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INS Coverage<br />
be interviewed. (Permission is required,<br />
but can be granted either by parents or<br />
the director of a detention center. In<br />
this case, it never was.)<br />
Children Are Wary of<br />
Journalists<br />
Children in detention are also often<br />
not trustful of reporters, so establishing<br />
trust was a delicate undertaking.<br />
Often the minors had fled dangerous<br />
circumstances and oppression only to<br />
be traumatized further in this country.<br />
The jails that many were kept in were<br />
not the safe haven that they had imagined,<br />
so they became suspicious of<br />
everyone, including reporters.<br />
In other cases they were afraid of<br />
retribution. Juan Carlos, a 17-year-old<br />
Salvadoran who fled his country last<br />
year, was one of those. When I first<br />
interviewed him after he was released<br />
from a juvenile jail in Arizona, he was<br />
still hesitant to divulge even his last<br />
name, where he was from, and some of<br />
the specific details of his life. He was<br />
scared that after speaking with a reporter<br />
he would be discovered by forces<br />
that had driven him from his country.<br />
Any talk of having his picture taken was<br />
immediately dismissed. Like many of<br />
the children I interviewed, he was<br />
placed in a detention center filled with<br />
American criminals and was held without<br />
access to an attorney for months.<br />
Carlos was hesitant to discuss those<br />
details until we’d had many conversations,<br />
which happened after he was<br />
released and awaiting his asylum hearings.<br />
That I was able to have this series<br />
of conversations allowed him eventually<br />
to open up and talk honestly about<br />
his experience. We first started with a<br />
phone interview, and then we had two<br />
successive face to face meetings in<br />
which he grew progressively more comfortable<br />
with me. It was this human<br />
contact that gave us the ability to get to<br />
the heart of his story.<br />
Despite the difficulty in gaining access<br />
to the youths—and in some cases<br />
in getting them to open up—the resulting<br />
stories complimented congressional<br />
lawmakers’ efforts at addressing<br />
the <strong>issue</strong> of INS treatment of minors.<br />
During special senate hearings and<br />
private interviews with congressional<br />
members, children not only told of<br />
hardships in their home countries but<br />
also about their INS isolation here in<br />
the United States. By February 2002,<br />
enough momentum had been gained<br />
on Capitol Hill that reforms were made<br />
in INS policies and procedures regarding<br />
undocumented minors.<br />
Reader feedback about such stories<br />
lets journalists know that their relentless<br />
digging through what seemed at<br />
first—in the case of the Tanzanian Boy<br />
Scouts—to be a straightforward news<br />
story constituted a public service. By<br />
doing what journalists are trained to<br />
do—asking good questions of public<br />
officials, finding examples of where a<br />
public institution is broken, and remaining<br />
skeptical until all the evidence<br />
is gathered—reporters gave voice to<br />
neglected people who, in some cases,<br />
were afraid to speak about how they<br />
were being treated. ■<br />
Chris L. Jenkins is a metro staff<br />
writer for The Washington Post.<br />
jenkinsc@washpost.com<br />
The Press Paid Little Attention When the<br />
Immigration Act Was Passed<br />
By personalizing cases of injustice, a columnist connects readers to its consequences.<br />
By Anthony Lewis<br />
Mary Anne Gehris was brought<br />
to this country from Germany<br />
when she was a year old. She<br />
grew up in the South and sounds it.<br />
But she never did anything about becoming<br />
an American citizen until she<br />
was 33, in 1999. She filled out the<br />
forms, and in October she got an envelope<br />
from the Immigration and Naturalization<br />
Service (INS) in the mail.<br />
She expected that it was a notice<br />
telling her when and where she would<br />
be sworn in. Instead, the letter told her<br />
that she was targeted for deportation.<br />
Why? In 1988, she pulled a woman’s<br />
hair in a quarrel over a man. Georgia<br />
prosecutors charged her with battery,<br />
a misdemeanor. On the advice of a<br />
public defender, she pleaded guilty.<br />
She received a one-year sentence, suspended<br />
for a year’s probation.<br />
Such sa guilty plea was not a ground<br />
for deportation at the time. But eight<br />
years later, in the Immigration Act of<br />
1996, Congress defined such trivial misdemeanors,<br />
with a one-year sentence,<br />
as “aggravated felonies” requiring deportation<br />
of the offender. And the statute<br />
was applied retroactively.<br />
I wrote a column for The New York<br />
Times about the case of Mary Anne<br />
Gehris. It embarrassed the INS, whose<br />
top officials really understood that such<br />
outrageous deportation cases should<br />
not be brought. But in the end the<br />
Georgia Board of Pardons and Paroles<br />
saved Gehris. It pardoned her for her<br />
hair-pulling crime, commenting that it<br />
wished Washington would find ways to<br />
“bring some measure of justice” to such<br />
cases and use “the nation’s resources<br />
more appropriately.”<br />
<strong>Nieman</strong> Reports / Winter 2002 25