The Longest Days

I've never shirked from hard work, particularly when it's work I feel passionately about. And in the last year, I've definitely been pushed to my limits in terms of how much of myself I'm willing to give to something without sacrificing myself. It's a hard line to balance, and I think a lot of people spend a lot of their life figuring out where that line lays for them.

This week has been a week I've never imagined--I've never had to imagine--in terms of how far I can push myself, and how willing I am to push myself, for someone else.

My client's hearing is on April 11. We have 700 pages of documents to submit by Monday. They have to be perfect. We are the first "team" to have a hearing this semester in our clinic, meaning our deadlines are accelerated more than anyone else's. I've spent a couple of nights at school this semester working on various aspects of our client's case with my partner, but I had no idea what I was walking into when I left my house Tuesday morning at 8am. I had no idea I would not return to my apartment until Friday morning at 5:12pm, having slept for 3 hours total since leaving, and almost losing my mind in the process.

I've learned a lot this week--there are times for sacrificing what you need for the sake of someone else. There are also times when you need to step back to look at the big picture to evaluate the situation properly. There are hard conversations that need to be had with people, and sometimes the hardest ones yield the greatest results. Immigration is never black and white--there are always motives, conversations, details that we will never know.

But there are also the less tangible aspects of life: intuition--something we are born with and we can never ignore, there is belief in the good that lies at the heart of everything in everyone, and there is simple human resolve.

Fatigue is powerful, but so is drive. I never, ever want to remain awake for as many hours as I did this past week. It makes you unable to extricate yourself from the weeds of what you're working on. It's isolating and it makes you crazy. By Friday, when we expected to hand in our final draft of the documents we had poured ourselves into, when we got a shock from the government attorneys at 9am, we felt a soul crushing misalignment of life. We learned that no matter how prepared you are, no matter how hard you work, no matter how much you believe, there are always twists in the road.

I went home on Friday and slept from 5:30pm until 8:30am today. Every plan we had before yesterday has changed, and the reality of the situation has morphed into something that is almost unrecognizable from what it was just yesterday. But, in the clarity of rest, the drive does not wane. And that's encouraging.

I've learned that we do what we can. We work as hard as we can, but the work that we do will not always determine the outcome of the case at hand. No matter what I do, how well I plan, how hard I work and how many hours I remain awake will not guarantee the outcome we desire.

In the end, everything I've learned reaffirms what I already know: There is never a fault in extending yourself farther than you thought you could. We don't know what will happen in the next 14 days. But in the end, we'll know that we worked our asses off, maybe have made some wrong decisions, tried to make as many best decisions as we could, but will always believe in the actions we took..

The next 11 day will be hard. Really hard. But I know I have it in me. And I suppose sleep can wait a while, right?

When I Grow Up....

Here's what I'm going to do.

I'm not going to withhold knowledge and expertise I have on things. I mean, I figure, at some point in my life I'll have to be some sort of an expert on something that someone other than I care about, right?

Well you've heard it here first: When and if that time happens, I will happily participate in inquiries from honest and good law students who are trying to help someone. I will not brush them off like flies on my sleeve. I won't dismiss them rudely, telling them to read a chapter of my book rather to engaging in the work they're doing, even if, after that engagement, I realize my knowledge won't be of the kind of use that they're looking for. I will give people the same respect that a few generous souls have given to my partner and me, even though those generous people could not help us as we had hoped they could.

I won't ignore people, even if it's the 100th email I've received that day. And I won't hide behind a resume/portrait/profile like the wizard did in Oz.

We can't help people all the time, but we can always show them courtesy and respect without being dismissive.

And that's all I have to say about that.

The Souls We Connect With

Have you ever stumbled upon the life of a person you've never met but feel like you share a bit of a soul with? It happened to me today and I'm now voraciously researching a woman I would have liked to share a space with for even a moment in life.

I met today with a former U.S. Ambassador, and a woman who lived in Rwanda for the years leading up to the genocide. My partner and I had the amazing fortune to ask her questions and listen to her story of the life she led in Rwanda, get her insights, pick her brain. I sat captivated by the knowledge she shared with us, and of the memories that clearly still haunt her about the beginning of April, 1994. There were times when she would recount specific moments in time after President Habyarimana's plane was shot down signally the beginning of the 100 day massacre, the country spiraling out of control, the U.S. refusal to act, and her attempt to save a friend and colleague by allowing him to come over her wall to her compound as Hutu militia hunted and eventually killed him as he hung from her wall attempting to arrive at safety, and her frustration, regret, and lack of understanding were palpable.

She told us a lot of stories. Some that gave us pause as the one above, some that were heartwarming and highlighted the goodness in so many people, and one that got me researching and caused me to stumble onto the life of a woman named Rosamund Carr. Here is a link to a write up that was done following her death in 2006. And there is so much more information out there.

I think she's a lady I would have liked. I know she's someone I would have liked to meet. She is certainly a soul to be emulated, one to learn from, and an example of what one person can do to change the world.

Never Again

We say, as a country, never again. But we are cowards.

We stand by and watch the horror of Darfur unfold, but we take no action.

We allow our civil liberties to be depleted, but we sound no fury.

We watch, complacently, as our government searches wildly for enemies that do not exist, while our brothers are slaughtered.

We stand, silently aside, watching our world deteriorate, but we only see those with benefits.

I feel sad for us. And that's all I have to say.

Actually, it isn't. take a minute. Take 20, and go to www.youtube.com and search "Devil Came on Horseback". You don't even need Netflix. you can watch it for free from your computer. Watch it, and think. And be angry. And indignant. Or just watch it. Never again...until now. God help us all.

Poem

Things fall at your doorstop at the most unexpected times. This was given to me today by a solid and supportive gal. And I don't think I've read anything recently that has captured the truth that this poem does in relation to the battle I am engaged in. Enjoy.

IF.....

IF you can keep your head when all about you Are losing theirs and blaming it on you, If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, But make allowance for their doubting too; If you can wait and not be tired by waiting, Or being lied about, don't deal in lies, Or being hated, don't give way to hating, And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise: If you can dream - and not make dreams your master; If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim; If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster And treat those two impostors just the same; If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools, Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken, And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools: If you can make one heap of all your winnings And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss, And lose, and start again at your beginnings And never breathe a word about your loss; If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew To serve your turn long after they are gone, And so hold on when there is nothing in you Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on!' If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue, ' Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch, if neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you, If all men count with you, but none too much; If you can fill the unforgiving minute With sixty seconds' worth of distance run, Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it, And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!

--kipling

Appreciation

Blogging is interesting. You "meet" people through the pages of your words who share a similar sense of release that comes with pouring yourself onto a computer screen. My all time favorite new friend, GirlTuesday, and I share a common "real life" friend in her smallish state so our meeting was not completely coincidental. But since getting to know her from her blog has made me, quite frequently, do a double take at the similarities we share.

She posted, a few days ago, a lovely poem by ee cumings. Everyone should read it--once again she's posted something that has personally come at the most exact time for me. I am looking forward to the day (that's coming soon) where we get to sit across a table and chat face to face.

Houseguests

So I spoke about being a little lonely in my last blog. Part of the reason is that I come home every night and am welcomed by the company of my television in the background or the internet. I know, it sounds pretty pathetic, but it's kind of the way my life is right now.

This past week I had one of my best friend's from Mali stay with me--it was unexpected, and I was asked to be hospitable after being awake for 26 hours, but I could not gladder (is that a word?) I said yes.

My friend had keys to my building and apartment since he's stayed with me before. It was delightful to have someone at home when I got home, to chat with, to vent to, someone who very much understands that trials that go along with international work. But not only international work, work that really means something to you.

This morning we woke up and my friend went to get bagels and coffee. We spent the next two hours reminiscing about Mali and talking about the life we led together there. We talked about the reality of my case, and for the first time in a long time I talked about the grand and real fears I had surrounding it. My friend has a way of quietly reassuring and affirming the fears I have--while ever so strongly supporting what I'm doing.

I have a lot of support in this endeavor--my family being the most devout--but for a few days it was comforting to have my friend here.

A lot has happened this week. Most of it negative. The world of immigration is fickle, and it is always a struggle. I still don't understand how a country founded on immigrants can be so blind to the pressing needs those seeking refuge as to turn them away at the gates.

It's comforting having a friend in town. If for no other reason than the sheer familiarity of the space where you exist--a sort of shout out to the fact that you're not going insane. I already miss my friend, as I sit here in a quietly peaceful apartment. Having company that soothes and understands is the most priceless there is.

Coming Down From Being Up

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.

My New Favorite Procrastination Website

This is hilarious. Everyone should read it. And laugh hard.

That's all for today.

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.

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.

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...

'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.

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.

This is Why

I vote Obama 2008.

http://www.dipdive.com/

Yes We Can repair the world. There is nothing false about Hope.

The Good One Liners

There are times in every gal's life when the right path is not always evident. Do I buy that pair of $325.00 Michael Kors shoes on my student loans, or do I not? (Not, P.S.). Do I go out on a date with someone who is completely not my style? Do I walk back into a relationship that may, or may not, be what I'm looking for? Do I attend the nuptuals of someone who I can't reconcile my feelings for?

Whatever question we wrestle with, the decision is never arrived at before extensive consultations with the troop of gals. The Michael Kors decision was made, at the better advice of H, after an hour walking around the Barney's in DC admiring the beauty of my feet, staring at my (very full) credit cards, going back and forth at the cost/use ratio of the shoes, and then finally forcing H to take my hand and drag me out of the store, swearing she would not let me back in for the shoes for at least...one month. I never bought the shoes, and my (again, very full) shoe closet is none the wiser or emptier.

But those are the easier decisions we make with the consultation of our girlfriends. The harder ones hit at the core of who we are as people, adults, women, individuals. And no matter what the take is of the group, they are often largely independent decisions that are arrived at from a lot of soul searching.

I've been fairly content, as of late. I saw that movie everyone has been raving about, you know, the one about teenage pregnancy called Juno, and I loved it, as, like, everyone in America has. But there's this one line that's particularly striking to me. Juno's pregnant, and her dad says "I didn't think you were this kind of girl, Juno" (or something like that) and she responds "I don't really think I know what kind of girl I am".

I loved that. And empathized with it, thinking back on age 16. And the craziest thing was I identified with it, at age 28.

I wonder at what point you begin to know what kind of person you are, and if it varies for everyone. I see my friend M, who has a baby and husband and house identifying who she is through that and many other things. I see my cousin J continuing to define herself not through the negative but through this amazing empire she continues to create and dominate throughout the U.S. And it's inspiring. But I don't know if I know what kind of girl I am yet.

What do we define ourselves based on? Surely not relationships, but what? Every day I stare at a wedding invitation from one of my very best friends, an invitation to a joyous occasion, and I can't bring myself to fill it out, because I know my feelings for this person are not wholly reconciled. I continue to shove it farther and farther under my pile of unread mail, hoping it will disappear. But it doesn't. I mean, I know what my response is, it's just a matter of filling it out. My friend C said she would fill it out and seal it up and send it for me, and I think I might take her up on the offer. But I am left with asking myself again, if I can't do this, what kind of person am I?

I guess I'll start by what I know, and maybe we can narrow it down from there:
1. I know I'm a great friend.
2. I think I'm a fairly passable sibling.
3. I am a humanitarian.
4. I am, again, passably intelligent.
5. I am loved by more people than I can count on 20 hands.
6. I know I have great friends.
7. I have the most amazing family (both immediate and extended) that a gal could dream of.
8. I am alive.

In the grand scheme of life, that list of eight is not so bad. But does it tell what kind of person I am? Not really. There's this great song I've been listening to by Regina Spektor called "Hotel Song" and it's been my contemplative rhyme, as of late (ignore the references to cocaine). I've been thinking a lot about who I am, and I have yet to come to a solid conclusion. So I guess like Juno, I don't really know what kind of a girl I am. But I suppose life is about continuing to discover that.

The Kindness of Strangers

I am realizing quickly, this semester, how many remarkably obstacles there are in representing an asylum seeker/immigration law. It's fascinating (and often infuriating) and I already believe that I am becoming a better lawyer through the process that our clinic forces us to go through.

One of the greatest challenges I've faced is language issues with our client. My client speaks Kinyarwandan. A little French. A smattering of Swahili. And basic English. It's not easy to find translators, and it can be quite frustrating when you realize (as some of my colleagues have) that they have clients who are really only fluent in a very obscure local language--and that the current translator they have brought has some sort of conflict of interest that will make it difficult to continue to use said translator.

Language barriers aren't new to me--having lived in a village where only about 3000 people in the world spoke out dialect of the language, it can be hugely frustrating. To be in a country where you can't find anyone who can speak the dialect can kill an asylum case. It's a serious issue, and we've all been learning how to deal with it.

When I came home from Peace Corps I joined a couple of the PC listserves. Mali Peace Corps, Peace Corps general, whatever was out there. I have never checked the threads, until I actually needed to post something myself.

This week I have posted 3 dire requests for translators--for my client once and for two other classmates later. The response I've gotten is incredible. I've been put in touch with Nweh, Mina and Kinyarwandan speakers all over the US. I've received words of wisdom, advice, encouragement from people I have never met, but who have been PCVs as well. And I've never been more grateful for the outpouring of kindness from strangers.

In the capitol city, there's a saying: If you throw a stone you'll actually hit two returned peace corps volunteers: the stone will hit one and ricochet off them and end up hitting another. Everyone in this town, it seems, has done Peace Corps. It's not novel or really that interesting at all here. But let me tell you, it has been the most remarkable experience having all of these people who don't know anything about me, step forward and offer their help, or friend's names. All because we each made the decision to spend just over 2 years as volunteers all over the world.

I've often said, and I will continue to say, I would not trade those two years for anything in the world. And frankly, I would do it again in an equally as challenging community. And the experience I've had this week solidifies it even more. Having a group of strangers move to act for my (and my client's) benefit has been profound. And I am grateful to each and every one of them. I think I'll start checking the threads from this point on. You never know when you'll be able to help someone else, and I would hate to miss an opportunity to return some of the kindness I've received from strangers.

Thanks, I Think I'll Reserve My Sympathy

I've been greeted with shock in the last 24 hours over my lack of...well...horror...over the death of Heath Ledger. A 28 year old man who had made it big in Hollywood. A man my age, who died in some unknown fashion. A man who had every resource, every outlet, every ability to reach out and get help for whatever demons he was dealing with.

I can't bring myself to apologize for this lack of response right now. I have a hard time watching young Hollywood drink themselves/drug themselves/overindulge themselves to death, all the while having the American public expressing more shock and horror over every emerging celebrity downfall with more emotion than they show toward the emerging situation in say...Darfur. Or Somalia. Or Iraq, to name a few.

What makes it even more difficult to feel great empathy in this situation is the fact that I have 2.5 months to figure how to be an advocate for someone who actually needs empathy and attention. That person being my client. Who fled from Rwanda. Whose entire family was slaughtered. Who is looking to me to help her remain in a country where her life is no longer in danger. Who does not have any other options other than law students fighting tooth and nail for her asylum.

I do feel sadness for the family of Heath Ledger. And for the passing of someone who is as young as he was. But frankly, I cannot emote the same sadness and despair for this person as I do for the 276 people (yes, that's a real number) and their families who were killed, captured or wounded in Iraq in the past three days, or the estimated 500 people killed in Darfur every day, or the 750,000+ people killed in Rwanda in three short months between April and July of 1994.

Does that make me insensitive, perhaps. But I will not apologize for that.

This is Disturbing

So, if anyone follows the gossip blogs as much as I do, then you'll be familiar with the slow morph of Katie Holmes' from cute, nice, Dawsons Creek girl to creepy, zombie like wife of Tom Cruise. I mean, you kind of wonder how anyone has the much power over anyone else, but it's fairly clear she has become some sort of dazed Stepford wife.

But that's not what is truly disturbing. THIS is. It's the Tom Cruise Scientology video that has apparently caused quite a stir, and you can kind of see why. For the majority of the video, and certainly in the first minute or so, he's not even speaking in coherent sentences. Almost like he's possessed.

If you have 8 minutes or so, I highly recommend it. If you've ever wondered where cults start, this is a good place to begin the investigation...

Bravery

While today is the first day of classes for the semester, I feel like I have been immersed in school much longer because of my clinic, which is not a bad thing. I feel, for the first time in a long time, that I am doing work that I really love and that is truly gratifying--and while my shiny new day planner is already crammed with meetings, appointments, interviews and deadlines, I feel a certain lightness that has been absent for some time.

The last 6 days has been centered around learning about the client and her background, and getting to know my partner with whom I'll be traveling down this path with all semester. The clinic pairs people completely randomly--and with full disclosure of the randomness--and emphasizes that one of the main aspects of this clinic, aside from advocacy, is interpersonal relationship building and management. The director and fellows make no promises that the pairs will become best friends, or have similar personalities or complimentary ones, and they make no apologies in advance for issues that arise in the working relationship. They do stress the necessity of working through, in an honest manner, issues that arise as they arise, all as part of the learning process.

One of the things I admire about this clinic is their openness with the students. They work from a methodology of problem solving, teamwork, creativity and support--a methodology that is not found in most typical law school classes, and one that is not meant to exist. For the first time since beginning law school, there is no competition among groups or individuals--we have a common goal, and that is to achieve the best possible outcome for all of our clients while fulfilling personal goals we set for ourselves at the beginning of the semester. It's unique, and I love it.

My teammate, who I will most likely talk about a lot on here, and I have spent a lot of time together in the past 6 days. We have spent time not only getting to know each other, but getting to know our client and her background through the papers and research we have done. I could not ask for a more fantastic person to work with.

My teammate asked me, a few days ago, "what is bravery". What a question. One of the things I love about her is that we have the same philosophical personalities--we question what is put before us in an innocent and probing manner.

Bravery. It's such a concept, I think. Can any of us begin to understand the gravity of what it means to watch a family, our family, be slaughtered? Can we understand the meaning in fighting to keep our father's and mother's and sister's persecutors in jail? Can we ever begin to feel the weight that is the death of our family?

I gain strength and ambition and true passion from my family. And we are meant to effect some sort of empathy. It's remarkably difficult....and it's our job.

Our client is brave. She is brave beyond remarks. There is stoicism and grace in this world--and to see a woman embrace, on paper those things is humbling. I hope to learn volumes from her, and I think I will..