Jimmy Carter turns 100 years old today. Mr. Carter was President from 1977 to 1981. During those years, he created the modern asylum system when he signed the Refugee Act of 1980, oversaw the admission of Cubans and Haitians during the Mariel Boatlift, assisted refugees from South Vietnam, which had recently fallen to the Communist North, and worked to increase security along the U.S.-Mexico border. During his long post-presidency, Mr. Carter has championed human rights and democracy, advocated for peace, improved healthcare, fought disease, promoted low-cost housing, and engaged in various diplomatic missions for the U.S. government. Among his many honors, Mr. Carter received the Noble Peace Prize in 2002.
On the occasion of the former President’s 100th birthday, I thought it would be appropriate to look back at his record on immigration, and see how his contributions continue to impact asylum seekers and other migrants more than four decades after he left office. (more…)
National Public Radio recently reported on the Trump Administration’s efforts to deport Vietnamese refugees with criminal convictions. Currently, Vietnam only accepts deportees who entered the United States after 1995, but the Trump Administration wants to convince Vietnam to accept all of its nationals with removal orders, regardless of when they came to the U.S. If Vietnam agrees, the change could affect more than 7,000 refugees and immigrants, some of whom have been living in the United States for over 40 years. Not surprisingly, negotiations over this issue have stoked severe anxiety in segments of the Vietnamese-American community.
The NPR piece focuses on an Amerasian man named Vu, who was ordered deported due to his 2001 convictions for larceny and assault. The convictions have since been vacated, but the deportation order apparently remains. Amerasians are children of American soldiers and Vietnamese women. They face severe persecution and discrimination in Vietnam, and Vu still fears return to his native land. If Vietnam ultimately agrees to the Trump Administration’s proposal, Vu could be returned to his birth country. “I think about it often and I don’t want to be deported,” Vu says, “I wouldn’t be able to see my children. I would lose everything. I would miss most being around my kids.”
“Seeking forgiveness for old sins? Don’t hold your breath.”
Legally, people like Mr. Vu, who have a removal order, can be deported (assuming their country will accept them, and assuming they cannot come up with a new defense against deportation). But what about morally? When–if ever–is it morally acceptable to deport criminals?
For me at least, this is a difficult question to answer. As a starting point, I must note that it is not easy to apply morality to any aspect of the immigration system. There certainly is a moral component written into the Immigration and Nationality Act (“INA”). For example, to receive asylum and many other immigration benefits, an applicant must show (among other things) that he deserves relief as a matter of discretion. Good people deserve a favorable exercise of discretion; bad people do not. The problem is that, how we define “good” and “bad” bears only a passing relationship to morality, as we might normally imagine it, and so referencing the “moral component” of the INA only gets us so far.
Another problem exists with regard to how the INA delineates gradation of criminal conduct. You would think that the worse your conduct, the more likely you are to be deported, but that ain’t necessarily so. Crimes that might seem more worthy of deportation are sometimes less likely to result in immigration consequences. Put another way, under U.S. immigration law, you might be better off killing your mother than possessing cocaine.
The point is, it is very difficult to understand how morality applies to aliens with criminal convictions, at least when speaking in the abstract. It is easier–at least in my opinion–to approach the problem by looking at a specific case, and working from there. So let’s look at the example of Mr. Vu from the NPR piece.
First off, Mr. Vu’s case is quite sympathetic. His crimes occurred a long time ago, the convictions were vacated, he has U.S.-citizen children, and if deported, he faces persecution. Also, Mr. Vu might argue that his prior crimes were a consequence of his difficult upbringing (and few people have had a more difficult time than Amerasians during the post-war era in Vietnam). In addition, Mr. Vu has been in the United States for a long time, and so perhaps America is more “responsible” than Vietnam for setting him on a criminal path. Finally, as an Amerasian, Mr. Vu would not even exist if the U.S. hadn’t been present in Vietnam, and so this might also constitute a reason that we–and not Vietnam–are responsible for him.
On the other hand, Mr. Vu committed some serious crimes (larceny and assault), which harmed other people. He would likely have been deported in 2001 (per an Immigration Judge’s order), but was able to remain here only because Vietnam was not accepting its nationals for repatriation at that time. Further, as a sovereign nation, we have a right to determine who gets to stay in our country, and Mr. Vu violated that covenant. Worse, Mr. Vu likely came to the U.S. through a program to assist Amerasians. If so, we brought him to our country, only to have him turn around and slap us in the face by committing crimes. Finally, if we give Mr. Vu a pass, won’t that send a signal to other aliens that they can come to our country, commit crimes, and avoid the immigration consequences?
As I see it, there are legitimate reasons to deport Mr. Vu, and legitimate reasons to allow him to stay. Of course, making a moral determination in his case–or any case–hinges on how we balance the competing interests. The all-or-nothing nature of our immigration system compounds the challenge of reaching a fair conclusion: Either Mr. Vu gets deported, or he gets to stay. There is no middle ground.
Though I know where I stand on the case, I am not so sure that there is a correct answer here. Maybe it depends on one’s individual moral code. For what it’s worth, if we could somehow rate criminal-immigration cases, I think Mr. Vu would land on the more sympathetic side of the continuum. So if you believe Mr. Vu should be deported, there are probably few criminal-aliens who you believe deserve to remain in the U.S.
So is it morally right to deport Mr. Vu? Or any person with a criminal conviction?
For me, the answer to these questions is tied to the immigration system in general. I have seen far too many examples where non-citizens and their families are severely harmed for seemingly arbitrary reasons. If we had a more fair, more just, and more rational immigration system, I would have less of a problem with deporting criminals. But given the system that we are stuck with, it is difficult for me to morally justify most deportations. That is doubly true in a case like Mr. Vu’s, where his prior bad behavior has apparently been long overshadowed by his current equities. To deport Mr. Vu and break up his family seems cruel and pointless. But sadly, that is often exactly what we get from our current immigration system.
I hope that the Trump Administration will abandon its plan to remove Vietnamese refugees, especially Amerasians. But if it persists, and if Vietnam agrees, I hope that Mr. Vu–and others like him–will fight to remain here. He has been here for decades, his family is here, and this is his home. Despite his criminal acts, I believe he belongs here. To send him away would be immoral.
The Amerasian Homecoming Act, which passed into law in December 1987 and went into effect a few months later, began with a photojournalist, a homeless boy in Vietnam, and four high school students in Long Island, New York. Twenty five years later, almost 100,000 people have immigrated from Vietnam to the U.S. as a result of the AHA.
First, a bit of background. One of the great tragedies of the Vietnam War is the story of the Amerasians–children of U.S. servicemen and Vietnamese women. There are tens of thousands of such children. In Vietnam, they were known as “children of the dust” because they were considered as insignificant as specks of dust, and many (if not most) suffered discrimination, abuse, poverty, and homelessness. Although the fathers of these children were United States citizens, the children did not qualify to immigrate to the U.S. The situation was complicated by the absence of diplomatic relations between the government of the United States and the government of Vietnam. Ten years after the war, the situationo for the Amerasians seemed hopeless. A 2009 article from Smithsonian Magazine describes what happened next:
In October 1985, Newsday photographer Audrey Tiernan, age 30, on assignment in Ho Chi Minh City, felt a tug on her pant leg. “I thought it was a dog or a cat,” she recalled. “I looked down and there was [Le Van] Minh. It broke my heart.” Minh, with long lashes, hazel eyes, a few freckles and a handsome Caucasian face, moved like a crab on all four limbs, likely the result of polio. Minh’s mother had thrown him out of the house at the age of 10, and at the end of each day his friend, Thi, would carry the stricken boy on his back to an alleyway where they slept. On that day in 1985, Minh looked up at Tiernan with a hint of a wistful smile and held out a flower he had fashioned from the aluminum wrapper in a pack of cigarettes. The photograph Tiernan snapped of him was printed in newspapers around the world. The next year, four students from Huntington High School in Long Island saw the picture and decided to do something. They collected 27,000 signatures on a petition to bring Minh to the United States for medical attention.They asked Tiernan and their congressman, Robert Mrazek, for help.
Mrazek began making phone calls and writing letters. Several months later, in May 1987, he flew to Ho Chi Minh City. Mrazek had found a senior Vietnamese official who thought that helping Minh might lead to improved relations with the United States, and the congressman had persuaded a majority of his colleagues in the House of Representatives to press for help with Minh’s visa.
Minh came to the U.S., where he still lives. but once he got to Vietnam, the Congressman realized that many thousands of Amerasian children were living in Vietnam, often in terrible conditions. Congressman Mrazek resolved to help these children. The result was the Amerasian Homecoming Act, which went into effect in early 1988.
The AHA allowed Amerasians to come to the United States as lawful permanent residents. They are not considered refugees, but they do receive benefits (such as financial assistance and housing) normally reserved for refugees. In an important way, the law was quite succcesful–as a result of the AHA, approximately 25,000 Amerasians and about 70,000 of their family members immigrated to the United States.
However, the law was not a success by all measures. For one thing, not all Amerasians in Vietnam learned about the AHA, and so many people who might have qualified to leave Vietnam were unable to do so.
Another problem was fraud. One type of fraud involved people who claimed to be Amerasian, but who were not (there was no easy way to tell who was an Amerasian, and many decisions were made based on the person’s physical appearance). However, the more pervasive problem of fraud involved “fake families.” These were people who attached themselves to the Amerasian immigrants’ cases in order to come with them to the U.S. In many cases, the Amerasians agreed to this fraud because the fake families would pay the Amerasians’ expenses. Without this assistance, the Amerasians could not have afforded to immigrate. The extent of the fraud is unknown, but a November 1992 GAO report found that in 1991, about 20% of applicants were rejected for fraud. By 1992, 80% of applicants were rejected for fraud.
A final problem–though perhaps this is not a problem with the AHA itself–is that many Amerasians had a tough time adjusting to life in the United States. A 1991-92 survey of 170 Vietnamese Amerasians found that some 14 percent had attempted suicide; 76 percent wanted, at least occasionally, to return to Vietnam. As one advocate put it, “Amerasians had 30 years of trauma, and you can’t just turn that around in a short period of time.”
Of course, Amerasians did far better here than they could have in Vietnam, but given their difficult lives back home, the adjustment was often not easy. According to the Encyclopedia of Immigration:
In general, the Amerasians who came to the United States with their mothers did the best in assimilating to American society. Many faced great hardships, but most proved resilient and successful. However, only 3 percent of them managed to contact their American fathers after arriving in the United States. By 2009, about 50 percent of all the immigrants who arrived under the law had become U.S. citizens.
Now, Amerasians host black tie galas to celebrate their success as a unique immigrant community. And even in Vietnam, where they were vilified for many years, negative feelings towards Amerasians have faded.
Finally, on a personal note, my first job out of college was for a social service agency that did refugee resettlement, and so I worked with Amerasians (and others) for a few years in the early 1990s. Of the populations we served, it seemed to me that the Amerasians had been the most severely mistreated. Many were illiterate in Vietnamese and spoke no English. They were physically unhealthy, and they had a hard time adjusting. Twenty five years after the AHA, it seems that Amerasians are finally achieving a measure of success in the United States. Their long journey serves as a reminder that persecuted people need time to become self sufficient. But the Amerasians–like other refugee groups–are well on their way to fully integrating into American society.
