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Prisoners of our conscience flight from Tyranny leads to a Virginia Beach jail cell Bronwyn Lance Min Xhung sits, depressed and lonely, awaiting her fate in an American jail. This 27-year-old mother fled for her life from her native China after the forced abortion of her second child, and sought a haven from persecution in America. Similarly, Richie Masolo, a political adviser in the opposition party of his native West African country, endured threats, harassment, jail time and torture before taking the night flight that eventually landed him in the land of freedom. Neither bargained on ending up in the Virginia Beach jail. Scores of people from around the globe who have fled unspeakable horrors in their native lands sit and wait right here in Virginia Beach for America to decide their future. Min, Richie and their pro bono attorneys have asked that real names not be used for fear of repercussions in the U.S. court process, and due to fear of reprisals on family members in faraway places. Most of us like to think of ourselves as good citizens. We like to think that jails are for the bad guys, criminals, Mafiosi and no- good, low-down thugs. Any inkling of compassion for the incarcerated that occasionally pops into the chest of a good citizen as he drives by our local jail is easily dismissed with, "If they are behind bars, they must deserve to be there." Usually, this is true. Most of those in our local jail have been charged with or convicted of a crime. However, the Virginia Beach Correctional Facility, like several other county jails in the area, also holds asylum seekers, those whose only crime is to come to our shores seeking a sanctuary from tyranny. To be granted political asylum, one has to demonstrate to the Immigration and Naturalization Service (INS), as well as to an immigration judge, a credible fear of persecution based on race, religion, national origin, political opinion or membership in a social group if sent back to one's native land. Asking for asylum is one thing; getting it under our Orwellian system is another matter entirely. Most asylum seekers - unless, of course, they are Cuban - who come to the U.S. have a difficult time just entering the process for asylum consideration, which is long and arduous. The 1996 immigration law, signed by President Clinton, decreed that asylum seekers must leap an enormous hurdle before they are even allowed to apply. Under a provision known as "expedited removal," low- level immigration officers in airports make life and death summary decisions - in essence, a gladitorial thumbs up or thumbs down, with no review - as to who seems to be demonstrating credible fear and who does not. This process is so expedited that it allows for no meaningful opportunity to secure legal counsel. Also, many traumatized torture and rape survivors have a difficult time telling their stories, particularly to uniformed officials, and often no translator is available. Thus, those who do not immediately pass muster are sent back. The Lawyers Committee for Human Rights, a non-profit group that works on asylum issues, recently documented several cases of Kosovar refugees who fled to America during our bombing campaign against Serbia last year, and were unjustly deported by U.S. immigration officers. Refugees who succeed in surviving the expedited removal gauntlet are treated very much like criminals. They are sent to prison-like detention facilities for months or even years to sit in despair as their cases drag on in an overcrowded system. Refugee mothers who arrive with children are usually separated, with the mother being sent to jail and the children going to foster homes or juvenile facilities. Ignoring its own guidelines, the INS often keeps asylum seekers detained even when they meet criteria for parole. Most disturbingly, asylum seekers have reported mistreatment, verbal abuse and beatings at these facilities. Well-documented and repeated incidents of abuse of refugees in America include strip searches, the use of stun guns and tear gas, beatings and placing refugees in solitary confinement for requesting food or medical care. In March 1988, four guards in New Jersey were convicted and six others pled guilty to abusing the refugee detainees in their care. The guards had forced the refugees' heads down toilets, pulled their gentials with pliers, and ordered them to engage in sexual acts. Remember, these people are not criminals, but have fled to America to avoid persecution - often exactly this sort of torture and harassment - and have already been deemed by the INS to have a good case for asylum. Refugees like Min and Richie end up in Virginia Beach because our jail turns a monetary profit on their presence. The official INS detention facilities are overcrowded and it would take millions of dollars to build new ones. Therefore, the INS pays between $40 and $100 per day per bed to county jails that are usually eager to take inmates from whom they will profit. The further away from metropolitan areas that jails are located, the cheaper the daily rates that the INS will pay. According to local immigration attorneys, the Virginia Beach Correctional Facility gets approximately $65 per day to house refugees, with from 100 to 150 refugees housed there at any given time. The INS's Public Affairs Office would not return phone calls asking for verification of these figures. Still, for each refugee housed in the Virginia Beach Correctional Facility, the jail reaps between $21,600 to $23,400 per year in profit. If 100 refugees are housed there, that equals nearly a quarter of a million dollars per year extra income. This system is a cash cow for local and county jails, many of which mingle refugees in with the regular criminal population. Perhaps most disturbingly, the INS indicated that it does not know exactly how many asylum seekers it holds in detention as it does not track this number. However, using statistical projections based on the number of asylum seekers that make it past the credible fear determination, it has been estimated that by 2001, approximately 24,000 will be detained at an annual cost of more than $500 million taxpayer dollars. The refugees I interviewed who had been housed at the Virginia Beach Correctional Facility did not report any instances of abuse by the guards. Asylum seekers there are kept in separate wings of the facility and are not housed with the local prison population. Still, Richie Masolo, who has since been paroled by the INS to live with a relative until his asylum hearing next month, told me in a telephone interview that he was housed in the Virginia Beach jail with foreign criminals, some violent, who were awaiting deportation. "I was afraid all the time," he recalls. "But more than afraid, I was very depressed. I did not expect to be in jail, and I had no idea when or if I was going to get out. At least a criminal knows how long his sentence is." Richie's attorney reports that she had a very difficult time getting in touch with Richie at the Virginia Beach Correctional Facility. "At times when I called to discuss his case, no one would know who he was. Other times, the guards there told me I couldn't talk to him, even after I had identified myself as his attorney, and told him that he was a refugee, not a criminal." Likewise, Min, whose story was told to me through her attorney, continues to face a language barrier, as no one working in the jail speaks her dialect of Chinese. "She is very shy, had just gone through this traumatic abortion, and obviously needed medical attention, but no one at VBCF could understand what she was saying. We finally found a translator through the Red Cross in Virginia Beach and got her checked out," recalls Min's attorney. Are there those who claim to have suffered in order to take advantage of our system? The cutting down on fraudulent asylum applications by the INS has been one of the few success stories to come out of that beleaguered agency in recent years. Before 1995, if a person claimed asylum, he was given work authorization, a date to show up in court for his hearing, and his freedom until that time. However, after one too many "60 Minutes" segments featuring Leslie Stahl, microphone in hand, chasing asylum claimants through JFK Airport, the INS decided it was time for a change. They cut out work authorization until a refugee's case has been pending for 180 days. This action caused asylum applications to drop by 57 percent, weeding out most of the fraudulent claims. As most asylum seekers are now kept in detention indefinitely, the right to work is a moot point. Prison, coupled with many close examinations of credibility, would give even the most hard-core impostor pause when considering whether to falsely claim asylum in America today. There is hope for changing the system. More humane treatment for asylum seekers and saving taxpayer dollars is not a zero-sum game. The INS should, while keeping the work ban in place, stop detaining asylum seekers who meet the credible fear standard, who have a good case for asylum, and who pose no danger to the community. Many refugees have family in America who would happily house and feed them until their court date. Alternatives to the present inhumane system would also include release on bond or release to a guarantor. Stronger INS guidelines are also needed. Until then, asylum seekers should not be held in local jails, prisons or with other criminal populations. A bipartisan bill, introduced by Sens. Sam Brownback (R-Kans.) and Patrick Leahy (D-Vt.) would rectify some of the more pernicious aspects of expedited removal and imprisoning of asylum seekers, but it is unlikely to even reach the committee stage in the House. America has long viewed itself as the land of the free and the protector of the persecuted. We enjoy our self-proclaimed benevolence, and are enveloped in the good citizen belief that we always do the right thing. We cannot - and do not - let everyone in our country who wants to come here; rules and ways of determining who should be allowed to stay must be enforced. However, changing a barbarous practice to reflect our history and compassion as a nation, as well as correcting failures of U.S. law and policy, will go a long way toward redeeming ourselves from the very actions for which we condemn and sanction other countries. The way we treat asylum seekers, right here in our own rather idyllic community, flies in the face of what most of us consider to be American values. In the words of a Peruvian woman who fled from domestic violence, "I lie in my bed at night, and I say to myself, `Luli, you're in America.' But then I ask myself, `How in God's name can this be America?' " MIN'S STORY Min Xhung is from the Chinese province of Fujian. She is a 27-year- old mother who spends her days depressed, thinking of her husband and child back in China, and pondering her future. Her only crime was to flee the repression and terror in her native China, having been dragged away in the middle of the night to have her unborn second child forcibly aborted. After the birth of her first child, Min had a mandatory IUD put in place, and had to make periodic visits to the government doctor so that he could determine that the IUD was still in place. Desperately wanting a second child, she had the IUD secretly removed and once again became pregnant. Min hid in fear in her village until she became sick and went to the local doctor, who discovered her secret. That evening, local officials staged the raid that would forever alter Min's life. They aborted her baby, made her pay a fine equivalent to two months of her husband's salary, and instilled such a mortal terror in Min that she knew she had to escape from China before further repercussions came her way. So, Min fled in the middle of the night in a secretive and circuitous journey involving freighters and planes, until she eventually arrived at Dulles Airport. Min spent half a year in the Virginia Beach jail and was recently transferred to a facility in Farmville. RICHIE'S STORY Richie Masolo was a political adviser in the opposition party in his native West African country. He began to fear for his life after threats and harassment to both himself and his family. Richie, who is 25, believed that the opposition in his homeland had a real chance of changing the current political landscape in his country, known to be one of the most corrupt and repressive in the world. Last April, he was arrested and locked up for a week, charged with political treason even though he had done nothing wrong. While in jail in his homeland, Richie was tortured with sticks and batons by the prison guards "in a very matter-of-fact way, as if they do this every day, and they probably do," he ruefully remarked. A local party official eventually secured his release, and Richie, fearing for his life, went into hiding for seven months. The official eventually helped Richie obtain a passport and a valid U.S. visa. The night of his flight, however, airport police seized Richie's passport and demanded a large sum of money - more than he had - to give it back. The delay caused Richie to miss his flight to freedom. He had to borrow more money and come back a week later to bribe back his passport. He ended up at Dulles Airport and eventually told his story to INS officials there who, despite Richie's valid U.S. visa, put him in hand and leg cuffs "just like they do the criminals in the movies," he said, and hauled him off to jail. "I felt so guilty and ashamed even though I had done nothing," he recalls. Now, Richie also waits for his future to be decided.
Bronwyn Lance is a Senior Fellow at the Alexis de Tocqueville Institution, VA.
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