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Latvian family fights for asylum a decade after coming to U.S.

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  • Latvian family fights for asylum a decade after coming to U.S.

    Myrtle Beach Sun News, SC
    Macon Telegraph, GA
    St. Louis Post, MO
    Nov 29 2004

    Latvian family fights for asylum a decade after coming to U.S.

    BY PETER SHINKLE

    St. Louis Post-Dispatch


    ST. LOUIS - (KRT) - Ofelia Boudaguian says she hoped for fair
    treatment when she and her family came to the United States in 1995,
    after years of suffering discrimination and violence in Latvia.

    After nearly a decade in the St. Louis area, though, Boudaguian says
    she feels let down by the American legal system, which has denied the
    family political asylum and now threatens them with deportation at
    any moment.

    "We live now day by day. It's so scary," she said. A knock on the
    door might mean that she and her husband, Vitalik Boudaguian, and
    their two children must gather their belongings, submit to arrest,
    and go to a detention facility to await deportation.

    Their one-year tourist visas expired May 18, 1996.

    The family's efforts to gain asylum have drawn support from a
    dedicated group of friends, who met Ofelia Boudaguian through her job
    as a cosmetologist at the Personalities Hair and Nails Salon in
    Manchester.

    After the 8th U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals here ruled July 22 to
    deny the family's request for asylum, the friends launched a
    full-bore campaign to block their deportation. They have met with
    First Lady Laura Bush, peppered acquaintances of Attorney General
    John Ashcroft with letters and phone calls, visited the office of
    President Bush's uncle in Clayton, corresponded with the offices of
    U.S. Sens. Christopher "Kit" Bond and Jim Talent, and collected 2,000
    signatures on the family's behalf.

    When Laura Bush appeared in St. Louis on Aug. 17, Jeanne Nevens, the
    campaign's informal leader, had Ofelia stand in front of the first
    lady holding a sign, "Ofelia Boudaguian," while Nevens told the
    family's story. Ofelia cried; Nevens kept on talking. Secret Service
    agents had warned them not to give Mrs. Bush anything, but Nevens
    said she gave papers on the Boudaguians' case to an assistant. Mrs.
    Bush asked that information on the case be sent to her, Nevens said.

    Later, after Nevens sent a packet of information to the White House,
    Denise Bradley, director of correspondence for Mrs. Bush, sent a
    letter saying she had passed it to the White House staff member
    "responsible for your issue." She wrote: "The agency will be in touch
    with you directly."

    Since then, the family has heard nothing from the immigration
    authorities. Indeed, it is unclear whether the campaign has had any
    effect. A deportation order is in effect, but no one has come to
    enforce it - or announce its cancellation. Has it been forgotten? Has
    it slipped through the cracks? Is someone reconsidering the case? No
    one seems to know.

    A representative of the Justice Department declined comment on the
    case.

    Nevens said she was aghast at how judges in the 8th Circuit, in a
    hearing in February, appeared to play down the bomb that exploded
    outside the family's home in Latvia. "That's our legal system, and I
    think it stinks," she said.

    Vitalik and Ofelia, both Christians of Armenian descent, grew up in
    Shemakha, a village roughly 80 miles west of Baku, in Azerbaijan.
    After Vitalik completed his education and his Soviet military
    service, the couple moved in 1982 to Latvia.

    There, the family claims it suffered a string of acts of persecution,
    physical attacks and threats by ethnic Latvians. The Boudaguians, who
    have the olive complexion and black hair typical of Armenians, say
    they are easily distinguished from Latvians, who tend to be
    fair-skinned.

    Since Latvia became independent in 1991, Latvians have often shown
    resentment toward non-Latvians who came to their country from other
    Soviet republics during the Soviet era, the family says. For
    dark-skinned foreigners, Latvians often use a Russian slur involving
    the word "black," Vitalik said.

    The family claims a litany of abuse:

    _In 1993, Vitalik Boudaguian was forced by the Latvian government to
    close his business under duress, and a smoke bomb was thrown into the
    family's apartment. In addition, teenage boys doused the Boudaguians'
    son, Khristopher, with gasoline and were poised to set him afire
    until Vitalik intervened.

    _In 1994, another bomb was thrown at the children's bedroom wall,
    causing the wall to crack, and Vitalik's nephew was beaten and robbed
    by Latvian police.

    _In March 1995, Vitalik was badly beaten by Latvian policemen because
    of his ethnic background, and when he reported the attack, he was
    repeatedly warned to drop his complaint and leave the country or his
    family members lives would be in danger.

    In May 1995, the family came to St. Louis with the help of an
    Armenian friend who already lived here. They began preparing a
    request for asylum on the basis of persistent persecution - and fear
    of more persecution if they return.

    The U.S. Department of State said in a report in February that while
    Latvia is a parliamentary democracy, some security forces have used
    excessive force and mistreated people, and there are "some reports of
    discrimination on the basis of ethnicity."

    Once the family settled in St. Louis, the children, Khristopher and
    Khristina, began attending school. Vitalik worked as a contractor and
    Ofelia, a cosmetologist. They live in a small townhouse apartment in
    Manchester. They attend an Armenian church in Granite City.

    "This family did everything right," Nevens said.

    The asylum case came before an immigration judge in 1998. The judge
    found that Vitalik Boudaguian's testimony about the incidents was
    credible, but that those incidents did not rise to the level of
    persecution, which must be shown if asylum is to be granted.

    The judge said Boudaguian failed to prove the acts occurred on
    account of his nationality or membership in a particular social
    group.

    Boudaguian appealed, but in June 2002, the Board of Immigration
    Appeals dismissed the case, again finding that the family failed to
    prove "past persecution or a well-founded fear or clear probability
    of persecution in Latvia."

    The Boudaguians' attorney at the time, Gene McNary, a former U.S.
    commissioner of immigration, did not pursue an appeal in the 8th
    Circuit Court, but instead filed a motion urging the board to
    reconsider its ruling. On Dec. 3, 2002, the board denied the request.

    Then, with a new attorney, the Boudaguians appealed to the 8th
    Circuit. Here they faced arguments from the U.S. Department of
    Justice that the Boudaguians had added no new evidence to their case,
    and that they had failed to file their appeal on time.

    The 8th Circuit agreed and dismissed the appeal on the grounds that
    the Boudaguians "did not file a timely petition" to ask the 8th
    Circuit to consider the case. The deportation order was issued.

    Now, Vitalik Boudaguian is angry with McNary, whom he blames for
    waiting too long to file the appeal. "The lawyer's mistake cost me
    too much," he said.

    McNary dismissed the notion that any mistake was made. "We felt that
    our option was to file the motion to reopen," he said. "I really
    don't want to argue the law."

    The Boudaguians have an opportunity to appeal to the U.S. Supreme
    Court, but appeals in such cases are extremely rarely heard by the
    court, said Timothy Wichmer, the family's current attorney.

    So now, the family waits. Khristina and Khristopher, both of whom
    graduated from local high schools, are attending community college in
    an effort to obtain their degrees before they must leave. Each day
    the family fears the end of their life in America - and a return to
    Latvia.

    "We don't know whether we're going to be alive or dead," Ofelia said.
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