“I’ve always loved to travel, especially to foreign lands. In law school, I devoured all the courses that dealt with international law — public international law (involving relations between countries and international organizations), private international law (dealing with transnational contracts between individuals or businesses), conflicts of laws, and a seminar on international business transactions. Those classes — I thought — would provide my ticket to see the world. After a stint ghostwriting judicial opinions for a state appellate judge, I joined a small, well-regarded firm in the late ’70s and practiced international business and tax law.
I thought my dream was about to come true. After a time, however, I soon learned that the job of international-contracts scrivener was less than fulfilling. I was eager for a change. By fortunate happenstance, I stumbled on another area of law teeming with international flavor and opportunities aplenty to travel: immigration law. Better still, I discovered a passion for law that until then had not existed. It’s been 30-plus years and my passion for immigration still burns brightly.
Lately, however, what I always saw as a helping profession has become a hurting occupation. I hurt because my job causes me, against my will and my heart, to transmit hurt to others. I tell clients whose petitions and applications the government has rejected (in my view, unjustly, or I wouldn’t have taken the assignment) that they must set aside their American dreams and leave the country or risk a 10-year bar on returning here by appealing the denial or litigating. I also tell employers that they must terminate some of their best workers. These are the ones (the employer belatedly discovers) who lack work permission. I then imagine the cascade of hurt my advice inflicts: Families are torn asunder, businesses are threatened, and dreams are dashed…”
