurately, the least bad).

The most illegal, and most dangerous way to come to the U.S. is by hiring a smuggler and paying him to bring you to the United States. There are all sorts of smugglers, and all sorts of smuggling routes. Some routes are relatively direct; others are circuitous. People die along these smuggling routes. Many others are robbed or raped. The majority seem to get detained in various countries for various periods of time. Some get stranded for months or years. And some are lucky and arrive with few difficulties. The cost of such trips varies widely. I have heard about people paying anywhere from $10,000 to $80,000; South Asian and Chinese migrants tend to pay more than Africans. This route almost always brings the alien to the Southern border, where she can try to enter the U.S. illegally (this has become increasingly difficult and dangerous) or where she can present herself to a U.S. Customs Officer and ask for asylum (this seems to be the more popular path these days).

Another illegal way to come here is to travel by air using a fake visa and/or passport, or the passport and visa of another person. Such documents can be difficult and expensive to obtain for an individual. For a family, the cost and trouble of getting fake documents is probably much greater. Once the alien arrives at the airport, he can present the documents and try to enter the U.S. or he can ask the Customs Officer for asylum.

A final option is to travel legally to Mexico, travel legally to the U.S. border, and inform the Customs Officer that you wish to apply for asylum.

In each case, assuming that she does not manage to pass inspection and enter the United States, the asylum seeker will be detained–maybe for a few hours and maybe for many months. Many asylum seekers who make it that far are ultimately denied asylum and deported (and some remain detained during the entire Immigration Court process).

Given all these risks, it’s clear that the best alternative is to come to the United States with a visa and then seek asylum after you enter the country. The problem, of course, is that it is very difficult to obtain a U.S. visa, especially for nationals of countries that tend to send asylum seekers to the United States, and especially especially for such nationals who want to come here with their spouse and children.

As lawyers, though, we have an ethical obligation to inform our clients of the options and to let them make their own decision. So when a father comes to my office and I explain the delays in the asylum system, and I tell him that he probably won’t see his children again for two, three or more years, and then he asks whether there is any way to bring his children here sooner, what am I to say? I suppose I can tell him about the process to expedite cases, but that process barely works and, at best, it is very unpredictable. I can also advise him to try to get visas for his family members, but we both know that this probably won’t work (and it’s also ethically questionable, since I would be advising the family members to come here on a non-immigrant visa when I know they plan to remain here permanently). But what about the “Mexico option”? Do I have an obligation to suggest that his family members apply for Mexican visas, which may be easier to get than U.S. visas, and then come to the Southern border for asylum?

The more I have considered this path, the more I think I am obligated to tell my clients about it. For one thing, it is entirely legal (yes, the title of this article says that it is “illegal,” but let’s call that a literary flourish to make the subject of the article more clear). If they arrive legally in Mexico, they can travel to the U.S. border and–even though they do not have permission to enter the United States–they can request asylum at the border. Despite misperceptions to the contrary, requesting asylum at border is legal. See INA § 208(a)(1).

Under U.S. law, the “circumvention of orderly refugee procedures” generally does not block a person from obtaining asylum. See Matter of Pula, 19 I&N Dec. 467 (BIA 1987). In other words, if a person does not wait for resettlement as a refugee, but instead travels to the U.S. to seek protection, he is not blocked from receiving asylum. Indeed, in my office, we have represented many people who arrived without a visa at the Southern border, and none of them was denied asylum due to the “illegal” entry.

So if a client is here in the U.S., stuck in asylum purgatory, and asks what she can do to bring her spouse and children to the U.S., I suppose I must mention the “Mexico option.” I can’t say I would recommend this option—the spouse and children will likely end up detained—but I do not think this is a decision for me to make. Maybe they are better off in detention, with a chance of release to join their asylum-seeker family member, than in the home country indefinitely separated from that family member and possibly in danger themselves.

As a lawyer, I have an ethical obligation to inform my clients about all the lawful options available to them—even the options I personally do not prefer. The path through Mexico may be an option for some, and asylum seekers have a right to know about it, so that they can make the best decisions for their families.

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Asylum in Canada Is Not for Everyone (Sorry Aboot That)

by Jason Dzubow

This piece is by our intrepid associate, Ruth Dickey, who is well-known for her love of Canada.

Given the current mess that is the U.S. asylum system, it’s not surprising that many asylum seekers who first land in the United States have been heading North to make their claims in Canada. Perhaps they are lured there by faster asylum processing times and a more generous attitude towards refugees. While it may sound idyllic to roll out of your igloo in the morning, pick up your Tim Horton’s coffee, and commute to work on a polar bear, obtaining asylum in Canada after you’ve been in the United States may not be so easy.

Ruth Dickey: On assignment in Canada to research the Safe Third Country Agreement.
Ruth Dickey: On assignment in Canada to research the Safe Third Country Agreement.

The main problem in Canada for asylum seekers who have passed through the United States is something called the Canada-U.S. Safe Third Country Agreement (“STCA”). This treaty requires applicants to make their asylum claims in the first safe country they enter. Thus, if you first enter the United States, you have to make your asylum claim here. If you first enter Canada, you have to make your claim in that country.

The STCA has four exceptions: (1) The applicant has family members with lawful status in Canada; (2) The applicant is a minor travelling without a parent; (3) The applicant has a document that allows him to enter Canada; and (4) The applicant faces the death penalty. More details about these exceptions can be found here.

The most common exception is probably the family member exception; it may also be the exception that creates the most confusion, so let’s take a closer look. Under the STCA, the term “family member” is broadly defined, to include:

  • spouse
  • legal guardian
  • child
  • father and/or mother
  • sister and/or brother
  • grandfather and/or grandmother
  • grandchild
  • uncle and/or aunt
  • nephew and/or niece
  • common-law partner
  • same-sex spouse

You can see that Canada allows people to meet the family-based exception with a wide range of relatives. Cousins are not on the list, but virtually all other categories of relatives are.

In our office, we currently represent several people who left the U.S. to seek asylum in Canada, only to be turned back at the border. One client hired us in 2014, after he attempted to enter Canada from the U.S. He had qualifying Canadian relatives who were naturalized citizens of Canada. However, he had no documentation to prove the relationships, and so Canadian border officials rejected his request for entry and quickly returned him to the United States.

Unlike many people who filed for asylum in 2014, our client was lucky enough to get a prompt interview. However, like many applicants, his decision was delayed. Only recently—a year and a half after his first interview—he was called for a second asylum interview where he was questioned about his trip to Canada. Unfortunately, a well-meaning, but not-so-well-informed relative in Canada tried to help our client while he was in Canadian custody, and made some contradictory statements to Canadian officials. The Asylum Officer had the records from Canada, and asked our client about the relative’s statements. Our client explained the situation as well as he could, and we are still waiting for a final decision.

There are some lessons to be drawn from this client’s ordeal. First, going from the U.S. to Canada can do more harm than good. Even if you don’t have some well-intentioned relative meddling in your case, it takes time for the Asylum Office to get Canadian immigration records and review them. That means more delay (on top of already long delays), and no one wants that. Also, if you already tried to seek asylum in Canada and were rejected, tell your lawyer and try to remember any communication that you or your relatives had with the Canadian authorities—the Asylum Officer will likely have access to your records, so plan accordingly.

Another lesson is that, if you are seeking a family exception–through your uncle, for example–you should bring civil records (and translations) demonstrating that you and your uncle are related. Our client’s experience shows that Canadian border officials will not necessarily wait around for you to collect these documents once you reach Canada. You need to have the documents with you before your trip.

Finally, if you do plan to seek asylum in Canada, and you are in the U.S., you would be wise to consult with a Canadian immigration lawyer before traveling. Maybe you qualify for an exception to the STCA and maybe you don’t. A Canadian lawyer familiar with that country’s immigration laws should be able to advise you before you take on the risk and expense of going to Canada for asylum.

There are certain advantages to asylum in Canada, and some people who pass through the U.S. are eligible to seek refuge in that country. But unless you plan ahead for your trip, you may end up back in the United States and worse off than when you started.

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You Can Go Home Again (Sort of): Visiting Your Home Country After a Grant of Asylum

by Jason Dzubow

“If I am granted asylum, can I return to my home country?” I hear this question a lot.

The skeptic would argue that no legitimate asylum seeker should ever return home. Indeed, they might argue, asylum is reserved for people who cannot return due to the danger of persecution, and anyone willing to go back did not need asylum in the first place. I think this is wrong.

Your mother's bunt cake is probably not a compelling reason to return home (tempting though it may be).
Your mother’s bunt cake is probably not a compelling reason to return home (tempting though it may be).

Many of my clients face long-term threats in their countries. For instance, I have clients from Afghanistan who have been threatened by the Taliban. These clients could return briefly to Afghanistan and remain relatively safe. However, to live there for any length of time would be extremely dangerous. Even where the threat comes from the government itself, clients can sometimes safely visit home for short periods of time. I’ve had Ethiopian clients who were wanted by their government, but who were able to return for a few weeks before the government realized that they were in the country. Ethiopia—like many developing countries—is not as adept at tracking people as the United States, and so it is possible to keep a low profile and avoid trouble, at least for a time.

And of course, there are valid reasons to return home. Most of my clients have left family members behind. Others have businesses or properties. Still others are political activists who wish to return home to promote democracy and human rights. There are all sorts of reasons people want to go to their home countries—when balanced against the danger, some reasons are better than others (and some people are more willing than others to take risks).

But what are the legal implications of a return trip for people with asylum? And does the calculus change if the person has a green card or is a U.S. citizen?

For an asylee (a person granted asylum), the U.S. government can terminate asylum status if it determines that the person has “voluntarily availed himself or herself of the protection of the country of nationality or last habitual residence by returning to such country.” This means that asylum can be terminated if the person placed herself under the protection of her home government by returning to her country (or even by using the passport from her home country to travel to a third country). USCIS can also terminate asylum status if it determines that the person is no longer a refugee (for example, if country conditions have changed and it is now safe to return home) or if it determines that asylum was obtained fraudulently (there are other reasons for terminating asylum, as well). A return trip to the home country could trigger one (or more) of these bases for termination.

Even with a green card, USCIS can terminate asylum for the reasons listed above.

If you don’t run into trouble when you return to the U.S. from your trip, you could have problems at the time you file for your citizenship. When you complete the naturalization form (the N-400), you need to list all the countries you visited, and so the government will know whether you went home (and if you omit your travels from the form, you run the risk that the government will know about them from its own sources).

For U.S. citizens who originally obtained their status based on asylum, the risk of a return trip is much less—but it is not zero. If the return trip causes the U.S. government to believe that asylum was obtained fraudulently, it could institute de-naturalization proceedings. I have heard of the U.S. government de-naturalizing citizens based on fraud, so it can happen, but all the case I know about involved aggravating factors, like criminal convictions or human rights abuses. Nevertheless, if USCIS knows about a fraud, it certainly could take action.

So how do you protect yourself if you have to travel back to your home country?

First, it is worthwhile to consult an attorney before you go. Don’t go unless there is a very important reason for the trip. Also, keep the trip as short as possible. The less time you are in your country, the better. In addition, you should collect and save evidence about the return trip. If you went to visit a sick relative, get a letter from the doctor. If you returned home for only a short time, keep evidence about the length of your trip—passport stamps and plane tickets, for example. If you hid in your house and never went out, get some letters from family members who can attest to this. In other words, try to obtain evidence that you did not re-avail yourself of the protection of your home government and that you had a compelling reason to return home. That way, if USCIS ever asks for such evidence, you will be ready.

The safest course of action is to never return home after a grant of asylum. However, in life, this is not always possible. If you do have to go back, you should consult a lawyer and take steps to minimize the likelihood that your trip will impact your immigration status in the U.S.

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I Hate Withholding of Removal. Here’s Why.

by Jason Dzubow

I was in court recently for an asylum case where the DHS attorney offered my clients Withholding of Removal as a “courtesy” in lieu of asylum. DHS did not believe that my clients were legally eligible for asylum, but made the offer in order to settle the case. I negotiated as best I could for asylum, and I think the DHS attorney listened carefully, but ultimately, he was unmoved. When the Immigration Judge (“IJ”) learned that DHS would agree to Withholding, he remarked that the offer was “generous,” which I took as a sign that he wanted us to accept it. In the end, my clients did not agree to Withholding of Removal, and so the IJ reserved decision. We shall see what happens.

So what is Withholding of Removal? Why did the IJ view an offer of Withholding as generous? And why did my clients refuse this offer?

Stop complaining - You're lucky we give you anything to eat at all.
Stop complaining – You’re lucky we give you anything to eat at all.

Withholding of Removal under INA § 241(b)(3) is a lesser form of relief than asylum. If a person has asylum, he can remain permanently in the U.S., obtain a travel document, petition to bring immediate relatives here, and become a lawful permanent resident and then a U.S. citizen.

A person with Withholding of Removal, on the other hand, has technically been ordered deported, but the deportation is “withheld” vis-à-vis the country of feared persecution. This means that the person cannot be deported to that country, but she could (theoretically) be deported to a third country. A person with Withholding of Removal is eligible for an employment authorization document (“EAD”), which must be renewed each year. However, unlike with asylum, she cannot leave the U.S. and return, she is not eligible to become a resident or citizen, and she cannot petition for family members. In addition, on occasion, ICE (Immigration and Customs Enforcement) attempts to deport the person to a third country. Normally, this consists of ICE ordering the person to apply to various countries for residency. This is essentially a futile exercise, and it usually involves hours of wasted time preparing applications and sitting around the ICE office. Maybe it is designed to intimidate the person into leaving, but at a minimum, it is another stressful hassle that the Withholding-of-Removal recipient must endure.

The bottom line for Withholding of Removal is that those who have it are never truly settled here. They risk losing their jobs and drivers’ licenses if their EAD renewal is delayed (which it often is). They cannot qualify for certain jobs or certain government benefits. They usually cannot get in-state tuition for school. They can never travel outside the U.S. to visit relatives or friends, even those who are gravely ill. They are here, but not really here.

For me, Withholding of Removal is more appropriate for some recipients than others: One reason a person gets Withholding instead of asylum is that he has criminal convictions that make him ineligible for asylum. In the case of a convicted criminal, it is easier to justify denying the benefit of asylum, even if we do not want to send the person back to a country where he could be persecuted.

In other cases, it is more difficult to justify Withholding. If a person fails to file for asylum within one year of his arrival in the United States, he generally becomes ineligible for asylum. He remains eligible for Withholding, but downgrading his status from asylum to Withholding because he failed to file on time seems a harsh consequence for a relatively minor infraction. Other people—like my clients mentioned above—might be ineligible for asylum because the government believes they were resettled in a third country before they came to the U.S. “Firm resettlement” is a legal construct and it does not necessarily mean that the person can live in the third country now (my clients cannot).

Despite the limitations of Withholding of Removal, many IJs (and DHS attorneys) seem to view it as a generous benefit, and they encourage asylum applicants to accept Withholding as a way to settle removal cases. They also tend to take a dim view of applicants who refuse an offer of Withholding: If the person is so afraid of persecution in the home country, why won’t she accept Withholding and avoid deportation to the place of feared persecution? I understand their perspective, but I think it fails to account for the very basic desire of people like my clients to make the U.S. their home. They don’t want to live forever unsettled and uncertain. Having escaped danger, they want to live somewhere where they can make a life for themselves and—more importantly—for their children. Withholding does not give them that.

Frankly, I think that most IJs and DHS attorneys underestimate the difficulty of living in the U.S. with Withholding of Removal. And these difficulties are not limited to practical problems related to jobs and driver’s licenses, attending and paying for school, and the indefinite separation from family members. For my clients at least, Withholding of Removal does not alleviate the stress of their situation. They have fled uncertainty only to find more uncertainty. Will they be deported to a third country? Will they lose their job if the EAD renewal is delayed? If their driver’s license expires and they must drive anyway, will they be arrested? Can their children afford college? If they buy property and invest in life here, will they ultimately lose it all? Such uncertainty would be bad enough for the average person, but we are talking here about people who have already had to flee their homelands. Asylum is a balm to this wound; Withholding of Removal, in many cases, is an aggravating factor.

Perhaps if IJs and DHS attorneys knew more about the consequences of Withholding of Removal, they would be more understanding of asylum applicants who are reluctant to accept that form of relief, and they would be more generous about interpreting the law to allow for a grant of asylum whenever possible.

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More Syrian Refugees = More Asylum Seeker Delays?

by Jason Dzubow

The U.S. government recently announced that we will be raising the refugee cap and accepting thousands of additional refugees from Syria. We’re hearing the usual angry voices decrying the “invaders” and the “jihadists,” but that is not what I want to discuss today (I’ve already written about Muslim refugees here). Instead, I want to cover two topics: First, I want to discuss the process of how refugees get selected and screened to come to the U.S., and second, I want to discuss whether the additional resources necessary to process these new refugee cases will impact people seeking asylum in the United States.

For refugees, waiting is a way of life.
For refugees, waiting is a way of life.

So how does the U.S. government decide who gets resettled in our country? What is done to prevent terrorists and criminals (not to mention phony refugees who are simply economic migrants) from taking advantage of our generosity?

First, the U.S. Refugee Admissions Program (“USRAP”) is an interagency effort led by three government agencies: the U.S. State Department, the Department of Homeland Security, and the Department of Health and Human Services, Office of Refugee Resettlement. The process also involves the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (“UNHCR”), the International Organization for Migration, and a number of nongovernmental organizations that assist during various stages of the process.

A refugee case begins either through a referral or a direct application. Most cases (about 75%) are referred by UNHCR. Another 25% of cases come through direct applications under various programs. For example, there are programs for U.S.-affiliated Iraqis and for religious minorities from Iran and the former Soviet Union. There is also a program for certain Cubans. The newest program is for Central American minors who have a lawfully-present parent in the United States. In addition, a few cases are referred to the program by U.S. embassies and certain NGOs.

Each applicant must complete a series of mandatory steps before she can be resettled in the U.S. These include an in-person DHS interview, a security background check, and a medical exam. The process is labor-intensive and generally takes 18 to 24 months from referral to arrival in the United States. It’s not cheap either. Last year, the USRAP cost the U.S. government over $1.1 billion.

After the refugee is selected, she must be interviewed. The interviews are conducted by DHS officers, and take place at more than 70 locations worldwide. Before the interviews, the applicants are assisted by different NGOs, such as the International Rescue Committee and the International Organization for Migration, which collect biographic and other information that is forwarded to DHS for adjudication.

Next, all refugees undergo multiple security checks before they can be approved for resettlement in the United States. Refugees are subject to the highest level of security checks of any category of traveler to the U.S. The screenings are conducted by several agencies, including the National Counterterrorism Center, the FBI’s Terrorist Screening Center, DHS, and the Department of Defense. Details of the security checks are classified, and so we do not know a whole lot about the process.

Finally, refugees undergo a health screening, TB testing, and three days of cultural orientation (where, presumably, they learn about McDonald’s, Taylor Swift, and hot pockets).

Travel to the U.S. is arranged by the International Organization for Migration. The U.S. government pays IOM for the cost of air travel, but before departing for the United States, refugees sign a promissory note agreeing to repay the cost of their travel (whether they actually repay the loan, I have no idea).

Nine domestic agencies in about 180 communities throughout the United States work to resettle the refugees. Every week, representatives from the agencies review biographic and other information to determine where to resettle each refugee. The agencies welcome refugees at the airport and begin the process of helping them settle into their new communities. The agencies also provide reception and placement services in the first 30 to 90 days after arrival. This includes finding safe and affordable housing and providing services to promote self-sufficiency and cultural adjustment. The Office of Refugee Resettlement continues to offer support to the refugees for up to five years after arrival.

So that’s the basic process that each refugee—including the additional Syrian refugees—will go through to get to the United States. It is not a fast process because of the vetting, but it is designed to minimize the risk of terrorists and criminals infiltrating the resettlement system.

One concern for asylum seekers is whether increasing the number of people admitted under the refugee program will impact the asylum system.

The asylum office is funded by USCIS customer fees. If you have ever applied for an immigration benefit, you know that filing fees can be expensive. A small portion of the fee covers the cost of operating our asylum system. So if resources are shifted around to resettle additional refugees, the asylum offices should not be affected. They have a different, independent source of funding. That’s the good news.

The possible bad news is this: All the new refugees must undergo security background checks. This process is quite opaque, and therefore we know little about it. Whether the resources used for refugee background checks will impact the background checks for asylum seekers, we don’t know. It seems that refugees and asylum seekers are subject to many of the same security checks. If so, additional background checks for refugees might further slow the background check process for asylum seekers.

Thus, while the additional refugees probably will not slow down the asylum interview schedule, they might cause more delay for asylum seekers’ background checks. Whether and how much of an impact there might be, we will know soon enough.

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The BIA’s Tepid Response to Asylum Fraud

by Jason Dzubow

A recent Board of Immigration Appeals (“BIA”) decision upheld an Immigration Judge’s adverse credibility finding where the respondent’s affidavit was “substantially similar, and in some regards identical, to an asylum application previously filed by respondent’s brother in a different proceeding.” Matter of R-K-K-, 26 I&N Dec. 658 (BIA 2015).

The BIA should think of more creative ways to prevent cheating.
The BIA should think of more creative ways to prevent cheating.

In this case, the first brother came to the U.S., filed for asylum, and was granted. In his asylum application, brother # 1 stated that he was arrested two times–in 2004 and 2006–and he described what happened during those arrests. Later, the second brother (respondent or R-K-K-) came to America and filed for asylum. He also claimed to have been arrested two times–in April and May 2010. R-K-K- described his arrests in terms remarkably similar to his brother’s case, including the time of day when he was arrested, the abuse endured, conversations with abusers, and psychological harm. R-K-K- even included in his affidavit the same spelling and grammar mistakes as his brother.

After informing R-K-K- of the problem, the Immigration Judge (“IJ”) gave him time to gather evidence and explain himself. R-K-K- claimed that the similarities were the result of the brothers’ “common backgrounds and experience,” and because they were assisted by the same transcriber. The IJ asked R-K-K- to locate the transcriber, but R-K-K- was unable to do so.

The IJ did not accept R-K-K-‘s explanation. He found R-K-K- not credible and denied the application for asylum. R-K-K- appealed.

The BIA affirmed the IJ’s decision and issued a published decision in order to set forth a “procedural framework under which an Immigration Judge should address… inter-proceeding similarities.” The short answer here is that (1) the IJ must give the respondent notice that her case has been found substantially similar to another case; (2) allow her an opportunity to explain what happened; and (3) determine the respondent’s credibility based on the totality of the circumstances. The shorter answer is, Who cares?

I do not know how often “inter-proceeding similarities” are an issue, but I imagine it happens now and again. When I was a Judicial Law Clerk at the end of the last century, I worked on a Somali case that was essentially identical to an unrelated person’s case. The affidavits and events were word-for-word the same. Only a few names had been changed to personalize the story a bit. So I suppose there is nothing wrong with establishing a framework for analyzing the problem.

But to me, it seems that the Board in R-K-K- is missing the larger issue. Yes, it appears that R-K-K- committed a fraud, and yes, under the applicable legal standard, he should probably be deported. And fine, it’s nice to have a framework to assess credibility when this issue comes up. But what about the missing “transcriber”? Where is the person who prepared this fraudulent case? He is nowhere to be found. And the BIA does not seem to care.

Frankly, the BIA’s decision here makes me angry. Everyone in this business knows that asylum fraud is a problem. We also know that there are (hopefully) a small number of attorneys and notarios (or transcribers) who are responsible for much of this fraud. These people damage the asylum system and make life more difficult for legitimate asylum seekers.

Some–perhaps most–of the fraudsters’ clients are active participants in the fraud. But at least in my experience cleaning up their messes, many of these “clients” are naïve victims of unscrupulous attorneys who find it all too easy to manipulate frightened people who do not speak English, who are predisposed to mistrust authority (because they were harmed by the authorities in the home country), who do not understand “the system,” and who have no support network in the United States.

So is R-K-K- a victim or a villain? We don’t know, and given the BIA’s “framework” for analyzing similar cases, I guess we never will.

How could this decision have been better? It seems a crime was committed here, so why not involve law enforcement? When a possible fraud has been detected, the Board could require the IJ to inform the applicant about the possible fraud, advise him that if he cannot overcome the finding of fraud, he faces criminal and immigration penalties, and give him an opportunity to switch attorneys and/or work with law enforcement to expose and prosecute the guilty party. He should also be made aware of the benefits of cooperation. The alien can refuse to go along, of course, in which case he will face the consequences. But if he does cooperate, he should be rewarded, particularly if it turns out that he was more of a victim than a co-conspirator.

There is precedent for this type of coercion in immigration proceedings. In Matter of Lozada, the BIA basically held that if an alien has been denied relief due to the ineffective assistance of her attorney, she can reopen her case, but to do so, she generally must file a bar complaint against the ineffective attorney. This requirement forces attorneys to police their own by possibly having their colleagues disbarred. I don’t like it, but I’ll file a complaint when it’s justified. And–so the reasoning goes–if the offending attorney is barred from practice, his future clients/victims will be protected.

The problem addressed by R-K-K- is worse than the one described in Lozada. In Lozada, we are talking about ineffective assistance of counsel–this ranges from a benign screw-up (which can–and does–happen even to the best attorneys) to dereliction of duty. In R-K-K-, on the other hand, the Board is addressing outright fraud: The attorney or notario (or applicant) has appropriated someone else’s case as her own in the hope of outwitting the fact-finder. This is malicious and dangerous behavior that requires punishment. The regime created by R-K-K- allows the little fish to fry and the big fish to keep swimming. It addresses a symptom of the fraud without reaching the source. I hope that the BIA will one day revisit this issue and that it will take a stronger stance against asylum fraud.

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Magna Carta and the Rights of Refugees

by Jason Dzubow

June 15, 2015 marks the 800th anniversary of the Magna Carta, a document signed by King John, which granted certain rights to English noblemen. Although the Magna Carta was executed under duress and was nullified by the Pope a month later (at John’s request), it has become a foundational document of the American Constitutional system (our system, of course, derives from the English system). 

The Magna Carta brought us Due Process of Law, and this lovely commemorative mug. Available wherever finer mugs are sold.
The Magna Carta brought us Due Process of Law, and this lovely commemorative mug. Available wherever finer mugs are sold.

What is important about the Magna Carta is not so much the document itself, with its checkered history and its very limited application. Rather, it is the idea of the document that matters: The idea that even the king himself is subject to law and that the People can assert their rights against the sovereign. Indeed, the Magna Carta states—

No free man shall be seized or imprisoned, or stripped of his rights or possessions, or outlawed or exiled, or deprived of his standing in any way, nor will we proceed with force against him, or send others to do so, except by the lawful judgment of his equals or by the law of the land.

In other words, the sovereign will not act against the subject without due process of law.

While apparently the idea of due process did not gain much traction at the time, it was later elevated to importance in England and the United States, and it is now fundamental to our system of justice. We are all (theoretically) entitled to a fair procedure before the government can assert its power against us. 

Of course, it was not always this way. When our country was founded, most people did not enjoy many basic legal rights: Women, minorities, slaves, Native Americans, foreigners, indentured servants, to name the most obvious. Over time, and with much struggle, such individuals gained more legal protections.

But one area where the State retains great power vis-à-vis the individual is in immigration law: The sovereign state determines who will be admitted into the country and who will be excluded. The United States government is allowed to discriminate against arriving aliens. If we don’t want to admit people from China into our country, we don’t have to. If we decide to exclude Muslims, we can do that too. There is no Equal Protection clause for foreigners seeking admission to the U.S.

There are more Constitutional protections available to aliens physically present in the U.S. and in removal (deportation) proceedings, but even these protections are far less than those accorded to criminal defendants. Aliens in removal proceedings do not have a right to an attorney (unless they can afford to hire one). They do not have Miranda rights. They have no right to a jury trial or to see all the evidence against them. They have more limited Fourth Amendment (search and seizure) and Fifth Amendment (self-incrimination) protections than criminal defendants.

But one Constitution right that applies to aliens in removal proceedings is the Due Process clause: Aliens are entitled to a fair procedure, and–if that procedure is violated–they can petition the federal courts for redress. As the Supreme Court has held:

[T]he Due Process Clause applies to all “persons” within the United States, including aliens, whether their presence here is lawful, unlawful, temporary, or permanent.

Because it is one of the few arrows in our quiver, immigration lawyers rely heavily on the Due Process clause, particularly in federal court litigation. The sovereign state has tremendous power to remove non-citizens from U.S. territory, but in doings so, it must comport with due process of law.

In some ways, modern-day immigration law mirrors the early days of domestic law in Great Britain. At the time of the Magna Carta, the king had great power compared to his subjects. Over the centuries, the power of the State has eroded in favor of granting more rights to the People. But this evolution has been far less dramatic in the area of international law and immigration law, where–in the United States–the Executive Branch largely retains plenary power. Perhaps in some more-civilized future, there will exist a system of international law that grants more power to individual immigrants and less power to sovereign nations. I can’t help but think that that would be a good thing.

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Asylum for the Jews of France?

by Jason Dzubow

Over the past few years, there have been a number of deadly and horrific attacks against Jewish people in Europe. Targeted by radical Muslims, Jews have been murdered in a Kosher market, outside a synagogue, and at a Jewish daycare facility. They have been targeted for attack at a Jewish Community Center, and there have been hundreds of lesser (but still frightening) instances of anti-Semitism.

The Jews of France are not alone. But is that enough?
The Jews of France are not alone. But is that enough?

In response, some (non-French) Jews have suggested that there is no future for Jews in Europe and that they should leave. On one level, this suggestion is based on genuine concern. But on another level, it is quite insulting. It’s as if an African leader came to the U.S. and told American blacks that—in light of Ferguson, Treyvon Martin, and Eric Garner—they should abandon their homeland. My feeling is that a French Jew, an African American, or any other put-upon individual should have the right to make his own decision about whether to leave his country. Unless and until he decides to go, we should do everything possible to help him stay.

Here, however, I am concerned not with the existential issue of European Jewry. Rather, I want to discuss a more narrow question: Whether a French Jew–and I am choosing France because that country has seen the most instances of anti-Semitism–could qualify for asylum under U.S. immigration law.

Asylum decisions are highly dependent on the specific facts of each case; so it is difficult to answer this question in the abstract. However, we can look at general country conditions to get an idea for whether an individual might qualify. Also, where there is a “pattern and practice” of persecution against a specific group, and the asylum applicant demonstrates that she is a member of that group, she can receive asylum (for example, during the 1994 genocide in Rwanda, if an asylum applicant demonstrated that she was Tutsi, she could receive asylum).

To demonstrate a “pattern and practice,” the applicant would have to show that the persecution is systemic, pervasive or organized. Although radical Muslims have attacked Jews in France on several occasions, and the unpredictable nature of the attacks makes everyone feel vulnerable, I think the problem is not systematic, pervasive or organized enough to qualify as a “pattern and practice” of persecution under U.S. asylum law. The recent attacks have been by individuals or small groups; not (as far as we know) the systematic work of an organization. There is a much more widespread problem with harassment, threats, and vandalism. These problems–while frightening–probably would not constitute “persecution” as that term is generally understood. For all these reasons, I believe that a French-Jewish asylum seeker would have a hard time proving that Jews in France suffer from a pattern and practice of persecution.    

In the absence of such a pattern and practice, our theoretical French Jew would need to show that he faces a reasonable fear of persecution based on his religion (or other protected ground). If the persecutor is not the government—and here, it is not—he also must demonstrate that the government is unable or unwilling to protect him.

First, it seems clear that the Jews who have been targeted were targeted because they were Jews. Persecution on account of religion is a basis for asylum. So the real question is whether there is a reasonable likelihood of persecution.

Courts have stated that an alien may qualify for asylum where there is a 1-in-10 chance of persecution. This is a fairly low standard, but even so, a person needs to demonstrate some type of individualized threat in order to qualify. I doubt that the average French Jew would be able to show that he faces a 10% chance of persecution. There are nearly half-a-million Jews in France, and only a small number have been harmed. And even in countries with much higher instances of violence–Iraq and Syria, for example–a person can generally not qualify for asylum without an individualized threat. Although the average French Jew would probably not meet this standard, some Jews–those who have received specific threats or who hold high-profile positions, for example–might be able to prove that they face a likelihood of harm.

If our theoretical French Jew demonstrates a likelihood of harm, the next question is whether the government of France is able and willing to protect him. While there are surely people within the French government who do not like Jews, the French government as a whole clearly wants to protect Jewish people. After the Kosher supermarket and Charlie Hebdo attacks, the government deployed thousands of troops to protect Jewish sites. But given the nature of the attacks (random and against soft targets), there is a good argument that the government of France is unable to stop the terrorists.

In the end, it seems that most French (or European) Jews would not qualify for asylum, but some might: Those who have received threats or who are high profile, and who their governments–unfortunately–cannot protect. 

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Lessons Learned from Cases Lost

by Jason Dzubow

They say that those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it. In that spirit, I’d like to discuss some asylum cases that I’ve lost (or at least that were referred by the Asylum Office to the Immigration Court) and why the cases were not successful.

Remember: You can't spell "client" without "lie."
Remember: You can’t spell “client” without “lie.”

I am prompted to write about this topic by a recent, unpleasant experience at the Asylum Office. My client was an Iraqi man who claimed to have been kidnapped by a militia, which targeted him due to his religion. Unfortunately–and despite us directly asking him about his travels–the man failed to tell us that he had been to Jordan and applied for refugee status there through the UN. At the interview, the client again denied that he had ever been to Jordan, but then the Asylum Officer told him, “Service records indicate that you applied for refugee status in Jordan in 2011” (whenever an Asylum Officer begins a sentence with “Service records indicate…”, you know you are in trouble). The client then admitted that he had been in Jordan for a year. At this point, it was obvious to me that things were only going to get worse from there, and so I recommended that the client end the interview immediately, which he did. That is the first time I ever had to end an interview in this way, and, frankly, it is pretty upsetting. The case has now been referred to court, where–if I continue as the attorney–we will have a mess on our hands. So what are the lessons?

First, and most obvious: Don’t lie to your lawyer. In the above example, if the man had told me about his time in Jordan, we could have dealt with it. He didn’t and so we couldn’t. Unfortunately, many immigrants take the advice of their “community” over that of their lawyer. Asylum seekers need to understand the role of the attorney–it is our job to represent you in a process that can be confrontational, and so the government can use information from your past against you. If you don’t tell your lawyer about past problems (especially when he specifically asks you), we cannot help you avoid those problems.

Another lesson is that the U.S. government often knows more than you think they know. If you have crossed a border, it’s likely that the government knows about it. The Asylum Officer will have access to anything that you said during any previous contacts with the U.S. government (including during visa interviews). The Asylum Officer also probably has access to anything you said in interviews with other governments or the United Nations. So if you lied in a prior encounter with the U.S. government or any other government, you’d be well advised to inform your attorney. That way, he can try to mitigate the damage. Also, in asylum cases, where a person lies to obtain a visa in order to escape persecution, the lie is not necessarily fatal to the asylum claim. See Matter of Pula.

A different area where we see clients get into trouble is with family relationships. Sometimes, a client will say he is single when he’s married, or that he has five children when he has two. Of course, if the client listed different relatives on a visa application, the U.S. government will know about it, and the lie will damage the client’s credibility. Why would a client lie about this? The most generous explanation, which has the virtue of being true in some cases, is that the client considers the listed relative to be his child, but there is no formal adoption and the client does not understand the legal niceties of the question. In many societies, people who raise a relative’s child consider that child their own. As long as the client explains the situation and the Asylum Officer doesn’t think the client is trying to hide something, she should be fine, but again, if the client doesn’t tell the lawyer, the lawyer cannot properly prepare the case.

Speaking of family cases and cases where the government knows more than you’d think, I had one case where the woman got married, but did not list the marriage on her asylum form (and did not tell me). In fact, she really did not consider herself married–she signed a marriage contract, but never consummated the marriage, and she seemed to have put it behind her. Unfortunately for her, the Asylum Officer somehow knew that she was married. The result: Her case was denied and referred to court. Had she informed me (and the Asylum Office) that she was married, she likely would have been approved–her brother’s case was approved under the same circumstances. So again, the lesson is that the government may know more than you think they know. 

The bottom line here is that when preparing an asylum application, it is a bad idea to lie. The U.S. government knows a lot. How do they know so much? I don’t know. Maybe ask Edward Snowden. But the point is, if you are filing an asylum application and you are not forthcoming with your responses, you risk losing your case.

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It’s Time to End the Cuban Adjustment Act

by Jason Dzubow

In a surprise move (at least a surprise to me), President Obama announced that our country would be moving towards normalization of our relationship with Cuba. As part of the deal, the two countries agreed to exchange some political prisoners, and it appears we will be restoring diplomatic relations with Cuba and opening an Embassy in Havana.

Evidence that the embargo is working: A dashing Fidel Castro pre-embargo...
Evidence that the embargo is working: A dashing Fidel Castro pre-embargo…

During our long Cold War with Cuba, one element of our “special relationship” has been the Cuban Adjustment Act (“CAA”), a law that allows any Cuban who arrives in the United States to obtain residency here. It’s akin to automatic asylum for any Cuban who reaches U.S. shores.

I have written before about my opposition to this law: In short, I believe that Cubans should apply for asylum in the same way as everyone else. It makes no sense to give automatic asylum to Cubans, especially since other countries—Syria, Somalia, Afghanistan, Iraq to name a few—are much more dangerous than Cuba, and nationals from those countries must apply for asylum in the normal way.

It seems to me that the CAA and our over-all Cuba policy exists because of our government’s decision that this was the best way to isolate the Castro regime and force democratic change on our island neighbor. More specifically, anti-Castro Cubans in Miami pushed our nation’s Cuba policy towards the all-stick, no-carrot approach that—50 years later—has accomplished nothing. Now, it seems attitudes among the Cuban American community have shifted. To be sure, many still oppose normalization, but—so far at least—we have not seen the type of angry, in-the-streets reaction that characterized the Elian Gonzales affair during the Clinton Presidency. Perhaps there is more widespread recognition that the old policy hasn’t worked, and that we need to try something new.

Fidel Castro, visibly aged due to pressure from the embargo.
Fidel Castro, visibly aged due to pressure from the embargo.

So now that we are moving towards a new phase in our relationship with Cuba, it makes sense to end the CAA. The situation in Cuba is less dangerous than in many other countries, and so there is no longer any justification for the CAA based on humanitarian reasons (though I believe there really never was a valid justification for the law based on humanitarian reasons). The only logical reason for the CAA was as a propaganda tool against the Castro regime. I doubt this ever really worked (except maybe in the minds of some in the anti-Castro Cuban community), and—given that we are moving towards normalized relations—it certainly makes no sense at all any more.

All of this is not to say that the Cuban regime respects human rights or allows political dissent. It’s clear that the government represses the political opposition, and that it detains and persecutes perceived opponents. But that type of behavior is, unfortunately, all too common in many countries, and it does not justify a blanket asylum for everyone who comes from a country with a poor human rights record. Indeed, it is exactly why we have an asylum system in the first place.

The CAA is inconsistent with our new Cuban policy. When viewed in context of the overall asylum system, it cannot be justified on humanitarian grounds. It’s time to end the CAA and move towards a new relationship with Cuba.

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The Perils and Promise of Low Bono

by Jason Dzubow

“Low Bono” refers to providing legal representation for less than market value. The idea is that for certain clients who cannot afford an attorney, the attorney will reduce her price so that the client can hire her.

Lobo, No!
Lobo, No!

When lawyers represent asylum applicants (or anyone else) on a low bono basis, there is an obvious benefit to the applicant and to “the system,” but what’s in it for us? Why would an attorney do this? The most obvious reason is because the attorney wants to take the case—either to help the client or because it is an interesting or important matter. Another reason is that “market value” for an attorney’s time is simply too high for most potential clients. Both reasons apply to my decision about setting my fee for an asylum case: I am interested in asylum cases and that is the type of work I choose to do, and the market for asylum seekers won’t support high attorneys’ fees, at least not for most applicants.

For asylum cases in the DC-area, fees vary widely. I have heard about attorney’s fees as low as $900.00 for an affirmative case, and as high as $7,500.00 (and I even once heard about a case where the lawyer charged $80,000.00—dare to dream!). Most attorneys who primarily represent asylum seekers (such as myself) charge between $2,000.00 and $3,000.00 for a case. My fee for most cases is $2,800.00, which is a flat fee, meaning it includes photocopying and mailing, as well as attending the asylum interview. I have never calculated how this translates into an hourly fee (it would be too depressing), but I have no doubt that it is well below “market value,” whatever that means.

There is a great benefit to charging an affordable fee: You can get the types of clients and cases you want to do. And in this sense, I have been very lucky. I’ve represented journalists, human rights workers, women’s rights advocates, diplomats, and politicians, among many others. Given the good luck I’ve had with my clientele, I really shouldn’t complain, but since this is my blog, I will anyway. After all, wasn’t it Descartes who once said: “I complain, therefore I am.”

My main complaint is related to the backlog, and to delays with asylum cases in general. Before the backlog, most asylum cases would take maybe six or eight months from the time of hiring to the time of decision. Assuming a successful outcome, that was the end of the matter for me. Now, cases may take years. This means that the client contacts me for all sorts of things, from work permits to travel documents to requests to expedite to changes of address. All this extra work takes time; time for which I do not charge my clients.

But since we lawyers make a living by charging for our time, it’s only fair that we get paid for the additional work. As a practical matter, though, seeking fees for this work can be difficult. Clients are already stressed due to the backlog and charging for dribs and drabs of additional work seems a bit petty. Also, raising the fees for a case makes it more difficult for clients to hire lawyers, so charging for the additional time can create an access-to-justice issue: Higher fees = fewer represented asylum applicants.

But there is a cost to the attorney for not charging. Extra work for one case means less time for another. It also means more stress in general. Maybe there is some sort of balance that can be achieved here, but I have yet to find it.

Another problem of low bono is that with less money coming in, the attorney must spend less time on each case. This is not necessarily a problem that results in less successful outcomes for the clients (because although we spend less time on each case, we do a lot of asylum cases, so we become proficient at it). However, it does take some of the pleasure out of doing this type of work. Much of the attraction of an asylum case is the human interaction. But when there is less time for each case, there is less time to spend with the client. It’s common, for instance, for a client to offer to take me to lunch or dinner after a case is granted, but I almost never go—there simply isn’t time.

In the end, of course, I am my own boss, and I set my fees in a way that (theoretically) maximizes my own happiness with my practice. I want the interesting cases and the cool clients. That is what makes the job worthwhile. The extra work caused by the backlog has made this more difficult; it has upset the equilibrium. For now, I will keep on keeping on, but if the backlog persists, I don’t know whether the “low bono” model is sustainable. I hope that it is, but with each passing day in Backlogistan, I feel less optimistic.

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The Obscure Swedish Diplomat Who Gave Us “Particular Social Group”

by Jason Dzubow

Odds are, you’ve never heard of Sture Petrén. But if you are a refugee who has escaped persecution on account of female genital mutilation, domestic violence or sexual orientation, you may owe him your life.

If you've received asylum based on PSG, you should send your thank yous to Sture Petrén.
If you’ve received asylum based on PSG, you should send your thank yous to Sture Petrén.

Sture Petrén—full name: Bror Arvid Sture Petrén—was born in Stockholm, Sweden on October 3, 1908. He studied law and philosophy at Lund University, and then served in various law courts in his home country from 1933 to 1943, when he was appointed as an appellate judge. In 1949, he was recruited by the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, where he served as the Director of the Legal Department for the next 15 years. More significantly from the point of view of history, Judge Petrén was appointed to the Swedish delegation to the United Nations General Assembly, where he served from 1948-61. He went on to other prestigious posts domestically and internationally. He was a member–and eventually President–of the European Commission of Human Rights, he was a member of the International Court of Justice, and he served as a judge on the European Court of Human Rights. In 1972, Judge Petrén was knighted by the Swedish king. He died in Geneva on December 13, 1976.

For all his accomplishments, it seems that Judge Petrén’s most notable achievement is probably one that he himself did not think much about at the time: In November 1951, he added the phrase “particular social group” to Articles 1 and 33 of the United Nations Refugee Convention. 

In the fall of 1951, the Conference of Plenipotentiaries on the Status of Refugees and Stateless Persons held a series of meetings to hash out the Convention on the Status of Refugees. The original Convention listed four protected categories: race, religion, nationality, and political opinion. The Swedish delegation, led by the good Judge, introduced an amendment to Article 1 adding the phrase “particular social group” or PSG. Judge Petrén offered little in the way of explanation for the addition. In the transcript from November 26, he says only that the other protected categories suggest the inclusion of a “reference to persons who might be persecuted owing to their membership of a particular social group.” “Such cases existed,” said the Judge, “and it would be as well to mention them explicitly.” Without further discussion, the amendment was adopted that same day. Fourteen members voted in favor of the amendment, none opposed, and eight abstained (though history apparently does not record how each country voted).

A week later, Judge Petrén introduced the same amendment to Article 33 (non-refoulment), so it would be in conformity with Article 1 (modern-day U.S. immigration law derives the asylum/refugee definition from Article 1 of the Convention; the Withholding of Removal definition comes from Article 33). 

So does the origin of the phrase PSG shed any light on the term’s meaning today? What—if anything—can we learn from the historic record?

First, it seems that Judge Petrén’s addition to the Convention was based on the draft of a planned law in Sweden called the National Alien Act, which went into effect in 1954. The National Alien Act was, in turn, based on the existing Swedish practice of protecting aliens who were members of a PSG, though Swedish law from the 1950s apparently does not define PSG. To the extent that the modern-day Swedish Alien Act is instructive, it seems clear that sexual orientation and gender were not consider particular social groups. The modern law offers protection to people in a PSG, homosexuals, and people who face persecution on account of gender. As one commentator observed, it would be superfluous to separately list PSG, sexual orientation, and gender, if sexual orientation and gender were considered PSGs. 

I could not find a copy of the old Swedish law (upon which the Convention definition of PSG was purportedly based), but it would be very surprising—even for a forward-thinking country like Sweden—if the 1950s law separately protected people based on gender and (especially) sexual orientation. My guess is that the Swedish law listed PSG as a protected category, but left the term undefined. Of course, this does not mean that PSG was meant to encompass sexual minorities and women under Swedish law or under the Convention definition. The Dead White Men who created the Convention may have been progressive for their time (though there are arguments that they were not), but it seems more than unlikely that the idea of specifically protecting gays and women was even on their radar. At least I could find no evidence in the historic record to support such a notion.

A second question is what Judge Petrén understood the term PSG to mean. I am not sure whether his understanding is relevant to anything other than historical curiosity, but it seems almost certain that he had no intention of dramatically (or even modestly) expanding the protected categories. Rather, PSG was meant as a safety net to catch people who did not easily fit into the other categories–people like aristocrats and linguistic minorities, to name a few. Indeed, Judge Petrén’s comments indicate a realist, as well as an idealist. After noting that Sweden was a country of asylum in the past, he states, “but the fact must be taken into account that its capacity for absorbing large numbers [of refugees] was limited and that, particularly in the present serious state of world affairs [post-WWII], considerations of national security must play a certain part.” This does not necessarily sound like someone who wanted to greatly expand the classes of people covered by the refugee definition.

To a large degree, of course, all this is academic. The goings-on in 1951 are a long way from our reality today. Perhaps an Originalist—like a Justice Scalia—might parse Judge Petrén’s words and look back to post-War Swedish law to suss out some meaning that informs our definition of PSG today. However, given that the Convention and mid-20th Century Swedish law are pretty removed from current U.S. asylum law, the Originalist inquiry seems like a stretch.

Moreover, laws and norms change over time. The vagaries of the past are fodder for debate today. To me, such debates are healthy and—hopefully—lead us in the direction of Justice. Although Judge Petrén probably had no intention of altering the refugee definition so dramatically, he certainly planted the seed that led to protection for many thousands of people. Intended or not, that is his extraordinary legacy.  

Special thanks to Ali and Behnam for their help with this article. 

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“Miranda Rights” for Asylum Seekers

by Jason Dzubow

It’s a common scenario in my office: A person who entered the U.S. unlawfully at the Mexican border, and who was detained and released by U.S. immigration authorities, wants to seek asylum, but has missed the one-year deadline to apply.

Dupe process of law at the border: Don’t tell people about their rights, and they won’t exercise them.
Dupe process of law at the border: Don’t tell people about their rights, and they won’t exercise them.

Just the other day, a young man from El Salvador came to me for a consultation. In his country, gang members threatened to kill him. They targeted him partly because of his religion (Evangelical), but mostly because he had a job and (they presumed) money. They also targeted his wife and young child. The man’s family went into hiding and the man came to the United States. He entered without inspection in June 2013 and was apprehended by the Border Patrol. After he passed a credible fear interview (a CFI is essentially an initial evaluation of whether the alien can state a claim for asylum), he was released and ordered to appear before an Immigration Judge. The man attended his first hearing, where the IJ gave him additional time to find a lawyer. That’s when I came into the picture—in September 2014; more than one year after the man entered the United States.

So how to evaluate this man’s case? On the merits, it’s not a great case. He certainly faces grave harm if he returns. But it may be difficult to show that the harm is “on account of” a protected ground: Perhaps he has a claim based on his fear that the gang will persecute him due to his religion, or his particular social group (family; maybe “people with jobs”), but it’s certainly not a slam dunk. Probably the more difficult issue, however, involves the man’s failure to file for asylum during his first year in the United States (in order to qualify for asylum, an alien must file the asylum form–the I-589–within one year of arrival or meet an exception to the one-year deadline). With regard to this filing deadline, the man’s case is pretty typical.

Like most asylum lawyers, I despise the one-year filing deadline (found at INA § 208(a)(2)(B) and 8 C.F.R. § 208.4). It was originally enacted to help prevent fraud. The logic being that if you had a legitimate case, you’d file it within a year. The reality is quite different. People like the Salvador man know that they face harm in their country, but they have no idea about the law, and little incentive (or money) to hire a lawyer until their court date is imminent—often well beyond their first year here. The result is that legitimate refugees are denied asylum for reasons completely unrelated to their claims and, instead of reviewing the merits of a case, the IJ or asylum officer is stuck evaluating the applicant’s excuse for failing to file within one year. For these reasons, it’s hard to find anyone involved in the system who likes the one-year rule. So what can be done?

The obvious solution is to eliminate the one-year bar. But that would require Congressional action, and it’s rare these days to see the words “Congress” and “action” in the same sentence. So I won’t hold my breath on this idea.

A more realistic solution may be to create a Miranda­-style rule for asylum. In other words, the Border Patrol or the Immigration Judge or whoever the alien comes into contact with, would be required to inform the alien that if he wishes to seek asylum, he needs to file the form I-589 within one year of arrival. We could also require that the alien be informed about the one-year rule in a language that he understands, and (since we are wishing) we can even require that they give him a copy of the form and information about where to file it.

I think the 1966 Supreme Court case Miranda v. Arizona provides a good model for how to protect aliens. That case created the famous “Miranda warning” that police read at the time of arrest (You have the right to remain silent; anything you say can be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney…). In reaching its decision, the Court wanted to protect our Fifth Amendment right against self incrimination (no one “shall be compelled in any criminal case to be a witness against himself”). The Court reasoned that in the intimidating environment of police custody, suspects might feel compelled to talk, and so the Court created the Miranda warning to help ensure that people will understand their right against self incrimination. One portion of the case particularly strikes me:

An individual swept from familiar surroundings into police custody, surrounded by antagonistic forces, and subjected to the techniques of persuasion described above cannot be otherwise than under compulsion to speak.

The image of the beleaguered suspect, disoriented and in unfamiliar surroundings, unable to exercise his Fifth Amendment rights, seems to me analogous to the alien, recently arrived in the U.S., who is taken into custody, placed into a system that he does not understand, in a language that he (probably) does not understand, and who then loses substantive rights as a result of his predicament. True, in the case of Miranda, the suspect was momentarily disoriented and vulnerable, whereas with asylum seekers, the person has a whole year to file his case. But just as the Miranda Court examined specific instances where suspects’ rights were violated and reached its conclusion that protection was necessary based on an analysis of how suspects actually behaved in custody, an examination of how many aliens are behaving will reveal that they are not aware of the one-year filing requirement.

For many legitimate refugees–like my potential client from El Salvador–learning about the one-year filing requirement is much more difficult than it might seem. They are in a new country where they do not understand the language or culture, they probably have spent much of their lives living in fear of their government, they often have no support network and few resources, and many times the “advice” they receive from notarios, unscrupulous lawyers, and “friends” is incorrect. In short, unless they are well-educated or well-connected, many asylum seekers have little chance to learn about the one-year filing requirement. The result, of course, is that they miss the deadline and lose their opportunity to claim asylum. 

Aliens have a due process right to file for asylum. However, just like suspects in police custody, unless they are made aware of their rights, many legitimate refugees will continue to miss the one-year deadline and lose their right to seek asylum. It seems easy enough to solve this problem: Create a Miranda-style rule requiring government officials to inform aliens about the one-year deadline.  

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Sixteen Years and 20 Minutes to “Other Serious Harm” Asylum

by Jason Dzubow

Our guest blogger today is Jonathan Bialosky, an attorney at the George Washington University Law School Immigration Clinic. He recently had an important win in an “other serious harm” asylum case. It also happens that he was a student in Todd Pilcher and my Asylum Law class at GW last semester. Congratulations on the win (and on passing our class – which you could have taught). Enjoy– 

On September 3rd, 16 years after filing his application, and two years after first approaching the GW Immigration Clinic, my client was granted asylum. Sixteen years is a long time, even in the glacially slow world of EOIR, but more significant is that the Immigration Judge granted my client “humanitarian asylum” on a basis that seems to be greatly under-utilized.

Jonathan Bialosky, who claims that taking Todd and my class constitutes "other serious harm."
Jonathan Bialosky, who claims that taking Todd and my class constitutes “other serious harm.”

There are two types of humanitarian asylum. The first is for individuals whose past persecution was so severe that they cannot be expected to return to their home country, even if—typically because of changed country conditions—they no longer have a well-founded fear of return on account of a protected ground. The BIA first addressed this type of humanitarian asylum in 1989 in the precedent decision Matter of Chen, and this type of humanitarian asylum was codified as a regulation in 1990. 

Matter of Chen seems pretty well-known, but a second type of humanitarian asylum is apparently much less common. Pursuant to a regulation that became effective in 2001, under a different type of humanitarian asylum, applicants who suffered past persecution on account of a protected ground but who no longer have a well-founded fear of persecution on account of a protected ground remain eligible for asylum if there is a reasonable possibility that they would suffer “other serious harm” upon removal. The BIA, in the 2012 precedent decision, Matter of L-S-, explained that the “other serious harm” need not be related to the past persecution or even have a nexus to a protected ground.

My client qualified for “other serious harm” asylum because he previously suffered past persecution on account of his imputed political opinion and now, due to serious medical conditions, he would die if he were removed to his home country, where the medical care he needs to survive is not available. My client is from Sierra Leone and he served in a regimental band in the country’s army. In 1998, during the civil war, he was falsely accused of involvement with anti-government rebels. He was detained at a military barracks for two weeks, beaten with sticks and weapons, and burned with cigarettes. He escaped and made his way to the U.S. Sadly, beginning in 2000, when he was diagnosed with HIV, my client suffered a series of medical problems. His kidneys failed, he went into a coma, and then, after finally receiving a kidney transplant, his body rejected the new organ. All the while, his asylum application (first filed in 1998 within six months of his arrival in the U.S.) remained administratively closed by USCIS—for 13 years—hence the long wait for a decision.

Through dialysis and participation in a clinical trial of anti-retroviral drugs with the NIH, my client’s medical condition is more or less stable, but he leads a pretty grim life: He has many dietary restrictions, he’s on dialysis three days a week for four hours at a time, and he’s constantly tired. In addition, he has chronic nightmares about what happened in Sierra Leone. All these problems, combined with the generally poor quality of medical care and the recent Ebola outbreak in Sierra Leone, made it pretty clear that, even though the civil war has ended, my client would suffer “other serious harm” upon removal. Dialysis is not widely available and is prohibitively expensive in Sierra Leone, and kidney transplants are even more rare. One doctor wrote a letter stating that sending my client to Sierra Leone was a “death sentence,” and that he wouldn’t last more than a few weeks there.

The ICE trial attorney and, more importantly, the Immigration Judge, agreed. After 16 years, my client’s asylum merits hearing lasted just 20 minutes. ICE and the IJ were satisfied with the evidence we submitted before the hearing that my client was deserving of humanitarian asylum.

It wasn’t me who identified the legal theory that ultimately won my client’s asylum. Others far sharper than me identified the legal basis that essentially made my client’s case a shoo-in. I had no idea about humanitarian asylum. When I told an immigration attorney friend that I was working on a humanitarian asylum case, she was only familiar with the Matter of Chen type claim. I was also surprised to see very few judicial opinions discussing “other serious harm asylum” (though admittedly, this made the legal research for my brief much easier).

“Other serious harm” asylum has the potential to help many people, even those who have been in the U.S. for more than one year and never applied for asylum. Actually, “other serious harm” humanitarian asylum may render the one-year filing deadline meaningless for some. Consider those that suffered past persecution on account of a protected ground and now cannot return to their home country for some other reason. As my client’s case demonstrates, the reason could be that the individual has a medical condition that cannot be effectively treated in the home country. In addition, Matter of L-S- states that “civil strife, extreme economic deprivation and new physical or psychological harm” could be the causes of other serious harm. The inquiry is prospective, so changed circumstances matter. A recently diagnosed medical condition or outbreak of violence in the home country could constitute changed circumstances that serve both as an excuse for the late filing of the asylum application and as the basis of “other serious harm.” To my knowledge, this has not been tested, but for individuals who did not comply with the one-year filing deadline, “other serious harm” humanitarian asylum may present a viable option for relief where there otherwise would be none.

My client’s experience seems almost tailored-made for “other serious harm” humanitarian asylum, but maybe there are others out there who could benefit from this basis for asylum. With a little publicity for this relatively obscure regulation, maybe some of them can win asylum too. With any luck, they might even be able to do so in fewer than 16 years.

Jonathan Bialosky, Esq., supervises Immigration Clinic law students and provides legal representation to asylum seekers and respondents facing deportation in Immigration Court.  He previously served as director of the Maxwell Street Legal Clinic in Lexington, Kentucky from January 2011 until July 2013, serving as the sole attorney at a nonprofit immigration law practice. Jonathan is a May 2010 honors graduate of the George Washington University School of Law.

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One Giant Leap for a Woman; One Small Step for Womankind

by Jason Dzubow

In a recent decision, Matter of A-R-C-G-, 26 I&N Dec. 388 (BIA 2014), the BIA held that “married women in Guatemala who are unable to leave their relationship” can constitute a cognizable particular social group (“PSG”) for purposes of asylum. The decision is significant because it marks the first time that the Board has published a decision essentially endorsing asylum for victims of domestic violence. Applicants who seek asylum under this standard will still need to prove that the level of harm they face constitutes persecution, that they cannot relocate somewhere else within their country, and that their government is unable or unwilling to protect them. 

This decision on PSG has been a long time coming, but–at least in my opinion–it does not go far enough.

Guatemalan Women celebrate their new particular social group.
Guatemalan Women celebrate their new particular social group.

In 2004, in a case called Matter of R-A-, DHS acknowledged that domestic violence could form the basis for an asylum claim. In that case, DHS argued in a brief that R-A- should receive asylum based on domestic violence. In its brief, DHS defined the PSG as “married women in Guatemala who are unable to leave their relationship.” Sound familiar? And that was 10 years ago.

Matter of R-A- never resulted in a published BIA decision (though R-A- herself received asylum in 2009). Since the brief was made public in 2004, asylum attorneys have relied on it to advocate for their clients, presumably with some success (since there is no data on the number of cases granted based on domestic violence, it is impossible to know for sure).

To me, the PSG “married women in Guatemala who are unable to leave their relationship” is awkward and contrived. Moreover, to receive asylum based on a PSG, the applicant must show that she was persecuted “on account of” her membership in the PSG. In other words, the persecutor harmed the applicant because she is a member of the PSG. I am not convinced that the husband was harming A-R-C-G- because she was a married woman who was unable to leave the relationship. He would have harmed her whether or not she was married and whether or not she was able to leave the relationship. The husband may have had access to A-R-C-G- because he was married to her and because she was unable to leave, but he was not motivated to harm her for those reasons.

It seems to me that there is a simpler, more elegant PSG that would have been appropriate for this case: “Women.” I suspect that I am not alone in this opinion. In amici curiae briefs, counsels for the American Immigration Lawyers Association, the UN High Commissioner for Refugees, and the Center for Gender & Refugee Studies argued that gender alone should be enough to constitute a PSG. Also, at least one federal circuit court (you guessed it – the Ninth) has held that “women in Guatemala” might constitute a particular social group.

“Women” makes sense as the PSG in this case. The evidence in the case suggests that the husband would have persecuted any woman who he was with–whether or not she was married or able to leave him. Further, country condition evidence from Guatemala makes clear that women in that country live in dire circumstances. In its decision, the Board notes that Guatemala “has a culture of ‘machismo and family violence,'” including sexual offenses and spousal rape. The victims of this violence are, for the most part, women. And, by the way, they are not just “Guatemalan women.”  I imagine that if a Salvadoran woman, or a Nicaraguan woman, or a Japanese woman lived in Guatemala and integrated into the society, she would face the same problems as a Guatemalan woman. For this reason, the PSG should be “women,” as opposed to “Guatemalan women.”

But the BIA was not willing to go that far. After noting that counsel for Amici argued in favor of gender alone as the PSG, the Board held, “Since the respondent’s membership in a particular social group is established under the aforementioned group, we need not reach this issue.”

Perhaps that is the way of things. It’s best not to push the law too far, even if it makes logical sense, and even where it would protect additional people. A decision granting asylum to women (or men) who face persecution solely because of their gender would likely open the door to many more asylum seekers. Given the current state of affairs in the asylum world–the border crisis, partisan scrutiny from Congress, the backlog–maybe it’s best not to open the door too far. Maybe a relatively limited decision like Matter of A-R-C-G- is the best we could have hoped for.

I don’t mean to minimize the importance of A-R-C-G-. It is obviously a great win for the alien in that case (though the decision does not finally grant her asylum, it seems very likely that that will be the end result), and it will certainly help many women who face harm from domestic abusers. However, the decision codifies a landscape where women–many without the resources available to people like A-R-C-G- and R-A—will be forced to articulate complicated PSGs and demonstrate that they are members of those PSGs. I am not sure how many poor refugee women will actually be able to do all that.

A-R-C-G- was persecuted because she was a woman. Not because she was a Guatemalan woman, not because she was married, and not because she was unable to leave her husband. Matter of A-R-C-G- is an important step towards protecting women victims of domestic violence. Maybe next time, the BIA will take a giant leap.

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