This semester has been a toughie on a lot of levels. Academically it's been intense, but I've not regretted one decision I've made, particularly the decision to take part in this clinic and to have the chance to represent my first client.
It's been really, intensely, truly emotionally difficult. It's difficult to look at my client and realize my partner and I are responsible for her case. It's difficult legally--figuring out the claims we'll make and how we'll support them against seasoned lawyers and judges. It's been difficult from a friendship perspective--feeling really isolated and lonely while all my friends are enjoying their last semester of law school.
I don't know if one of the difficulties has been more difficult than another. They are fundamentally different on a lot of levels. I've developed an emotional connection to my client that is exhilarating and terrifying. On the one hand, I feel truly connected to a cause I believe fully in, and I believe in my client. On the other hand, and on a somewhat harder hand, I feel like I have become really affected by her story. I remember this from the refugee camp--hearing a story and having your heart break a little bit with every probing question asked. Realizing, as each question is answered candidly, the gravity of the work that is being done. Feeling like, at the end of the day, it's hard to separate yourself from your client. I've spent countless nights lying awake thinking about her. About her story. Dreaming about aspects of her story. And they're not good dreams. They're devastating and jolt me awake only to find myself securely scattered between sheets and my comforter.
I guess the above difficulty is directly related to another: feeling a little isolated from my best friends. My gals are the best that exist, but this has been a lonely semester. A lot of time has been spent in my apartment, getting home from school at 10:30 or 11pm on a Friday night. I sometimes wonder if this is foreshadowing of the next few years. I think this is particularly difficult this semester as it is so emotionally tough--both because of my client and the innate fear I feel in my own abilities as an advocate. I've never done this. I've never defended anyone aside from myself. I've never had to sit in the silence that follows a series of questions to determine whether or not my client was a virgin when she was brutally raped. I've had to sit with the stories I've heard, but I don't think I've ever been so connected to the outcome of something as this.
I was at school today from 11am yesterday until about 3:45pm today working on my client's case. I've not slept yet, 36 hours after last waking up. I can't seem to wind down. I've resorted to a glass of wine (or two) with the hopes that will do the trick.
It's hard to come down from being up, I've learned. I stood outside the Law School this morning at 4am, gazing at the haze that hangs over the city on the misty winter/early spring day, indulging in a habit that is admittedly gross, but I'm addicted to nonetheless. It made me wonder, in that quiet sort of moment, if this is what I'm made for. I guess I wonder that a lot. I mean, I KNOW I'm not made for corporate law, but I do wonder if I am made for this.
In the 2.5 years since starting law school, I've never felt so dedicated or emotionally invested in anything as I have in this case. I don't think that's strange, considering the past 5 semesters have consisted largely of lecture classes while this semester consists largely of client representation. But it's more than that--for a moment I feel emotionally invested in the law. Maybe in a person. Certainly in a person.
I wish I had a Yoda to direct me. At times I would settle for just about anyone. But I know that the reality is that I have to rely on myself. It's been a slow lesson to learn, I guess. But it does not make me less lonely. And at the end of the day, or 36 hours, that's kind of how it is. We all struggle with how to deal with the hard in our lives. I'm still working out how to deal with the hard in this case. But it's coming. I promise...And you know what? Talking to my dad at 7:15am, 22 hours after waking up, sometimes is priceless. It's strange, I did not mean to end with this. But there are definitely voices that give reassurance, love, support and, most importantly, understanding. All in all, it's not a bad way to "start" the day. Or end it, with that memory. There is strength in those who unconditionally support.
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Sunday, February 17, 2008
Saturday, February 16, 2008
What Do You Do When....
The Judge you're arguing before is a complete asshole?
There are wrinkles in every case, whether it's the client who won't cooperate, or witnesses you can't find, or evidence that is unobtainable. But what if the wrinkle in the case is that your judge actually does not like asylum seekers, or immigrants for that matter? Or, in our case, student representatives. What do you do when cards are stacked against you before you even walk in the courtroom?
I spent the day emailing practitioners in the last jurisdiction where my judge spent the majority of his time. Email after email to people in private practice who have spent time representing asylum seekers pro bono. Who I am hoping have advocated before my judge. Who can give me some insight into this person's demeanor on the bench. Email after email that will most likely be ignored. See, we can't get firsthand experience observing my judge. He does not allow student representatives to observe his proceedings. He does not allow anyone to. This is rare for judges.
One email this afternoon did not go ignored. In fact, it was answered within 5 minutes of my sending it. To a man who has a booming law practice in the large city where my judge once practiced. And who has represented myriad asylum seekers pro bono.
Dear Sir:
This is who I am. This is what I'm doing. This is why I write, for the slim chance you may have had a case in front of this person. With the slim hope you'll give me the time of day.
Most Sincerely, DisgruntledLawStudent.
I received a reply instantaneously.
Dear DLS: I have not, sadly, represented anyone in front of this person. But you know what? I am a member of a list-serve of lawyers who surely have. May I post this request? By the way, keep fighting the good fight. I support you. Most thankfully, AmazingLawyer.
Dear AL: Thank you. DLS.
There is something comforting in the small community in the U.S. that does this kind of work. And what I am slowly learning is that the people who do asylum work have a network of people who think in the same way we all do: We can make a difference. We might not be able to change the world, but we can change lives.
On the eve of a 6 day weekend (faculty retreat), I left school at 10:30pm. Every minute was worth it, and every minute I thought of my client, the others who are doing the same work as I, and I know that we can be successful. But lordy, will it be hard.
I fear, at times, I am not strong enough for the work I am doing. Emotionally, that is. I met with my advisor today and he said, in his ever supportive way, that we are doing a phenomenal job. And that he has grown connected to our client through us. And that he will be unimaginably saddened if we don't win for a client who so clearly deserves asylum. The pressure remains on us. I just hope we're doing everything we can for her. I think we are.
There are wrinkles in every case, whether it's the client who won't cooperate, or witnesses you can't find, or evidence that is unobtainable. But what if the wrinkle in the case is that your judge actually does not like asylum seekers, or immigrants for that matter? Or, in our case, student representatives. What do you do when cards are stacked against you before you even walk in the courtroom?
I spent the day emailing practitioners in the last jurisdiction where my judge spent the majority of his time. Email after email to people in private practice who have spent time representing asylum seekers pro bono. Who I am hoping have advocated before my judge. Who can give me some insight into this person's demeanor on the bench. Email after email that will most likely be ignored. See, we can't get firsthand experience observing my judge. He does not allow student representatives to observe his proceedings. He does not allow anyone to. This is rare for judges.
One email this afternoon did not go ignored. In fact, it was answered within 5 minutes of my sending it. To a man who has a booming law practice in the large city where my judge once practiced. And who has represented myriad asylum seekers pro bono.
Dear Sir:
This is who I am. This is what I'm doing. This is why I write, for the slim chance you may have had a case in front of this person. With the slim hope you'll give me the time of day.
Most Sincerely, DisgruntledLawStudent.
I received a reply instantaneously.
Dear DLS: I have not, sadly, represented anyone in front of this person. But you know what? I am a member of a list-serve of lawyers who surely have. May I post this request? By the way, keep fighting the good fight. I support you. Most thankfully, AmazingLawyer.
Dear AL: Thank you. DLS.
There is something comforting in the small community in the U.S. that does this kind of work. And what I am slowly learning is that the people who do asylum work have a network of people who think in the same way we all do: We can make a difference. We might not be able to change the world, but we can change lives.
On the eve of a 6 day weekend (faculty retreat), I left school at 10:30pm. Every minute was worth it, and every minute I thought of my client, the others who are doing the same work as I, and I know that we can be successful. But lordy, will it be hard.
I fear, at times, I am not strong enough for the work I am doing. Emotionally, that is. I met with my advisor today and he said, in his ever supportive way, that we are doing a phenomenal job. And that he has grown connected to our client through us. And that he will be unimaginably saddened if we don't win for a client who so clearly deserves asylum. The pressure remains on us. I just hope we're doing everything we can for her. I think we are.
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Stories
I am an avid reader--especially when I have lots and lots of time and days spent listlessly lying on the couch in Vermont, or on a beach chair in Maine, or in the middle of Africa--whether it be West or East, watching the lizards pass the time in the same lazy way that I am.
But the stories I love the most come from my sister. Her writing is electric, poignant, personal and always from the heart. A lot of the stories seep with remnants from her favorite writers, but they are never stolen from them. There is influence in the authors we love the most--whether it's the magical realism that stream from Allende and Marquez, or the subtle sadness of life or times past that infuses Plath, Steinbeck or Woolf.
But my favorites of my sister's repertoire are those that chronicle the stories that she has experienced or encountered. She is witty and loose in the stories she tells, and animated like no other person I've met. She has spent years studying and dissecting the greats, in an effort to locate her own voice. And I was fortunate enough a few years ago to be home, somewhere between Peace Corps ended and Law School started, when she was completing her undergraduate degree in Vermont.
I've written about my sister's and my relationship before on this blog--the slow movement from sisters to acquaintances to genuinely great friends. When I had those months at home when I came home from Mali and was applying to law school, generally getting used to the pop culture, consumer based first world life that is the United States, I had the opportunity to be a critic, an invited critic, of my sister's writing.
Her portfolio was personal, raw, and alive. She would read her stories to me, and ask me what I thought. I have never felt so personally involved in the process that is creative writing than the times when she would sit in her desk chair in the room we shared for years, with me perched on her bed, one hand propping my head up, and she would read to me. Read from her book of stories she had developed painstakingly over the past few years. Some of them were so overtly personal that they made me shiver with emotion, and some, some of her best fiction, were crafted in a way that made the reader become so invested in the characters, the places, every image would be perfectly projected into my mind to the point that when the story would end, I would be craving more, but left feeling like I knew where these characters were heading.
Occasionally she posts snippets, mere glimpses, of these stories on her blog. She also includes simply hilarious stories of her current life as an English teacher in rural North Carolina. She posted recently a shortened account of a 12 hour delay in Chicago. I'll never forget when she revealed this story to my family. She read it aloud after her harrowing, multi-day trip on train across country, over Christmas when we were all home. She had my entire family in stitches. My favorite part, and one that remains even in its shortened version, is her names for the different people she encountered. My favorite, of course, being "Chicken Tenders".
She told me when we were home this past Christmas that when her computer crashed she lost many of her best stories, some of my absolute favorites. One of which, called Kid Fears, I thought could have been easily published in any literary magazine. I think she's starting to reconstruct those, and it fills my heart with joy.
But the stories I love the most come from my sister. Her writing is electric, poignant, personal and always from the heart. A lot of the stories seep with remnants from her favorite writers, but they are never stolen from them. There is influence in the authors we love the most--whether it's the magical realism that stream from Allende and Marquez, or the subtle sadness of life or times past that infuses Plath, Steinbeck or Woolf.
But my favorites of my sister's repertoire are those that chronicle the stories that she has experienced or encountered. She is witty and loose in the stories she tells, and animated like no other person I've met. She has spent years studying and dissecting the greats, in an effort to locate her own voice. And I was fortunate enough a few years ago to be home, somewhere between Peace Corps ended and Law School started, when she was completing her undergraduate degree in Vermont.
I've written about my sister's and my relationship before on this blog--the slow movement from sisters to acquaintances to genuinely great friends. When I had those months at home when I came home from Mali and was applying to law school, generally getting used to the pop culture, consumer based first world life that is the United States, I had the opportunity to be a critic, an invited critic, of my sister's writing.
Her portfolio was personal, raw, and alive. She would read her stories to me, and ask me what I thought. I have never felt so personally involved in the process that is creative writing than the times when she would sit in her desk chair in the room we shared for years, with me perched on her bed, one hand propping my head up, and she would read to me. Read from her book of stories she had developed painstakingly over the past few years. Some of them were so overtly personal that they made me shiver with emotion, and some, some of her best fiction, were crafted in a way that made the reader become so invested in the characters, the places, every image would be perfectly projected into my mind to the point that when the story would end, I would be craving more, but left feeling like I knew where these characters were heading.
Occasionally she posts snippets, mere glimpses, of these stories on her blog. She also includes simply hilarious stories of her current life as an English teacher in rural North Carolina. She posted recently a shortened account of a 12 hour delay in Chicago. I'll never forget when she revealed this story to my family. She read it aloud after her harrowing, multi-day trip on train across country, over Christmas when we were all home. She had my entire family in stitches. My favorite part, and one that remains even in its shortened version, is her names for the different people she encountered. My favorite, of course, being "Chicken Tenders".
She told me when we were home this past Christmas that when her computer crashed she lost many of her best stories, some of my absolute favorites. One of which, called Kid Fears, I thought could have been easily published in any literary magazine. I think she's starting to reconstruct those, and it fills my heart with joy.
Thursday, February 07, 2008
The Kindness of Strangers. Take Two
I have to share this story since it was a MAJOR gain for my partner and me today, so I hope it makes you want to stand up and give someone a high five like it did us.
One of the hard things about all of our cases this semester is getting the good, solid corroborating evidence that is needed to back up a client's case. It's important in any client representation, not just asylum cases. But the method of obtaining this kind of information is doubly as difficult when most of it is sitting soundly in your client's country of origin. Or in the brains of experts who we don't know and don't know us. Or it just doesn't exist. We've sent email after email to people asking if they would speak to us, answer questions, be a resource and we've come up empty each time (though we're not above stalking people, and frankly, that's what it's coming to and we're ok with that).
Today we had a meeting with one of my partner's friends who spent the summer in Rwanda working for a group called Voices of Rwanda and had the opportunity to witness some of the Gacaca court proceedings while he was there. The Gacaca court proceedings are central to our client's case, so we've been working to learn as much about them, the good and bad, the critiques on the system, the impact on communities and get real feedback from people who have witnessed them and studied them to help solidify our argument for our client. My partner's friend gave us great information, photos and video clips he took, and recommended that we see a documentary that was made in 2006 called In The Tall Grass that revolves around these trials.
After the meeting we continued to research and work, and I started exploring methods by which to obtain a copy of this film. Not available on Netflix. Not in our library or the libraries I could find in DC. The website lists a few different organizations that reportedly were selling the video, so I clicked on each one. I think two of the 5 links worked. So I started making phone calls as there was no information on either website indicating that they were indeed selling this video. Here's the scenario of the first phone call:
Phone is ringing. It's picked up by what I assume is the receptionist and I say the following: "Hello, I'm calling because I'm looking for a copy of In the Tall Grass and I was told that your organization was selling copies of this documentary" to which the receptionist replies: "Uh, I don't know that film, and I'm pretty sure we're not selling it and never have, but let me connect you to the woman who would know" "Thank you so much" I respond. I'm transfered to a line and it rings a couple of times. At this point, I'm pretty sure I'm being screened, but regardless, I know I can leave a message. The voicemail picks up and this is what it says:
"Hello, you have reached XXXXXX. I appreciate your call and will be working in EUROPE UNTIL JUNE 2008. For urgent matters, please call my European number at xxx-xxx-xxx-xxx. Thank you."
Umm. Am I insane or was I totally just given a huge f*ck you by the receptionist? With that lead in the toilet I then call organization number two, which I now am seriously in love with. I give the same spiel to the receptionist there and she cheerily connects me to someone else, who actually answers the phone. My (well rehearsed, at this point) speech is then given to her and she says "OOHH man, that's a toughie. I've definitely heard of the documentary but we actually never sell them, but you know, let me connect you with Gwen in Media, I bet she will be able to give you some ideas!" "Great! Thanks!" "Oh, and if you're cut off, here's her extension. Just call her back directly. She's great and will definitely help you!" So I wait as I'm being connected and another receptionist picks up. "Hi, can you please connect me to Gwen, my name is DisgruntledLawStudent" to which this nice lady immediately says sure! and connects me. When Gwen picks up I tell her my deal again and she confirms that the film is FANTASTIC but that they were not selling it. BUT! instead of hanging up, she put me on hold so she could try and find a contact number of someone who could help me! When she came back on she was apologetic saying she didn't have the information she thought she did, reiterated how sorry she was, suggested a few different routes, wished me luck and we said out goodbyes. Dear Gwen, thank you for not being a complete a**hole.
So. One of the routes she suggested was amazon.com since apparently a lot of documentaries that are not released end up there. So I go onto amazon and find that they DO have a copy and they're selling this one hour documentary for the reasonable price of....$99.00. You've got to be kidding. We cannot afford that! Feeling more and more deflated, my partner and I consult and talk out our options. I decided that I had done too much already to just give up, so I decided to find out who made it and email him directly.
So I did some more research and found the name and email of the director/producer and wrote an email basically explaining our situation, describing the importance of the video, the fact it was being hocked for a hundred bucks on amazon and asking him to help us. I also threw in a request that he let us call and ask him specific questions since he had spent so much time observing the process. I mean, it can't hurt, right? What is one more ignored request to add to a quickly growing pile.
About 4 minutes later my google mail popped up with a new email. It was none other than the lovely director who said he would be happy to send us a free copy, to chat with us etc and that it would "be best to talk before Feb. 13, since I'll be in Haiti after that...".
YES!
Here is the letter back to him I immediately composed in my head and edited before I sent it: Dear Mr. Metcalfe. You are delightful and kind and have reaffirmed my faith in humanity. Wanna get married? But don't answer that till after Valentine's day. You might jinx our happy life together.
Anyway. The point of this very long story is this folks: A) it never hurts to ask; B) not everybody sucks; C) Stick with the bleeding heart humanitarians and not the academics and things will be just fine.
High fives all around...
One of the hard things about all of our cases this semester is getting the good, solid corroborating evidence that is needed to back up a client's case. It's important in any client representation, not just asylum cases. But the method of obtaining this kind of information is doubly as difficult when most of it is sitting soundly in your client's country of origin. Or in the brains of experts who we don't know and don't know us. Or it just doesn't exist. We've sent email after email to people asking if they would speak to us, answer questions, be a resource and we've come up empty each time (though we're not above stalking people, and frankly, that's what it's coming to and we're ok with that).
Today we had a meeting with one of my partner's friends who spent the summer in Rwanda working for a group called Voices of Rwanda and had the opportunity to witness some of the Gacaca court proceedings while he was there. The Gacaca court proceedings are central to our client's case, so we've been working to learn as much about them, the good and bad, the critiques on the system, the impact on communities and get real feedback from people who have witnessed them and studied them to help solidify our argument for our client. My partner's friend gave us great information, photos and video clips he took, and recommended that we see a documentary that was made in 2006 called In The Tall Grass that revolves around these trials.
After the meeting we continued to research and work, and I started exploring methods by which to obtain a copy of this film. Not available on Netflix. Not in our library or the libraries I could find in DC. The website lists a few different organizations that reportedly were selling the video, so I clicked on each one. I think two of the 5 links worked. So I started making phone calls as there was no information on either website indicating that they were indeed selling this video. Here's the scenario of the first phone call:
Phone is ringing. It's picked up by what I assume is the receptionist and I say the following: "Hello, I'm calling because I'm looking for a copy of In the Tall Grass and I was told that your organization was selling copies of this documentary" to which the receptionist replies: "Uh, I don't know that film, and I'm pretty sure we're not selling it and never have, but let me connect you to the woman who would know" "Thank you so much" I respond. I'm transfered to a line and it rings a couple of times. At this point, I'm pretty sure I'm being screened, but regardless, I know I can leave a message. The voicemail picks up and this is what it says:
"Hello, you have reached XXXXXX. I appreciate your call and will be working in EUROPE UNTIL JUNE 2008. For urgent matters, please call my European number at xxx-xxx-xxx-xxx. Thank you."
Umm. Am I insane or was I totally just given a huge f*ck you by the receptionist? With that lead in the toilet I then call organization number two, which I now am seriously in love with. I give the same spiel to the receptionist there and she cheerily connects me to someone else, who actually answers the phone. My (well rehearsed, at this point) speech is then given to her and she says "OOHH man, that's a toughie. I've definitely heard of the documentary but we actually never sell them, but you know, let me connect you with Gwen in Media, I bet she will be able to give you some ideas!" "Great! Thanks!" "Oh, and if you're cut off, here's her extension. Just call her back directly. She's great and will definitely help you!" So I wait as I'm being connected and another receptionist picks up. "Hi, can you please connect me to Gwen, my name is DisgruntledLawStudent" to which this nice lady immediately says sure! and connects me. When Gwen picks up I tell her my deal again and she confirms that the film is FANTASTIC but that they were not selling it. BUT! instead of hanging up, she put me on hold so she could try and find a contact number of someone who could help me! When she came back on she was apologetic saying she didn't have the information she thought she did, reiterated how sorry she was, suggested a few different routes, wished me luck and we said out goodbyes. Dear Gwen, thank you for not being a complete a**hole.
So. One of the routes she suggested was amazon.com since apparently a lot of documentaries that are not released end up there. So I go onto amazon and find that they DO have a copy and they're selling this one hour documentary for the reasonable price of....$99.00. You've got to be kidding. We cannot afford that! Feeling more and more deflated, my partner and I consult and talk out our options. I decided that I had done too much already to just give up, so I decided to find out who made it and email him directly.
So I did some more research and found the name and email of the director/producer and wrote an email basically explaining our situation, describing the importance of the video, the fact it was being hocked for a hundred bucks on amazon and asking him to help us. I also threw in a request that he let us call and ask him specific questions since he had spent so much time observing the process. I mean, it can't hurt, right? What is one more ignored request to add to a quickly growing pile.
About 4 minutes later my google mail popped up with a new email. It was none other than the lovely director who said he would be happy to send us a free copy, to chat with us etc and that it would "be best to talk before Feb. 13, since I'll be in Haiti after that...".
YES!
Here is the letter back to him I immediately composed in my head and edited before I sent it: Dear Mr. Metcalfe. You are delightful and kind and have reaffirmed my faith in humanity. Wanna get married? But don't answer that till after Valentine's day. You might jinx our happy life together.
Anyway. The point of this very long story is this folks: A) it never hurts to ask; B) not everybody sucks; C) Stick with the bleeding heart humanitarians and not the academics and things will be just fine.
High fives all around...
'Tis The Season?
I've had an interesting debate with some of my gals over the past couple of weeks about whether or not there are "seasons" for beginning and ending relationships. We came across this question recently as it was seeming to us that everyone we knew was falling out of relationships. Some more gracefully than others.
While discussing this over brunch one Sunday about 3 weeks ago, one of our friends who holds a high position at a rather (very) well known web company nodded enthusiastically when the relationship season question was posed. She insisted that her company has actually done studies on this--and have found that there is a higher number of breakups during the time between New Years and just before Valentine's Day (we'll consider this the Bermuda Triangle of relationship seasons) than any other time of the year. While we were all slightly cautious toward embracing this idea, it all did make us wonder if we were all engulfed in this tricky and unkind Bermuda Triangle.
Between that conversation and now, the path of destruction that this season has made has left few people in my close and far flung circles quite battered. It seems as though every time I run into someone, pick up the phone, shoot an IM of Google Chat to a friend there is a story on the other end that generally revolves around a (clearly blind) boy, uncharacteristic behavior from that boy, and then said boy crushing my gals to a pulp. While I was cautious a couple of weeks ago to embrace this idea, I can't say I am any longer. (And to anyone wondering: No, this has not happened to me this time around. Apparently you actually have to date in order to attempt to precariously make your way through breakup season).
Some of the damage has been far more debilitating than others. I have a couple of friends who were just moving along in a new relationship, everything calm and smooth and then BAM. They're in the Triangle. I have other friends who are a little more heartbreaking. One whose three year relationship came to a bloody end very abruptly. I think it will take her a little longer to recover from the effects of the Triangle.
While I loathe nothing more than Valentine's Day, this year I'm actually looking forward to its arrival so the fog that has engulfed all my friends can finally lift.
While discussing this over brunch one Sunday about 3 weeks ago, one of our friends who holds a high position at a rather (very) well known web company nodded enthusiastically when the relationship season question was posed. She insisted that her company has actually done studies on this--and have found that there is a higher number of breakups during the time between New Years and just before Valentine's Day (we'll consider this the Bermuda Triangle of relationship seasons) than any other time of the year. While we were all slightly cautious toward embracing this idea, it all did make us wonder if we were all engulfed in this tricky and unkind Bermuda Triangle.
Between that conversation and now, the path of destruction that this season has made has left few people in my close and far flung circles quite battered. It seems as though every time I run into someone, pick up the phone, shoot an IM of Google Chat to a friend there is a story on the other end that generally revolves around a (clearly blind) boy, uncharacteristic behavior from that boy, and then said boy crushing my gals to a pulp. While I was cautious a couple of weeks ago to embrace this idea, I can't say I am any longer. (And to anyone wondering: No, this has not happened to me this time around. Apparently you actually have to date in order to attempt to precariously make your way through breakup season).
Some of the damage has been far more debilitating than others. I have a couple of friends who were just moving along in a new relationship, everything calm and smooth and then BAM. They're in the Triangle. I have other friends who are a little more heartbreaking. One whose three year relationship came to a bloody end very abruptly. I think it will take her a little longer to recover from the effects of the Triangle.
While I loathe nothing more than Valentine's Day, this year I'm actually looking forward to its arrival so the fog that has engulfed all my friends can finally lift.
Wednesday, February 06, 2008
Check Your Emotion At The Door
This is what we did in Dadaab. I mean, we had to, in order to get through 8 excruciating interviews a day. In my current case, it's not as easy as that.
My partner and I spent hours outlining and identifying our goals for our client, case and semester at the beginning of this process. One of them was to remain emotionally connected...and removed. We reasoned this by systematically telling ourselves that the only way to remain objective and do our jobs to the best of our ability was to keep a distance emotionally from the stories that were shared with us, the life in Rwanda that was unceremoniously yanked from her in 1994 and the life she rebuilt both in Rwanda before she was forced to flee and now in America, finally finding peace in a very distant land.
But over the past three weeks it's been more difficult than anticipated to keep this distance...distant. From meeting our client's husband briefly for him to pick up papers at school and being greeted with huge hugs 3 weeks after meeting them, to entering their home at least once a week to conduct interviews to allow them to keep their newborn safe and sound so she can grow stronger, to listening to the gruesome details, the nitty gritty ones most recently of the trauma she endured, and being able to look at her, with a shakily controlled voice and honestly tell her what a remarkable, strong, and courageous woman she is has made it hard to keep this emotional distance.
My partner and I have been lucky in the respect that our client is...a dream. She is credible. She has a solid story. She remains, to this day, stoic in the choices she made that lead to her to actually haveing credible fear of returning to her home. She is unapologetic for the fact that she chose to harness her grief, pain and loss into helping other orphans who were in a far worse position than her. After losing the last family member she had, she has remained devoted to making sure that the people who perpetrated crimes that we can barely imagine are properly punished.
And we are lucky because, as we realize more and more each day, we are in the presence of a truly phenomenal woman. There is a remarkable aura of hope in this 22 year old woman. There is a remarkable aura of peace. And forgiveness. She has channeled her devastating past to create a future that is paved in nothing but loveliness. And my partner and I are lucky enough to be present for some of that.
I am not a religious person. I was raised Episcopalian, and find great comfort at times, such as my good friend's wedding at the National Cathedral, in the peace that organized religion can provide. But I am by no means devout. Or even occasionally wistful for my days of weekly church or Sunday school. But I am spiritual, in a way that I can only feel. I believe in fate, in karma, and in being a good person. And I truly believe that the adversity we face makes us stronger and more resilient people if we open ourselves up and allow it to.
One of my favorite books is "By The River Piedra I Sat Down And Wept" By Paulo Cohelo. He's most well know for the Alchemist, which is a fine book, but not, to me, in the same league as Piedra. I've been thinking a lot about the book in the recent week because of one section. And it makes me think of my client, and really, all of us:
"There is suffering in life....and there is defeat. No one can avoid defeat. That is why
it is better to lose a few battles in the fight for your dreams than to be defeated without
ever knowing what you're fighting for."
And isn't that true? My client has based her life on a fight. The good fight. And lord, has she been defeated. But I cannot emotionally distance myself from her or this case when I open my eyes and realize that she has never, ever, stopped fighting for her dream.
And I begin to feel again how blessed I am to be her representative. And her friend.
My partner and I spent hours outlining and identifying our goals for our client, case and semester at the beginning of this process. One of them was to remain emotionally connected...and removed. We reasoned this by systematically telling ourselves that the only way to remain objective and do our jobs to the best of our ability was to keep a distance emotionally from the stories that were shared with us, the life in Rwanda that was unceremoniously yanked from her in 1994 and the life she rebuilt both in Rwanda before she was forced to flee and now in America, finally finding peace in a very distant land.
But over the past three weeks it's been more difficult than anticipated to keep this distance...distant. From meeting our client's husband briefly for him to pick up papers at school and being greeted with huge hugs 3 weeks after meeting them, to entering their home at least once a week to conduct interviews to allow them to keep their newborn safe and sound so she can grow stronger, to listening to the gruesome details, the nitty gritty ones most recently of the trauma she endured, and being able to look at her, with a shakily controlled voice and honestly tell her what a remarkable, strong, and courageous woman she is has made it hard to keep this emotional distance.
My partner and I have been lucky in the respect that our client is...a dream. She is credible. She has a solid story. She remains, to this day, stoic in the choices she made that lead to her to actually haveing credible fear of returning to her home. She is unapologetic for the fact that she chose to harness her grief, pain and loss into helping other orphans who were in a far worse position than her. After losing the last family member she had, she has remained devoted to making sure that the people who perpetrated crimes that we can barely imagine are properly punished.
And we are lucky because, as we realize more and more each day, we are in the presence of a truly phenomenal woman. There is a remarkable aura of hope in this 22 year old woman. There is a remarkable aura of peace. And forgiveness. She has channeled her devastating past to create a future that is paved in nothing but loveliness. And my partner and I are lucky enough to be present for some of that.
I am not a religious person. I was raised Episcopalian, and find great comfort at times, such as my good friend's wedding at the National Cathedral, in the peace that organized religion can provide. But I am by no means devout. Or even occasionally wistful for my days of weekly church or Sunday school. But I am spiritual, in a way that I can only feel. I believe in fate, in karma, and in being a good person. And I truly believe that the adversity we face makes us stronger and more resilient people if we open ourselves up and allow it to.
One of my favorite books is "By The River Piedra I Sat Down And Wept" By Paulo Cohelo. He's most well know for the Alchemist, which is a fine book, but not, to me, in the same league as Piedra. I've been thinking a lot about the book in the recent week because of one section. And it makes me think of my client, and really, all of us:
"There is suffering in life....and there is defeat. No one can avoid defeat. That is why
it is better to lose a few battles in the fight for your dreams than to be defeated without
ever knowing what you're fighting for."
And isn't that true? My client has based her life on a fight. The good fight. And lord, has she been defeated. But I cannot emotionally distance myself from her or this case when I open my eyes and realize that she has never, ever, stopped fighting for her dream.
And I begin to feel again how blessed I am to be her representative. And her friend.
Saturday, February 02, 2008
This is Why
I vote Obama 2008.
http://www.dipdive.com/
Yes We Can repair the world. There is nothing false about Hope.
http://www.dipdive.com/
Yes We Can repair the world. There is nothing false about Hope.
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