Commentary
Page 12
Street Roots •
Feb. 3-9, 2017
A lost weekend across the border and into another world
They m ust fin d it difficult, those who have taken
authority as truth, rather than truth as
authority.
- Gerald Massey, Poet.
To cheat oneself out o f love is the most terrible
deception; it is an eternal loss for which there is
no reparation, either in time or in eternity.
- Soren Kierkegaard
BY DELARAM MORADPOUR
C O N T R IB U T IN G c o l u m n is t
V"T T e can spend a considerable amount
l / l / of time discussing the banality of
▼ V the authority that thrives on fear
Delaram Moradpour is
an Iranian im m igrant
who works with
refugees as a translator
in Portland. Marc
Banholzer, a German
im m igrant living in
British Columbia,
contributed to this
story.
of its nation. But let us shed light on this
one-of-a-kind story of two passports meeting
each other. This story is based on truth and
took place over the
weekend before which
President Trump
signed an executive
order halting green
card holders from
seven muslim countries
from re-entering the
United States for 90
days as well as banning
Syrian refugees
indefinitely. Those who
hold a valid visa are
also banned from
entering the country
..........
thoughtful order
impacts 90,000 people
and one of these lucky
people happens to be
me,, Delaram
Moradpour. I am the
Iranian immigrant featured in the Street
Roots Planet Portland article “Rebel
Heart.” (Sept. 18, 2015)
Everything happened too quick and too
abruptly for me to get a chance to change
my Facebook profile to a sad picture of me
with a short message under it that says
“I’m an immigrant.” In fact, I did not even
get a chance to protest the executive order
on social media. It fell on me and a friend
of mine who I decided to visit in Canada
over the weekend of Jan. 27,1 always go to
Vancouver, B.C., to unwind (and by that I
mainly mean partying). Feeling very
confident about my green card I decided to
visit a guy with one of the most powerful
passports on this planet: the German
passport.
After five years of living in Portland and
becoming absolutely oblivious of my past
and the fear and anguish of a rebellion I
was thriving on, I received the gift of
freedom of expression that the United
States First Amendment gave me. I opened
my wings and flew around with a precious
green card in my wing pocket I spoke my
mind without having the fear of a big bulky
guy in a swat team suit knocking on my
door and questioning me about i t I forgot
that there are no cars without license
plates to take me away because of what I
do or what I say. I learned that there are
rules; I have rights, as crazy as it sounds.
On Thursday, Jan. 26 ,1 decided to go to
Vancouver B.C. for the weekend. I packed
my stuff and on Friday Jan. 27:at 3:30 p.m.
I headed toward Canada. My friend Ali, who
is a PhD candidate at Portland State
University, called me when I was already at
the border and said, “Dude, are you sure
about this? I do not want to scare you but I
think you could have chosen a better time.
What if they do not let you back in? Ask
them!” And I responded, “Just relax. I have
already crossed the border.” (That was a
lie.) “And I asked them and they said it’s
fine.” (Also a lie.)
I was nodding my head, telling myself,
“He is over|y concerned because he is on a
student visa. I am a legal resident” and it
was funny the way I was pronouncing legal
in my head, as if it really meant anything.
As if Ali was illegally there.
After crossing the border to Canada the
time went by fast. We had drinks, walked
along the bay where I dipped my feet into
the frigid water and met Kelly who
improved his houseboat in the middle of
the night. After having another drink and
spilling it all over the carpet we went to
bed, since the weekend was short and we
had enough plans to fill a two-week vacation
in Vancouver.
At 8:36 a.m. I was still in bed and woke
up to the ringtone of my cellphone and I
barely opened my eyes, just to Marc’s hand
handing over my cellphone to me. It was
my mother video calling me and I can recall
that she called me at least twice before I
,l* *
swiped right and before I got a chance to
say “Hi mom!” she yelled “ Delà! What are
you doing? Get your butt out of there and
go back NOW! ” And the moment I opened
my mouth to ask what was going on she
shouted with her Persian squeaky voice
“the immigration ban that Trump just ;
signed includes green card holders too! We
just heard it on BBC Persia! You have to get
out of there and go back now! No! Call
them first and see if they will let you in.”
I interpreted the message in English to
Marc just to hear him say, “Excuse me?” I
called the Peace Arch Border Control and a
lady answered the phone “Hello?” I
explained the situation and she said, “Yes, I
have heard about the new executive order
but I do not understand how it would affect
those who are legal permanent residents. I
am not sure if we can deny entry to those
who want to enter their own country.”
My own country? <
She said “hold on a minute.” Then she
transferred me to someone who I could tell
had just gotten there. He said, “Ma’am, I
cannot say what exactly will happen. I
cannot tell you if you should come now but
if you are coming back tomorrow I would
say follow the news for more information.
All I know is that there will be an
inspection.”
The decision was made immediately. I
packed my luggage and threw it in the car
and Marc grabbed a few packs of cigarettes
and shoved them into his duffel bag and
made coffee. At the very last moment he
grabbed his German passport “just in case”
and we headed toward the U.S. border, hot
thinking about what to say or what to do.
As we drove by a Canadian police car, I
remembered the time that seeing a police
car would terrify me almost to the point of
having a heart attack, and how those
feelings disappeared after residing in
Portland.
As we approached the kiosk to have our.
documents checked, I felt my heart
palpitating. I asked “What should we do?
Should I tell the office what is going on or
just proceed as always?” Marc said, “Yeah,
just do as you usually do.” I scanned my
green card at the RFID station in front of
the kiosk. It did not register as a card! I
began thinking: “I think this is it. They have
already canceled it.” I tried again and it
went through. I approached the officer
upon the green light and I handed my green
card and Marc’s passport. He stared at me
and I looked ahead and I thought, “Oh, look
at him, otherwise he is going to think that
you are hiding something.” I looked right
back at him and he asked us where we were
going.and where we were from.
“Oh we are going to Seattle,” Marc said.
“Yeah, for the weekend,” I added.
He handed our documents back and with
a smirk on his face said, “Well, all right
then. Have a safe trip!”
Wait, are you joking? Am I not getting
pulled aside? Are you not going to inspect
every inch of my car?
It was only a few seconds after crossing
the border that the reality started to sink
in. I burst into tears involuntarily and we
started laughing at the morbid situation
thafwaTnoneScistent 24hoursago. f
immediately started thinking about all of
the refugees and other immigrants I have
been working with for the past four years as
a medical interpreter and case worker. I
was so oblivious of their problems when
this catastrophe befell me.
I can speak English. I know my way
around the city and I have college degree. I
have a job. But I know that a man I worked
with does not possess any of these -
privileges, and he has a son who was
disabled during the war on terrorism in
Afghanistan.
I know a woman who is not even aware
that her status as a refugee is endangered
because she was never given a chance to go
to school and learn foreign languages, I
know another who is not going to see her
husband next week after two years of
waiting and her two little children are not
going to see their father for the first time.
Ali will probably not be able to renew his
visa and another man I know will never see
his wife who is coming from Syria.
I know that my friend Samira who is a
case manager at Catholic Charities might
get laid off because with no refugees
coming who is she going to work with? Her
colleagues might lose their jobs because
the new president wishes to keep the jobs
safe by not letting outsiders in.
The sense of pride I always used to take
in my choice of career was negated and I
could foresee the sparkles of hope leaving
my eyes pretty soon because I had to go \
back to work and slowly tell my people that
their situation is going to change.
I pulled the car over in a town center and
we got out of the car to have a cigarette and
e a t I was once again in a country in which
See LOST WEEKEND, page 13