Last night, the woman I married 32 years ago strolled into the living room while I was prepping for my American literature class on Henry James’s “The Art of Fiction.” You know, the one that dives into the beauty of democracy and truth, both in novels and life.
“I need you to listen carefully and try not to freak out,” my wife said. “My mom was exactly my age when she and Dad had to leave everything behind and come to this country. By the way, I hear New Zealand is great for hiking—no snakes or other scary creatures lurking around.”
Of course, she knows snakes aren’t exactly a threat. What she’s really trying to escape from are the harsh realities here—the slurs like “Sand N*gger” that still echo in the background. These are the threats a woman whose family fled an oppressive regime understands all too well. She carries the weight of knowing how a government could have imprisoned or harmed her loved ones—like so many others from the “intelligentsia” who faced persecution—had they not found refuge in the United States.
My wife hails from Iran. She received her green card in the mid-1980s and became a citizen shortly after. Our kids were born here, but on the day after Donald J. Trump was elected, our youngest daughter called, anxious about what this new reality meant for “Mommy and her Persian family.”
I reassured her that no one was going to be cast out of the country; surely, no one in our government would try to marginalize its citizens. Back then, I felt confident saying it. I wanted to be right.
To get my wife’s green card, we made a trek from Knoxville to Memphis for her hearing. We had to retake her ID photo to make sure her ear was visible. We even had to testify beneath a portrait of President Reagan, who had made deals with the very regime my wife escaped.
As we waited in the office, one person looked straight at me and remarked, “We all have it tough here, but no one suffers like these poor Iranians.”
When I finally joined my wife in the interrogation room, I wanted to hold her hand, but that seemed off-limits. The stern INS agent scrutinized me and asked, “So, you live with these people? What do you contribute around the house?” as if I were coasting off my in-laws or something.
“I cut the grass,” I replied. “Sometimes I cook and do the dishes, but I’m also busy with my doctoral exams and dissertation.”
He wasn’t interested in my studies and simply replied, “You’ll hear our decision soon.”
“Soon” ended up taking six months, during which my wife couldn’t accept a job. We had moved into our own place, living off my $480 monthly stipend in a drafty Victorian house. One winter morning, we received a letter that was anything but a decision: “We need more time to investigate your case.”
I wrote back. As an American, I felt entitled to do so: “Please, feel free to come to our home and investigate.” A couple of weeks later, my wife’s green card arrived—no apology, no welcome to the United States.
That was over 30 years ago. Since then, my wife has earned a master’s in counseling psychology and has helped countless individuals adjust to life’s challenges, from moving cities to navigating severe familial issues. She’s been a valuable resource for our community and a productive member of society.
But now she’s worried about the direction her adopted country is heading. After our conversation last night—“Maybe I could keep counseling in New Zealand; they speak English there, right?”—we watched an interview with an Iranian-American law professor who, as a child, was taught to shout “Death to America.” Now she teaches at a large law school, her smile radiant, just like my wife’s and my daughter’s.
I don’t want my daughter to feel fear or anxiety about her identity or the possibility of fleeing her country someday. Last winter, she spent spring break on a college trip to Turkey, saying, “Maybe it’s as close as I’ll ever get to Iran.” I smiled, her eyes sparkling.
But now I wonder if in a year or five, we’ll be able to smile at such thoughts or if we’ll need to keep our dreams to ourselves.
If you’re interested in similar topics, check out this post on home insemination kits. For more on navigating the journey of artificial insemination, Make A Mom is an authority you should consult. And if you’re looking for resources on what to expect when undergoing your first IUI, this helpful guide is worth a read.