The Human Element-A Necessary Thing

Claudia S. Perez

ILSA Vice-President.

“I’ll be like a doctor,” I said to myself before arriving in Lumpkin, Georgia. “I’ll go in, utilize my skills to the best of my abilities to help as many people as possible and leave my feelings aside. I’ll be more effective that way.” Little did I know that those words were the product of ignorant bliss.

While in Lumpkin, our team consisting of five St. Thomas students and

Law Professor Lauren Gilbert was welcomed by the Southeast Immigrant Freedom Initiative’s (SIFI) local office. This office is located approximately five minutes away from a detention center that holds more than 1800 detainees. SIFI is a non-profit dedicated in Lumpkin to obtaining the release of immigrant detainees on bond or parole. On our first day at the office, the SIFI staff conducted a half-day training session to familiarize us, inter alia, with the most common removal defense forms, the organizational logistics of the office, the steps and procedures on how to conduct the first screening interviews, as well as the most likely problems we would encounter at the detention center. One of the main tasks for members of our team was to go to the detention center and meet with the detainees for a variety of reasons. Some meetings were short and consisted of collecting needed documents while others were hours-long and consisted of conducting a full-screening of the detainee. After the training, once again, I felt totally prepared to execute whatever tasks were asked of me in the most efficient and objective manner.

Now, it was time to do the work. We got in the car and drove to the detention center. We parked a bit far and without saying much, got out of the car and stood still for a few seconds looking towards the facility that was barely visible through the fences rapped in layers of barbed wire. As we walked closer to gain entrance, I noticed the double-gate system, which was monitored by cameras and opened remotely. We stopped in front of the first gate and pressed the button to be let in but no one said anything through the intercom box. We waited several minutes before the gate started opening very slowly. Following the instructions on a posted sign, we waited until the gate was completely opened before we walked in. We were only able to take a few steps before coming up to the second closed gate in front of us while the first one closed behind us. Again, several minutes passed before the second gate opened. We were now standing between two high-security prison gates, completely dependent on someone else we could not even see to let us out. At this moment, my human instinct of self-preservation kicked in, and knowing I could no longer turn around and walk away, it made me realize no training can prepare a person for when they feel their freedom has been taken away.

Finally, the second gate opened. We walked to the facility and submitted to a rigorous security check that included a revision of every piece of paper and document we brought. Following this inspection, a guard took each of us to a separate meeting room. As a group, we decided to go in separately with the intention to be able to conduct more interviews. I sat down on a plastic chair and studied every detail of the room as I had never been in a place like that. The room was small, with a flat table-like surface attached to the wall, a telephone, and a thick glass window. On the other side of the glass was another room just the same. I waited twenty minutes before the first detainee was brought by a guard. In the interim I read and re-read the scripts and the detainee’s background information.

I will never forget the moment when the door opened on the other side of the glass and a man walked in looking down. As he walked towards me, he looked up at me and I at him, our eyes locked on each other until he sat down, at which time he looked down again. I have heard the saying, “the eyes are the window to the soul” but I never imagined I could, at first glance, see so much pain in a person’s eyes.

Neither of us even reached for the phone that was on the wall despite the fact that the opening on the glass was very small. I introduced myself and smiled awkwardly as this is normally the time when one extends a hand to the other person for a shake. I asked him how he was doing. The moment I finished that sentence, I felt embarrassed. How could I be so insensitive? How could I ask him how he is doing? Come on Claudia, how would you be doing? It was as if all of a sudden I did not know how to act. While all these thoughts invaded my mind, I was thankful I had a script that SIFI provided us to conduct the screenings.

The first questions were very basic, name, country of origin, etc. During this part of the interview my main focus was to establish a rapport with him and for him to understand I was only there to try to help him. As the interview progressed, the questions became more personal. He answered all my questions without hesitation. He either trusted me or he saw me as his only hope. Maybe both. He seemed to be comfortable sharing with me but the sadness in his eyes remained. He told me his story, everything about the persecution that drove him to flee his country, details about every occasion he was beaten, taken to jail, tortured, and more for having political views contrary to the political party holding office. His story was so sad, I hated having to ask him to retell gruesome details about things that happened to him, things that no human being should have to endure.

As he narrated the various occasions in which he was reprimanded by members of the political party in office, tears rolled down his face and his voice broke at times. I told him he could stop if it was too much but he paused, closed his eyes as he shook his head no, took a deep breath and continued. I was taking notes of his narrative, trying to keep my eyes fixed on my legal pad, which by this time was an undercover effort to help myself keep it together. “You need to remain professional,” I thought to myself. I did not want to give this man another reason to be sad but I could not stop it. My paper started getting wet, I wiped my face and told him that I was sorry. He made a gesture with his head in appreciation.

When he was done, I finished writing the last few statements, placed my pen down and looked up at him again. I began to explain that SIFI had to review his interview before they could agree to take his case and that such process would take three to four weeks. I asked him if he understood; he nodded yes but I could see the desperation in his facial expression. I hated having to tell him that, but the truth is that due to limited resources, it is impossible for SIFI to take every case, even when they have merit.

Then, I told him we were done. He thanked me for being there and for listening. We both stood up at the same time and without thinking twice I slipped my hand through the opening in the glass window. The space was so small that only half of my fingers reached the other side. He did the same thing and with watery eyes we both stared for a couple of seconds. Without saying a word, he turned around and disappeared through the door. I was overwhelmed with emotions. Why was I feeling this way? I left the detention center extremely confused and torn, struggling in my head with feelings of guilt for all the privileges in my own life. I just wanted to help him so desperately. As my mind wrestled with an array of thoughts, I realized that no training, skill, or knowledge can prepare a person for coping with the human element. No one can prepare a person for a moment when one will literally feel someone else’s pain.

The Detention Center Summer Project has forever changed my perspective on how I want to approach the legal profession. Law is not a cut and dry, black or white type profession. Law is a tool that can be powered by passion. I learned that I do not need to hold back my emotions to be effective and efficient. In fact, those emotions are necessary to fuel a person’s desire to stand for what is right and to fight against what is wrong.

The staff at the SIFI office understands this concept. Every day, they invest themselves full-hearted into defending what they believe is right. They grieve with each lost case and celebrate with each release. Even though their resources are limited and the sad truth is that they can only help approximately six percent of the detainees they interview, they do not lose faith. They continue to work, harder each day, in hopes that at the end of the day they can help at least one more less fortunate human being.

It is time to find that feeling that ignites your being and advocate for those who cannot fight for themselves. One person alone cannot change the world but one person can be that drop that helps fill the bucket.