When we started the immigration process, I had a lot of preconceived notions about the system. Given that we began this process during the Trump era, I hired a lawyer, just to make sure our paperwork was as correct and organized as it possibly could be. I believed that following the rules would be rewarded. There are some who look for loopholes and faster ways to make it through the system, but that felt much too risky to me. We were going to do things the right way, and I hoped we would be rewarded. Not only that, but I believed that my status as a US citizen would benefit Saulo, as I would have members of Congress to advocate for me if anything went awry. Like everyone else, I have seen how scary our immigration system can be for those without any advocates, but I believed that my citizenship would shield us from that. And I might have continued believing that if his visa process hadn’t come to a complete standstill over a year ago.

I did all the things I thought would help. I reached out to the embassy; I got in touch with my representatives. They emailed the embassy and received a slightly more official and professional version of the same non-answer that I and many others had received time and again. In the meantime, we agonized over the wedding being postponed multiple times, not knowing when we could actually get married (and we still don’t know), and we mourned being separated for months at a time. Many well-meaning people have asked, “Why don’t you just get married in Brazil?”, not understanding that this would mean losing our visa and starting the process all over again. Put simply, we are stuck.

Following in greater detail what’s going on with immigration over the past year has given me even more perspective on this strange middle space where it is impossible to move forward in any one direction. I’ve learned about how others have attempted to navigate our system legally and have still become stuck. People whose employers won’t sponsor a green card or whose sponsors exploit their labor, among others who have been adversely affected by the immigration policies of Stephen Miller in the Trump era (hopefully many of these will be reversed in the years to come). Meanwhile, we all hear an ugly public debate about immigration that severely lacks in what I would call “the human element.” I hear a lot of arguments like, “If people would just do things the right way, we would be happy to welcome them into the country.” It operates on the assumption that there is some kind of reward for trusting the system.

So what is “the human element”? Families separated. Not just across borders in detention facilities (formerly known as cages) but across thousands of miles, unable to get interviews and finish the processes they paid for. Some of these applicants, those who are not family members of US citizens, may lose their chance to immigrate entirely, despite having done everything “right.” All the while, we hear the arguments that this is all meant to keep us safe from covid. I’ve watched many Americans fly back and forth to Mexico while my fiancé is not allowed to attend a 5-10 minute interview and take one flight to the US to live here.

But do you know what the heaviest part of this whole situation is? Realizing just how mild it is compared to the people who have lived this or worse for generations. The evidence of my own privilege is the way I “stepped into” this situation with the assumption that I have done enough things “right” to give us a better chance at having a smooth ride through the immigration process. I wasn’t born into into a marginalized community. This week my home state of Minnesota has been facing the trial of Derek Chauvin and the death of Daunte Wright all at once. I used to work in Brooklyn Center, and that job was my first opportunity to interact with and learn about the black community in the Twin Cities and the suburbs. The Twin Cities are highly segregated, which stems from racial housing covenants imposed on our neighborhoods over a century ago. I grew up in a small town and never knew this about Minneapolis until I moved to a suburb and started getting to know the city.

Whether talking about last year’s riots following George Floyd’s death or the riots sparked this year following Daunte Wright’s death, I have seen many white Minnesotans lament the loss of Minneapolis (or whatever status they believe the city used to have) more than they’ve mourned the loss of these men, not to mention Philando Castile, another father who was killed 5 years ago during a traffic stop. When the news cycles move on, when Minneapolis creates more bike lanes or initiates another major overhaul of 35 or 94, their families will still be mourning. And their community will be mourning with them. Do we find burning and looting more tragic than the pain of generations? Do we value property more than humanity? Do we mourn with them? Do we do what we can to protect them, to value them every day, not just when it is politically beneficial to do so?

The human element is the mourning, the rage, the desperation. I don’t want to forget to see the humanity in the person in front of me. Jesus didn’t shy away from our fear, our anger, and our confusion. He didn’t keep his distance; He moved closer. And all I want is to do the same, to begin to understand what it means to walk with people who find themselves stuck.