by Lori Qian
The most important factor when determining whether or not an applicant qualifies for a tourist visa is the evidence that the Chinese citizen will return to China. We had more than adequate evidence that both of us planned to return to our jobs and life after visiting the States for a few weeks.
Now, the fact that we were applying for a non-immigrant visa did not mean that my husband never wanted to immigrate. In our minds, these were completely separate issues. Yes, perhaps the following year we would apply for immigration. However, at that moment we simply wanted to go home for Christmas. We saw no reason why we could not do both, and therefore we saw no reason to lie about our plans.
Many friends, however, had advised us to do just that. “When the interviewing officer asks if you ever plan to immigrate, just tell him no!” they told us. They said that once an applicant disclosed the fact that they eventually wanted to immigrate, they would be denied a non-immigrant visa in the meantime. I thought that was crazy. I mean, what if we planned to work overseas for the next five years? By the rationale my friends presented, my husband could never visit the States during that time? It sounded ludicrous, and we saw no reason to believe it. We had nothing to hide! In fact, the embassy’s website said not to conceal the fact that you eventually plan to immigrate, as this would not make someone ineligible for a tourist visa. They were completely separate issues. That’s what the site said.
Well, when my husband got his chance to interview, we realized that the US consulate did not in fact see them as separate issues. The officer was not interested in any of our compelling evidence of our plans to return to Guangzhou after a short visit. He was interested only in whether or not William ever planned to immigrate, to which William honestly told him that he did— perhaps in the year 2004.
Bam! That was all they needed. A big fat rejection stamp was put in his passport.
When William walked out, he could barely talk. His sadness and hurt made me infuriated. How could they tell have told him no? How could they have not looked at any of his documents? How could they have rejected him for the very reason they claimed they wouldn’t?
We stood outside the embassy for what felt like an eternity with tears streaming down our faces and a horrible pain in our hearts. We watched other applicants come out with joy on their faces because they had obtained their visas and were going to visit America. The world was spinning; I couldn’t make sense of what had just happened. Wait a minute, I thought. These people get to go to America but William can’t come home for Christmas to meet his family? How on earth are they deemed more worthy to go than my husband? We were frozen with anger and sadness and we both had the sickest feeling—the feeling that although we had been wronged and that clearly a mistake or injustice had occurred, it was not likely to change.
The system was so complicated. It had taken us weeks to even get this appointment, and once you’ve been rejected once it is much harder to get another appointment, and even harder than that to actually get your visa approved. We also knew that the visa department was indeed the last word and they basically didn’t have to answer to anybody. Thirdly, if we didn’t know it before, we suddenly knew that we were two “nobodys.”
We stood there outside the consulate trying to comfort each other but knowing that no comfort would be found. Our plans to go home for Christmas were destroyed. They had told my husband no. They had unfairly and unjustly said no to our dream.
The American Services office, where I planned to appeal this decision, would not open for another four hours. We spent them in the lobby of a fancy hotel down the street. Normally when we were in this part of town we liked to walk around and look at the shops and have a wonderful lunch. Not this day. On this day we were almost too sad to breathe, let alone eat. We thought and talked for hours, trying to make sense of it. We couldn’t. When we realized we couldn’t make sense of it we tried to accept it. I wondered if there was perhaps some divine reason we had been rejected. That didn’t work for me either. No matter how we looked at it, it was just wrong. William said it best: “They hurt us, and they ruined our plan.”
When the time came for us to go to the American Services Unit, I explained my case to the officer at the window and tried very hard to not let the tears and my distressed appearance take away from the validity of my argument. She handed me a complaint form to fill out. I listed two complaints: 1) the interviewing officer had not looked at any of my husband’s evidence; 2) the officer—and the system—in fact punished my husband for being honest. At the bottom of the form I said I would be eternally grateful to have the chance to talk for five minutes with someone who could help us. At the very bottom of the form, I wrote the words “help me.” I felt like I was at the bottom of a well and that anyone with any power would never hear me and would never have any reason to come down in the well to find me. There were layers and layers of protective bureaucracy between the horrible reject stamp in William’s passport and any chance of justice.
My form was given to the American Services Unit supervisor, a nice woman who told me that unfortunately there was nothing she or her office could do. I wanted to scream and sob but I had to hold it together. I knew that she was my link to help, if there was help to be had. I tried to make her understand that I was not simply “sad” because my husband had been rejected. Rather, someone had made a mistake and William never should have been rejected in the first place. Therefore, taking her suggestion to go through this horrible process of trying again was simply incomprehensible.
I stood there, unsuccessfully fighting back tears, knowing she was my only hope. When there was nothing more to say, I simply said, “Please help me.”
After looking right into my eyes for several seconds, she took a big breath, let out a sigh, and said that she would personally take the form to her supervisor. She let me know that she honestly didn’t think the situation would change but that she would give the form to him.
I was so grateful—this was at least some action. She said there was really no reason to wait and that I should go home. She explained again that this decision was not likely to change because the visa department really was its own section and their decision was final. Still, I said I would wait. If it was true that the visa department’s decision was final, after all, then why was I even here?
I also couldn’t face going back outside, back home, back to work, back to our lives knowing that this horrible thing had happened. I didn’t know how to make peace with it, how to go on, how to call my family and tell them we weren’t coming and that William wouldn’t ever be able to come for a visit. I thought about my dad having passed away the previous year just a week before Christmas. It would mean so much to our family for William and me to be home this year, and I couldn’t face the fact that he couldn’t go.
As I was thinking about spending Christmas here in China, I noticed a man coming toward me.
He made eye contact with me. “Can you come over to the counter?” he asked, beckoning me toward him.
I literally jumped out of my seat and dropped all my papers on the floor. My head was spinning. He obviously had power and my complaint had gotten his attention. Now he was standing before me asking about my situation. I wanted to jump up and down and hug him simply for talking to me. Instead, I began to calmly explain our situation.
“Is your husband here?” he asked when I’d told him the whole story.
“Yes,” I said, “he’s waiting right downstairs.”
“Let’s go get him,” he said. I literally grabbed on to the counter to keep from falling down. I could not believe this. This man was helping me, listening to me, and he was going to take me outside to get William. I did not understand what was going on but I suddenly felt significantly lighter.
As I followed him down the stairs and outside, I simply said, “Thank you for helping me,” to which he casually replied, “It’s all right.” I was silently thanking God over and over and over again. I was in awe of what was happening.
We walked outside, p
ast all the guards who had told William he wasn’t allowed in, and, with a wave of his arm, the man said, “Go get your husband.”
Across the open lot, behind the gate, there was a sea of people—mostly people who had also been rejected—and William was among them. I waved him over and he ran toward me. I ran to meet him. The guards tried to stop him until they saw the man behind me, who I later learned was the chief consul, likely the highest position at the consulate general in Guangzhou.
William and I grabbed hands and began running toward the man.
“I don’t know what’s going on,” I told him, “but it’s a miracle.” And it was.
As we entered the embassy with this man it was like we were entering a different world. He escorted us to the visa section and then said good-bye. “Thank you” was all we could say as we watched him walk away. He had not told us exactly what was going on and we had not asked. It was clear at that point, though—in both of our hearts if not our heads—that a miracle was taking place. It was as if we didn’t want to put it into words at that point, for fear that words would trivialize it and make it disappear. So we just sat there squeezing each other’s hands and thanking God for this amazing turnaround.
After a long wait, they called our names and we stood together before an interviewing officer. He was very pleasant but made sure to point out that although my complaint had referred to them as unfair, they in fact were just doing their jobs. I didn’t want to argue at that point. I knew that these officers did indeed have a very difficult job to do. I also knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that they had indeed made a mistake with William’s case, but I wasn’t about to say that now. None of the anger I’d felt earlier that day was with me now. I was just grateful.
After talking with us, the officer did decide to issue the visa. We were overjoyed, to say the least. Although we had been married less than a year, there had already been a number of occasions where we had felt gratitude to a degree we never would have thought possible, usually at the conclusion of some challenge. However, this was the first time in our marriage—and possibly in our lives—that we’d had a day where we’d gone from the depths of despair to feeling on top of the world in less than twelve hours.
How grateful I am for the small things that led to this miracle. The woman in the American Services Unit took my complaint to her boss rather than filing it away. This made it possible for the chief consul to see my complaint immediately upon returning from lunch. He read it and did something about it. This is the miracle. How often do we all look at something and then put it aside to deal with later? For whatever reason, this man read about my problem, got up from his desk, and did something about it right then and there.
Our experience that day taught me a great deal. First and foremost, it is worthwhile to question something that we care about, no matter how overwhelming the issue might feel. I also learned that when we want something done we need to be persistent and visible, so that we are not forgotten. Finally, I was reminded that “the system” is really made up of individuals who have the power to undo an injustice and even make what seems impossible become a reality.
The truth is that although this experience had a happy ending, it still hurts to think about it. It took so much out of us to apply and then to appeal this incredibly unjust decision. It scares me to think that maybe it will always be like this for my husband. Because there are so many people who abuse the system, he’ll just have that many more hoops to jump through as he pursues immigration, residency, and perhaps citizenship in the United States of America. I keep telling him that it will be worth it. I often tell myself that too.
chapter 42
William and I knew that at some point we wanted to be parents and we’d been talking about it for a long time. Finally, in August, we’d decided that we would begin to try to get pregnant. For me, this brought so many dreams—so many ideas about being a mother and what that would mean—into focus. I thought about how when I’d come to China, marriage wasn’t something I’d even thought about. Motherhood, though, was. The memory of that first day in the orphanage, holding the baby, and how it was so incredibly difficult to leave her. The idea of having a child of my own. The fact that it seemed now, I would have both: a wonderful husband and the chance to have a child. A little person to share with, to teach, to love, to pass on my lessons to.
As the months went by, we knew in our hearts that we did indeed want to become parents, and despite the fact that we weren’t completely financially ready, we felt good about going ahead with this plan.
Other than that, we were counting down the days until our departure for America. I was so excited that I found it hard to sleep those last few weeks before the trip. William, as well, was counting the days and running through our trip out loud. “Now, tell me again what we’ll do on Christmas,” he would say. “What is the tradition about the night before? Who’s hosting the party for us? Do you think we’ll be able to buy noodles in America?” It was so fun to hear his endless questions, and just as fun for me to tell him everything I could about America and Christmas and my family. After all, this would be a trip of so many “firsts” for him, and I couldn’t wait to see it all through his eyes.
Every part of our journey was fun simply because we were together. One of the most exhilarating parts for me was leaving mainland China for Hong Kong. I knew then, as William passed through that customs gate, that this trip was real. How many times before had I gone through that gate alone, having to leave William behind? The previous July, when Mom had come, he hadn’t been able to come to the airport with me to see her off; he simply hadn’t had the right to cross that border.
That fact sickened me. Westerners are quite passionate about personal rights in general but when it hit me personally, the feelings it generated were very unexpected. Now, however, here we were, together on the other side of customs, boarding the ferry for Hong Kong. We were on top of the world.
We hung out in Hong Kong for a couple of days, walking and browsing in the most expensive parts of town and then going home to our hotel room and eating microwave noodles at night. We stayed in a nice hotel right in the center of Kowloon. We took the MTR (Hong Kong’s fantastic subway system) to the temple, to the peak on Central, rode the star ferry, and basically just explored and talked and enjoyed every second.
When we finally left for the US, all the flights went smoothly. Neither of us could sit still on the flight from Los Angeles to Chicago. I could not believe that in a few short hours we would be in the same room with my family. William would hug them. They would see him. We would eat together, drive together, spend Christmas together. My family was finally going to meet my husband.
When we landed in Chicago, my family was there, waiting at the baggage area. I saw Chrissy, Barb, all of them. Before I knew it, they were running toward us, everyone hugging William at once. Mom looked so proud, as if to say “I already got to meet him.” She gave William a long squeeze and they both smiled at each other. My mom radiated happiness, and I loved that she wanted to hug William. Chrissy started jumping and clapping: “This is so cool! He’s finally here.” We grabbed our bags and walked toward the car.
“Well, William I’ve got a good dinner ready for you. I hope you are hungry,” Mom said.
“I am. That sounds good. What did you make?”
“Well, Barbara and I worked on it together and Chrissy and Shaleen made the desserts. We’ve got ham, twice-baked potatoes, and pies, all kinds of great stuff!”
I was looking forward to introducing William to all these yummy American foods. I knew that would be great, but I knew it was just the beginning. This was going to be magical.
The next twelve days were filled with cookies, hot chocolate, caroling, wrapping presents, opening presents, sharing the Christmas story on Christmas Eve, playing games, eating, baking, and more eating. It was filled with laughter and honestly, absolute bliss. There was not a second of tension, not a second of worry. William was embraced by them, and they all loved h
im. It was perfect.
Christmas eve, a slow snowfall began just as we were inside enjoying the festivities. We got so excited that Chrissy, Shaleen, William, and I ran outside and literally danced around in the falling snow. We laughed and spun each other around like little kids. It felt like a gift from Dad, a hello, his way of welcoming William. I caught a glimpse of William with his arms out-stretched, head back, spinning, taking it all in. I didn’t know what was going through his mind, but I knew he was happy. So was I. Truly happy.
William and I also took a road trip to a quaint historical town called Nauvoo. This was one of my favorite places because it’s where the early members of our faith established a home. They made it beautiful and successful but were eventually persecuted and kicked out of the city they had literally built. It was at that point that the “Mormon” pioneers went west and ended up settling in Utah. Now, Nauvoo is a darling little tourist town by the Mississippi River in Illinois. I loved every second of sharing this with him, and it could not have been more idyllic. The snow, the horse and carriage ride, the beautiful atmosphere. There’s just an incredible spirit about the place, and we soaked in it. When we’d arrived at the little hotel, which was a restored house from the early 1900s, there was a note, our key, and hot cider and cookies. “Welcome Lori and William. Please enjoy the cookies and cocoa. Your room is the top of the stairs on the left. Enjoy your stay.”
“What? They just let us in? But we haven’t paid or anything?” William said in a voice that communicated both shock and joy.