Visa troubles close to home

There were once two girls who grew up in New Jersey. They attended the same school, shared most of their friends, and were remarkably dedicated band geeks. They were raised in very Korean households by very Korean parents, but the girls felt American at the core. They both went on to colleges in New Jersey, where they studied English. But despite these similarities they realized their lives could turn out very differently, not because of social class or wealth, but birthplace. You see, one girl had been born in the United States, the other in Korea.

Christine and I have been friends for almost a decade. She and her family have had to rely on a series of short term visas as they wait, year after year, for a green card that has yet to arrive. This past summer I went to Korea for ten weeks to study and she for two weeks to visit relatives — only her two weeks have turned into six, and she doesn't know when she can return. She remains in Korea, waiting.

Christine has withdrawn from her fall semester at Rutgers. In Korea she is friendless, separated from her family and wrought with anxiety. She's been jumping from one relative's house to another, waiting, waiting, waiting for her next visa that could come out in a week, a month, a few months — and will expire as soon as she graduates from college. If her family's luck hasn't changed by then, she may have to leave the country indefinitely.

What can you do in a situation like this? If your friend is broke, you give her money. If she has no place to stay, you welcome her into your home. You can help someone find a job, get better grades, eat healthier food — but when she may have to leave everything she knows and loves, perhaps forever, what do you do?

Sometimes I think we come to believe — through the media, other people, our own assumptions — that the people who end up involuntarily leaving the States are all people we're better off without anyway. Those people drain the welfare system. They raise crime rates. They bring strange diseases — or at least, strange, unwanted smells and customs. Because that's what immigrants do, right? And if they couldn't obtain a green card in time, it's because of some sort of weakness or mistake on their part; it's their own fault. With this kind of thinking, it's unsurprising that I've heard, too often, directed at others and my American-born self: "Go back where you came from!"

I'm hardly an expert in immigration policy, so I'll refrain from making sweeping, obviously-this-is-the-answer statements. But I do ask you to consider — what are we trying to accomplish with our current immigration laws? What is happening in reality? Who is being hurt? Do we need to rethink our views on those who want to live as Americans? What are we trying to protect "real Americans" from? Is it working?

While I fret about finding employment after graduation, Christine is not certain if the United States, the country she's lived in most of her life and the only place she feels at home, will even be an option. "I feel like I'm imprisoned or something. I have no definite future that I can cling on to," she says. "My family has legally lived in the States for over 10 years, and I grew up as an American. I feel much more American than Korean, in my culture and beliefs and even my language." Her voice softens. "I just want to go back to school."

When I was younger I'd read stories like "The Prince and the Pauper" and think, What if I was switched with someone at birth? What if I'm actually someone who's really famous or rich or important? Why do some people get all the advantages through the circumstances of their birth, for which they have no responsibility? It's so unfair!