‘Thousands of people are still there:' Congress goes on recess, leaving Afghans in a mess
One year after America’s withdrawal from Afghanistan, tens of thousands are in limbo. The Afghan Adjustment Act could begin to fix that.
On August 24, 2016, suspected members of the Taliban attacked the American University of Afghanistan in Kabul. The carnage wreaked from an explosive car, automatic rifles, and grenades left thirteen people dead and over 50 people injured. Among those who escaped was a young woman studying and working at the university who will be referred to as Lila here to protect her identity. Years later, Lila actually arrived to the United States, during America’s withdrawal from Afghanistan last year. Without further government action, however, this chaotic exit and evacuation process has left thousands of people like Lila in legal and existential limbo.
Lila’s journey, from the attack to the evacuation, and since then, has been grueling to say the least. The burden, confusion, and pain evident in her story serves just as a sample of what has come from such a perennial, violent, and ultimately vain military campaign – one that has left destruction in its wake, and ongoing trauma reverberating across the globe.
Lila and her classmates had just finished their evening prayers when the gunfire began. As Lila and fellow students and faculty rushed to the university’s corridors to meet the commotion, a loud explosion shattered the hallways’ windows. Escape was already fleeting – insurgents had surrounded the building. The instant the group attempted fleeing down the stairs, they were shot at. Lila rushed back into a classroom, where other students had been hiding. Just moments later, the room lit up, as if the electricity had returned. The subsequent bang explained the momentary flash. Lila came to moments later, ears ringing from the explosion, stumblingly regaining her bearings and imploring others to remain quiet, lest the attackers hear them.
Hours passed, and Lila had still been holed up in the classroom. There was no indication of help on the way. One of Lila’s colleagues called her, assuring her through the phone, insisting of her bravery, explaining how they would find a way for her escape. Time continued to pass. With this shot of affirmation from her colleague, Lila felt impelled. She turned to the others in the room, urging them to jump alongside her, from the second floor room they hid in. No one echoed her boldness. Lila jumped.
The leap was one of desperation, a risk taken after waiting hours, with no sign of help to come. Once on the ground amid chaos and gunfire, Lila crept around vehicles and buildings, soon encountering police and university staff who helped her reach the hospital. Only upon arriving to the hospital did she understand how far adrenaline took her: Lila had fractured her spine from the jump.
“It was really hard, because for two months I was covered in plaster and laid down in bed, I was only able to see the ceiling,” Lila tells me. “That was all I had to do, and I had to have someone accompany me to the bathroom, the shower, and so on.” Lila’s mother took care of her around the clock. After the plaster was finally removed nearly 50 days later, Lila was told that there was a high chance she would need an operation, as the injury gave her scoliosis and compression on her spine. She received an MRI scan and the results suggested a 90% chance of paralysis in the future. The university was able to provide Lila with insurance for out-of-country treatment. So, Lila was able to travel to India, where doctors recommended against operation due to her relatively young age. Her course of treatment then became a regiment of medicine and rehab exercises, the risk of future paralysis still looming.
Beyond the university providing support for her, they also granted her a six-month sick leave period to heal. Upon recovering – somewhat – her office was moved henceforth to the university’s second campus. She began work again, simultaneously endeavoring to complete her remaining studies. Months passed. Lila continued following up with the doctors. She graduated in 2018. The wear-and-tear of returning to the university, and the trauma it symbolized, soon grew too overbearing; Lila resigned from her job there and joined the U.S. embassy, continuing to work and heal.
The tumult of those years extended as Lila then joined thousands of civilians scrambling to evacuate years later in the fall of 2021. On August 14th, Lila was informed of a potential Taliban attack on her workplace. Over the following days, she began hiding, switching locations every other day. On August 19th, Lila was instructed by the State Department to meet U.S. troops at the airport. Due to the mass panic, it took eight hours for Lila to reach the gate she was directed towards. Between the chaos, Lila’s State Department colleagues were able to pick her out of the crowd and ensure her evacuation – a fortune not granted to thousands who may have been left behind.
After numerous stops from Hungary to Germany to Indiana and finally New Jersey, it took months before Lila finally was able to settle in November. “The first two months, I was in a really deep depression,” Lila says. “The country was new, and yes, I understood some things – I worked with the government – but not as much as people who have lived in the country.” Lila did not find much assistance from any refugee resettlement infrastructure – she didn’t even meet a case manager until twenty days had passed after arriving in New Jersey.
While Lila felt unsupported by official structures, she was able to stay with a cousin as she navigated applying for SNAP benefits and securing an apartment for her and her parents. Though many evacuees have naturally needed to rely on case managers or attorneys for legal assistance, Lila even resorted to applying for asylum herself.
In January, Lila began working at a refugee resettlement agency. She gestures towards what it means for her to be doing this work, helping those in a similar position as she has been in. “There should be someone to assist them. It takes time for them to learn the system, and even for me, I don’t know much, but I’m in the process of learning,” Lila says. “The only good thing is I know a bit of English. What about those Afghan clients who don’t know English – don’t even know how to say “hi,” and “hello, how are you?” What’s going to happen to them?”
After months and months, Lila received asylum approval, making her relatively fortunate among the thousands who have yet to hear back on their applications. Since arriving though, Lila has had to juggle her job, caring for her parents – who have their own array of medical needs to attend to, such as dental procedures Lila had to pay for out-of-pocket – and her own medical concerns. She hadn’t even had time for months to follow up with specialists regarding her spine. No less has this been an issue than due to the months-long evacuation process interrupting her therapy routine, leading to spinal issues flaring back up. She settled for painkiller medicines from CVS. “That somehow helped me to stand and work for a long time,” she says.
Lila finally was able to visit an orthopedic doctor, who recommended physiotherapy and referred her to an MRI and spinal neurosurgeon. Unfortunately, her insurance does not cover either the MRI or neurosurgeon visit, and she does not have the money to spend. “Everyday my situation is getting worse and causing difficulty in walking for me,” Lila says. “I am not able to walk more than 15 minutes.”
It has been nearly a year since the United States began its withdrawal from Afghanistan. Nearly 80,000 people were evacuated from Afghanistan to the U.S., designated as humanitarian parolees, if they were not already in the process of applying for some other form of visa. This process involved vetting evacuees at intermediary military sites, and granting evacuees the ability to live and work in the U.S. for two years. However, this process does not provide permanent residency.
Some of the nearly 80,000 evacuees could qualify for permanent residency by obtaining a Special Immigrant Visa, acquired through virtue of their or their immediate family’s assistance to the U.S. during the war. However, a January DHS report found that over 36,000 of those evacuated lacked a direct pathway to permanent residency. This leaves these thousands in legal limbo, unless they secure legal asylum. Unfortunately, they join an asylum program backlogged with 468,080 cases.
This backlog could have been avoided. Advocates have been lobbying for an Afghan Adjustment Act for months on end. The initiative would have offered permanent residency to evacuees, expediting the process and alleviating the backlog for the other thousands upon thousands in wait.
Advocates pushed for the effort to be included in the May supplemental package that provided Ukraine with financial, military, and refugee-related assistance. But due to opposition from select Republicans, including Senator Chuck Grassley (R-IA) and Congressman Jim Jordan (R-OH), the provision was excluded. “Their staff didn’t even meet with us,” says Shawn Vandiver, President of advocacy organization #AfghanEvac. “We don’t know who necessarily pulled it out, but we do know [they] would have had to support – and they actively did not support.”
Afghans being excluded from this package was notable, given that they have faced a relatively larger burden than Ukrainian refugees: Afghans face a $575 application fee and thousands of backlogged cases, Ukrainians face no fee and do not need to attend an in-person interview with a U.S. representative.
Grassley’s office released a statement regarding his opposition to the Afghan Adjustment Act in February, citing “national security and public safety concerns.” Advocates have countered that the act would entail further screening and vetting for those applying. Neither Senator Grassley nor Congressman Jordan’s office responded to requests for comment.
But now, efforts to actualize the Afghan Adjustment Act have been renewed, after a bipartisan announcement on Tuesday from Senators Roy Blunt (R-MO), Amy Klobuchar (D-MN), Lindsey Graham (R-LA), Chris Coons (D-DE), Lisa Murkowski (R-AK), and Richard Blumenthal (D-CT), accompanied by a House bill led by Representatives Peter Meijer (R-MI) and Earl Blumenauer (D-OR). Along with allowing Afghans to apply for permanent legal residency, the bill would also expand the Special Immigrant Visa process by broadening eligibility.
“This bipartisan legislation will provide a pathway to lawful permanent status for certain Afghan civilians, offering them a way out of legal limbo and the looming threat of deportation with great risk to their personal safety. Congress has a track record of passing similar legislation on humanitarian grounds, and we must swiftly do so again.” said Coons in a statement.
While Lila has been able to secure asylum, many others remain in limbo, iterating the importance of the Afghan Adjustment Act. Yalda Royan, an Afghan women’s rights activist, applied for asylum and was among the first cases to actually proceed to the interview stage back in December. She has yet to hear back about her application status.
Royan has actually spoken to the United Nations’ Security Council on the plight she has faced both as a woman, and as a Hazara, an ethnic and religious minority group that has faced historical discrimination in Afghanistan. Despite this direct interaction with the government, they have ostensibly been unable to confirm that Royan, like nearly every refugee waiting, is okay to approve.
Royan’s interview, lasting over eight hours, exemplified the intense and stressful process refugees have faced. Lindsay Harris, professor and immigration clinic director at the University of the District of Columbia law school, has been working on Royan’s case. She describes how the interviews often take as long as they do because agents comb for any plausible connection with, or “material support” given to, terrorist groups. She describes how broadly “terrorist organization” seems to be defined, how even giving tea or cookies to a visitor to one’s home who turns out to be affiliated with the Taliban could be deemed “material support.”
What’s more is that these interviews often demand refugees to relive and even perform the trauma they’re escaping. To earn asylum status, applicants have to demonstrate “persecution or a well-founded fear of persecution.” So, asylum interviews entail applicants being asked to show mail, social media, scars, proof of medical care – anything that can display mortal threat, past injuries, any and all evidence of trauma lived through or trauma to come.
Of course, people frenziedly leaving their home may not have the opportunity to secure each and every document that demonstrates the risks they face (though one might surmise that choosing to clamor onto a plane full of hundreds of people to fly halfway across the planet might suffice as some hint of desperation). So this is where people like Harris, and legal advocate and Columbia Law professor Elora Mukherjee, come in, working to collect as much information as possible in order to assist applicants through such daunting and demanding interviews.
This process necessitates much labor, including gathering affidavits not just detailing the refugees’ experiences, but also the testimony of colleagues, family, friends, country condition experts, medical and mental health professionals, and any other witnesses who can attest to the trauma the evacuee has experienced, or the harm that could come. “We submit these applications with hundreds and hundreds of pages of supporting evidence – and this is just for the folks who are lucky enough to find a pro-bono lawyer,” Mukherjee says. “As you can imagine, many asylum seekers do not have access to resources to find a counsel.”
The sheer scale of this labor ought not be understated. “An asylum case can take 50 to 120 hours, even for an experienced attorney,” Lindsay Harris says. “It’s a waste of everybody’s time and resources. We evacuated these folks. Why not just have them go through whatever additional background checks we need and give them a path to permanent residence?”
While Royan has gone through this laborious process, her fate is still unknown. Being the activist she is, Royan has certainly endured a great deal of risk to her wellbeing. Yet still, she has heard nothing. “Yalda’s received death threats from the Taliban before, but not everybody who was evacuated will be able to meet that threshold,” Harris says, gesturing to what it means for other evacuees, if Yalda still has not received approval given such evident risk of persecution. “It’s a really imperfect system, an incredibly re-traumatizing system.”
Lila and Royan’s cases both illustrate a sampling of the stakes at hand: the nation’s backlogged immigration system, further hindered by mass downsizing of refugee resettlement resources throughout the years, namely during the Trump administration; the incredibly difficult life decisions and struggles refugees confront once arriving here – such as ceaselessly working to pay for essential needs, all while healing past wounds and traumas; the immense burden it can be both on evacuees and their advocates to “win” cases to simply earn the right to reside in this country legally.
Moreover, the parolees in limbo here do not include the thousands of people who did not make it on a flight during the chaotic evacuation nearly a year ago – people who are at great risk especially if they assisted the United States, moving from safe-house to safe-house, attempting to maintain a low-profile lest they encounter the Taliban. “It’s just shitty,” Shawn Vandiver of #AfghanEvac tells me, plainly. “It sucks that thousands and thousands of people are still there.”
Just as well are there Afghans who did make it to the U.S. whose loved ones have been left behind; humanitarian parolees do not have the ability to initiate family reunification processes until they acquire some form of permanent legal status. That means potentially thousands of loved ones remain separated to this day – evacuees living by the phone day and night to confirm those left behind are still alive, those left behind constantly shifting in hiding and eagerly waiting to one day know again what it means to even have a permanent residence.
Now, Congress has the opportunity to at least begin rectifying wrongs and alleviating the cascading pressures and pains of this time. The Afghan Adjustment Act holds bipartisan, bicameral support, as well as endorsement from groups including Iraq and Afghanistan Veterans of America (IAVA), Afghan-American Foundation, Veterans for American Ideals, Association of Wartime Allies, National Immigration Forum, and more (some of the same groups that successfully lobbied the actualization of the PACT Act supporting veterans harmed by burn pit exposure).
Shawn Vandiver already looks forward beyond the legislation’s passage. “Once the act gets passed, I’d really like to focus on making sure our communities are welcoming. I think our country is failing at the mission of welcoming. Afghans feel alone. We need to get out into the community and talk to them and help them.”
But it remains to be seen whether the same Republicans, Chuck Grassley and Jim Jordan among others, will continue their opposition. As Congress recesses, it will become evident whether people around the country will reckon with the weight of this moral crisis, the thorny uneasiness of being witness to it at all – and whether they will then channel those feelings towards their elected representatives who recess, in part, to meet with their constituents.
Vandiver is deeply roused by this moral calling, this sense of commitment to his fellow person. Perhaps this spirit is what leads him to look beyond the act’s passing, to what action then comes next. “At the end of the day, people keep showing up and working their asses off on this,” he says. “I’ve never seen the soul of the nation in D.C., but I see it every day in the folks I get to work with.”
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