As I headed into what we hoped would be the last of a long series of hearings, to decide whether our friend would be granted asylum, I wondered what good, if any, our silent witness had been. At each hearing at least six of us sat in the back, listening to testimony, watching exhibits argued over by our friend’s attorney and the attorney for the Department of Homeland Security (DHS)… Did it make any difference for us to be there, other than providing support for our friend?

A bit of background. Our friend had been a vocal opponent of Female Genital Mutilation (FGM) in her country. This didn’t go over well with one faction of militants who threatened her and her family for a long time, and eventually broke into her home and forcibly circumsized her, with a blunt object, in front of her children. This silenced her. But her silence didn’t matter. Later, when there was new unrest between various factions, the militants came after her again, threatening to kill her. She fled the country and sought asylum in the United States. Her request for asylum was denied and she has faced deportation while her case was appealed through the Federal immigration court system.

She was certain that if she were to return to her country, she would be killed. Her neighbors had been attacked when the militants had come looking for her shortly after she fled her village, and a man who had worked for her had been brutally beaten by the rebels, trying to find out where she was hiding.

When I’d first heard about her situation, I was shocked that her case wasn’t a slam dunk. The 9th Circuit Court of Appeals, in Mohammed v. Gonzalez (2005) had held that a person who faced FGM or had already been mutilated should be granted asylum. But most people who struggle through our immigration system will tell you that it is rarely easy, and many people quite deserving of asylum never get it.

Fortunately, our friend had people in her life here who were willing to help pay for a good attorney, and other friends who were willing to come to court, time after time, and sit silently in the back of the room to support her.

During much of the hearings, it seemed that the lawyer from DHS was determined to deport our friend. It was, after all, her job to argue for the decision immigration officials had already made in this case, not to grant our friend asylum. She objected to much of the documentation and testimony our friend’s lawyer tried to present and she constantly questioned our friend’s credibility. She was completely professional, incredibly competent, and well organized. Had our friend not deserved asylum, this attorney would have fought to the bitter end (and would probably have won).

But, something happened in this last hearing. The DHS attorney accepted all of the new evidence being offered without objection. She even helped our friend’s attorney, during closing arguments, when older items of evidence were hard to find in the hundreds of pages of stuff that had been gathered over these many months.

After closing arguments, the judge said that based on Mohammed v Gonzales, he was compelled to grant asylum and asked the DHS attorney if her office would appeal his decision if he did so. She asked for ten minutes to think about that and left the courtroom. When she returned, she told the judge that her office would not appeal the decision, and our friend was granted asylum. Her long nightmare was over and a new life in America was about to begin.

As the DHS attorney packed up, our friend walked over, in tears, and asked if she could hug her. The attorney smiled and they hugged. Then, the attorney looked at us, those who had sat silently in the back all these months, and she said “It was a really good thing for you all to be here every time. Thank you.”

So what did that mean? Was our presence some reassurance that our friend was telling the truth? Does the government care if someone seeking asylum has a community of people who cares about her and are willing to support her? Or, as Jesus said, was the mere fact that two or more had gathered each time, in the name of love, in the name of justice, in the name of compassion… was God’s spirit also there, helping to move the scales of justice in favor of this woman who had faced so much terror?

I don’t think I can know the answer to that question. All I do know is that during a month where I’ve had to constantly run back and forth to hospitals and doctor’s offices with my ailing father, work nights and weekends running a small business that desperately needs my attention, put together a vigil remembering the anniversary of the Iraq war, and present at an interfaith workshop… the list goes on. During a month like that, I have to admit that I was not in the most giving spirit when I was asked to come to that courtroom, to sit silently, wondering if there was any point to my being there.

After those tears, that hug, and the thank you… I know I was in the right place. Where two or more are gathered…

…

NOTE: I have purposely not named my friend or her country. She can and will tell her story to those whom she wishes to tell. I am proud of the way the court handled this case, which included ensuring that if our friend wanted privacy, we would all have been tossed out of the room.