Reality

Thursday, April 10, 2008:

My dad arrived this afternoon for a 2 day visit revolving around my very first hearing for my very first client in my professional career. My partner and I feel great--everything is in its place, all papers filed, completed, rehearsed. I've finished my 17 minute closing statement, added the finishing touches, and just finished rehearsing it for the last time until we're in court tomorrow and I actually give it in support of my client. It's emotional at times, there are paragraphs that are harder to get through than the ones that outline the pure law that's applicable to the case at hand.

My client is ready--she's nervous, we're all nervous--but it's the good kind of nervous, the kind that comes when you understand the gravity of the case at hand, when you realize that a 4 hour hearing will dictate the path of not only your life, but your infant child's as well. When you prepare to tell, in entirety, your entire history, filled with horror and sadness, struggle, and constant running.

We're ready--we've worked so damn hard in the last 3 months. We have done every single thing we can to make sure no stone is unturned, statements are compiled, research is done. I've spent more nights awake and at school in the last month than I have ever spent in my entire 12 years of schooling--but for something that is good and true, something I believe in, someone I believe in.

I sat in the 70 degree sunshine with my partner this afternoon and we talked about how lucky we were to have to the client we have--we talked about wanting to remain in their lives even after this hearing, watching the baby grow up, supporting them in their endeavors. We talked about the possibility of walking away from this with a win in our first case.

I'm excited. This is the kick-off of what I hope to be a long career after law school working for causes and individuals who I believe in, helping folks raise their voices, and allowing myself to be awed and inspired by individual stories of people who have lived lives far different from mine.

I feel good about what will happen, and where we will be in 14 hours. I am filled with hope.

Friday, April 11, 2008:

I don't know where to begin. I don't know where to end, or where it did end. I am still unclear as to how our work was unravelled so quickly, how our case violently departed from the path it had been on, how one person who we have come to trust and care about could deceive us so fully.

The judge in the case was supposed to be the wild card. My clinic had never had a case before him, and we had not been able to see him in action over the semester. Immigration judges vary in their...professionalism. There are some who treat the process as it should be treated: with respect for people coming before them, they're balanced and the process works as it should. There are A LOT of immigration judges who are the opposite. They decide cases before they hear them, they lack sensitivity, they lose sight of the fact individuals are sitting before them, and dehuanize the process.

The judge in the case turned out to be remarkable--he was kind--he was tough, but he was kind--he was professional, he treated our client with the utmost respect and dignity. He was soft spoken and while he was intimidation, it was not as a result of what he projected, but rather because of the position he filled. He treated my partner and me with respect, knowing this was the first time we had represented anyone in a court of law.

The preliminary matters were taken care of swiftly--we won some of the matters, we lost some, but we made great arguments and we hit a stride of comfort. The nervousness dissolved and we became comfortable with our own voices and representation. Our client did a remarkable job on direct examination. The judge asked questions and it was clear he wanted to grant asylum. We were filled with confidence, but not cockiness. My partner and I were moving well together, and as we closed our direct examination of our client, we cheered inside for our client and for her poise.

The government began their cross examination. Every question that was asked, we had anticipated. I made notes on my closing and for redirect. My partner did the same. 10 minutes in, 20 minutes in, we continued to feel good--this was as we had prepared for, and the client continued to remain calm.

And then it happened. It was about 10:15am. Hearing had been going full speed ahead for over 2 hours. And the government asked to approach the bench. She had impeachment evidence to introduce. We had no idea what it was, but we didn't think it could be anything we couldn't handle. How wrong we were.

I can't go into details, and I don't want to. But the evidence was devastating to the case. It was evidence that discredited everything my client had testified to all morning and all semester. It put every single detail she had recounted into question. And it was information that had been specifically withheld from us by the government.

As more and more questions were asked, more and more lies were told. We watched the tightly knit fabric we had knit unravel. We saw the demise not only of our case, but of the faith we had felt so strongly in our client not 2 hours before. Our brains raced with what we were hearing--we had no idea what to do, or say. I could not look at my client, sitting up there, lying. telling lies I knew were lies. Digging herself a hole that was so deep and wide I could barely see her anymore by the end of it.

We met with her after the hearing, mainly to find out what the hell was going on and to get her to just tell us the truth. We had to tell her the consequences she was facing as a result of what she had said. We had to get some sort of explanation. We had to find some sort of validation in this stranger who sat across from us. And we got none of it.

We got more lies. More denials. Every last glimmer of the client we believed we were representing disappeared. It was shocking.

Sunday, April 13, 2008:

We have withdrawn from representing my client further. The judge reserved his decision until a later date this summer to allow the government further time to investigate my former client's case.

We met with everyone today to tell them the decision to withdraw and give her an opportunity to sign a statement to correct the record from the false statements she made on the stand. Our ethical obligations force us to do this, and if she refused to correct the record herself, we would be obligated to do so for her.

Her story changed no less than three times during the course of our 60 minute meeting. It was one of the most emotionally difficult conversations I've ever had. And when the meeting was over we walked away from a woman we would have done anything to help 2 days ago.

This has been emotionally draining. It's been a great learning experience, for sure, but it's been a really really tough personal experience.

I feel betrayed. And I'm angry. I don't know what to believe and I don't know if anything my client told us over the last three months is true. I suspect there are truths, and part truths in her story, but I'm not confident that much of it is accurate. I do know that her story of the genocide, and her family, is not fully true. Not everyone died and it probably did not happen how she said it did.

But I'm not allowing this to make me cynical about this process. This does not ruin this kind of work for me, and I look forward to being able to start again. I know that there are a lot of people who need this kind of help, and I know that there are a lot of people who have come from places where they cannot go back. And I know that I can do this kind of work, and I can do it well. I don't know if we became to emotionally involved in this case. I don't think we did. I mean, how does one NOT become emotionally involved in cases like this. I also don't believe that living life with emotional distance from people is a worthwhile way to live. But it stings a little more when things like this happen.

I wish the destination we had reached had been better. I worry about the impact this will have not only on her case, but on her husband's and everyone else who is involved with her. I worry the most for the baby, an innocent bystander in all of this.

So case closed. Thanks to everyone who has been so supportive through the semester. I could not be more blessed with the friends and family in my life.