I.N.S.ufferable

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© 2001-2002 R.C. Barajas

From the Washington Post March 13, 2002:

Reading the above article the other morning, I felt an insane, irrepressible laughter welling up in my throat.

Or perhaps that was the urge to throw up.

On the one hand, any castigation of the I.N.S. has my total support and I will gleefully cast the first, second and third stones, if handed a succession of pointy rocks. On the other hand, my history with that institution is not a happy one. I cannot imagine comparing it to any kind of lovable, woodland creature -- spawn of Disney or no. I have nothing but horrific memories associated with that agency and they scare the hell out of me. Brutality and incompetence are a terrifying mix.

11 years ago, while living in Bogotá, my Colombian husband Adolfo and I were thrown into the pit of a man named Jim Conner, a foul-tempered Consul General who seemed to get a charge out of ruining our lives. He had implied that Adolfo might never receive a resident visa to the US. He had called Adolfo a liar and a fraud, had shaken his papers at him, had hissed that they were easily falsified. His face apoplectic, his voice quaking with rage, he'd spat at Adolfo that he was to be placed under investigation by the INS. That very day, his papers would be flown to Mexico, he promised.

In the end, only the expensive help of an immigration lawyer (paid for by my parents -- we were virtually broke) allowed us to discover that Conner was, apparently, yanking our chain for sheer sport.

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