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The Delaware County Times, PA
Dec 12 2004
American dream becomes a nightmare
Sitting at the dining room table in their Drexel Hill home Friday
night, Gary and Nadia Ambartsoumian and their daughters, Karina, 16,
and Rimma, 15, considered their fate. They are to be deported soon.
The only family member not at the table is 8-year-old George. He is
the lone American citizen in the house. He is upstairs in his room,
playing with his toys. George likes toys.
His sister, Karina is a junior at Upper Darby High School. She plays
lacrosse, works at the Superfresh and carries a 92.80 academic
average, which makes her a distinguished honor student. She and Rimma
volunteer for the Springfield Baptist Church youth group. They've
served meals at the CityTeam shelter in Chester. They've prayed with
the homeless in Washington, D.C.
Last summer, Karina traveled to New Orleans to do youth missionary
work with an evangelical group called Global Expeditions.
They come by their religious faith honestly. Their grandfather,
Nikolai Boiko, was the pastor of a Baptist church in the former
Soviet Union. For his beliefs, he was arrested and exiled to Siberia,
4,000 miles away from his home in Odessa. His wife, Valentina, and
eight children were left behind to fend for themselves.
Over the course of his life, Boiko spent some 25 years in exile. His
release in 1989 made big news in the Prisoner Bulletin, an English
language newspaper chronicling religious persecution in the old
Soviet Union.
Such was life behind the old Iron Curtain.
After a lifetime of seeing her father persecuted and suffering
through her own harassment for marrying a non-Ukrainian (Armenian)
Nadia and Gary decided it was time to get out. They fled west with
their two young daughters.
"When the iron door opened .. said Nadia, they didn't hesitate.
They procured visas to Cuba, flew to Canada and immediately asked for
political asylum. After three and a half years waiting there, they
decided they might have a better chance of being granted refugee
status in the United States. They came over the border June 5, 1996.
"In those years it was easy," Nadia explained. "You ask for political
asylum and they let you in. No visa. They could have sent us back.
But they say welcome. They make us papers."
And into the system they went.
They moved to Philadelphia, then out to Upper Darby. They reported
dutifully once a month to the immigration office in Philadelphia.
They got Social Security cards, went to work and about the business
of raising a family.
Nadia got a job as a house cleaner, Gary a painter. What they loved
about being in America was the opportunity to work.
"Even with our broken language we found job," said Nadia.
At their hearing three years later before an immigration court judge,
they testified to the beatings and incidents of harassment they faced
in the old Soviet Union. A University of Chicago professor and Soviet
historian backed up their claims in a three-page letter.
"There is abundant evidence in Mr. Ambartsoumian's statements that he
and his family have been victims of ethnic struggles and political
and economic collapse that are far beyond their control. They have
also suffered because of their religious affiliations,"Prof. Ronald
Suny concluded. "It is my professional opinion that a petitioner
possessing this background, given the conditions prevailing in
Georgia, Armenia, Russia, and other parts of the former Soviet Union,
has a well-founded, genuine fear of persecution."
But the judge didn't appear moved, either by the professor's
testimony or the Ambartsoumians.
In court, said Nadia, "I was crying because I see he doesn't believe
us."
The Ukrainian translator, 20 years on the job, told her not to worry.
He gave the family a 99 percent chance of being granted asylum. He
was wrong.
Two weeks later the judge's decision came down. Their application was
denied.
The family's most recent appeal in federal court was also turned
down.
Now their only chance of staying in this country seems to be an act
ofCongress. They have contacted the offices of U.S. Rep. Curt Weldon
and U.S. Rep. Jim Gerlach of Chester County.
Weldon's Chief of Staff Mike Conallen says that since 9/11 it has
been much more difficult for congressmen to help people like the
Ambartsoumians.
"The entire process has grinded to a halt almost," Conallen told me.
"Nobody wants to make the mistake that allows the next terrorist in."
Bill Strassberger, a spokesman for Citizen and Immigration Services,
said that even if a congressman does propose a bill granting
citizenship in a particular case, only 10 percent of those bills
actually pass.
Which is to say, it doesn't look great for the Ambartsoumian family.
"We love America," said Nadia. "We not angry about this. But
something misunderstood maybe. I willing to work hard, pay taxes,
obey law." Nadia looks at her husband.
"For us, we will never be rich. Who painter and housekeeper be rich?
But we happy. We take risk. We can get better life for our kids."
She looks at her daughters across the table.
"They give us things they never had," says Karina.
"Freedom," says Nadia.
Now, she has to go. It is 7 p.m. Friday. She has an office to clean.
Dec 12 2004
American dream becomes a nightmare
Sitting at the dining room table in their Drexel Hill home Friday
night, Gary and Nadia Ambartsoumian and their daughters, Karina, 16,
and Rimma, 15, considered their fate. They are to be deported soon.
The only family member not at the table is 8-year-old George. He is
the lone American citizen in the house. He is upstairs in his room,
playing with his toys. George likes toys.
His sister, Karina is a junior at Upper Darby High School. She plays
lacrosse, works at the Superfresh and carries a 92.80 academic
average, which makes her a distinguished honor student. She and Rimma
volunteer for the Springfield Baptist Church youth group. They've
served meals at the CityTeam shelter in Chester. They've prayed with
the homeless in Washington, D.C.
Last summer, Karina traveled to New Orleans to do youth missionary
work with an evangelical group called Global Expeditions.
They come by their religious faith honestly. Their grandfather,
Nikolai Boiko, was the pastor of a Baptist church in the former
Soviet Union. For his beliefs, he was arrested and exiled to Siberia,
4,000 miles away from his home in Odessa. His wife, Valentina, and
eight children were left behind to fend for themselves.
Over the course of his life, Boiko spent some 25 years in exile. His
release in 1989 made big news in the Prisoner Bulletin, an English
language newspaper chronicling religious persecution in the old
Soviet Union.
Such was life behind the old Iron Curtain.
After a lifetime of seeing her father persecuted and suffering
through her own harassment for marrying a non-Ukrainian (Armenian)
Nadia and Gary decided it was time to get out. They fled west with
their two young daughters.
"When the iron door opened .. said Nadia, they didn't hesitate.
They procured visas to Cuba, flew to Canada and immediately asked for
political asylum. After three and a half years waiting there, they
decided they might have a better chance of being granted refugee
status in the United States. They came over the border June 5, 1996.
"In those years it was easy," Nadia explained. "You ask for political
asylum and they let you in. No visa. They could have sent us back.
But they say welcome. They make us papers."
And into the system they went.
They moved to Philadelphia, then out to Upper Darby. They reported
dutifully once a month to the immigration office in Philadelphia.
They got Social Security cards, went to work and about the business
of raising a family.
Nadia got a job as a house cleaner, Gary a painter. What they loved
about being in America was the opportunity to work.
"Even with our broken language we found job," said Nadia.
At their hearing three years later before an immigration court judge,
they testified to the beatings and incidents of harassment they faced
in the old Soviet Union. A University of Chicago professor and Soviet
historian backed up their claims in a three-page letter.
"There is abundant evidence in Mr. Ambartsoumian's statements that he
and his family have been victims of ethnic struggles and political
and economic collapse that are far beyond their control. They have
also suffered because of their religious affiliations,"Prof. Ronald
Suny concluded. "It is my professional opinion that a petitioner
possessing this background, given the conditions prevailing in
Georgia, Armenia, Russia, and other parts of the former Soviet Union,
has a well-founded, genuine fear of persecution."
But the judge didn't appear moved, either by the professor's
testimony or the Ambartsoumians.
In court, said Nadia, "I was crying because I see he doesn't believe
us."
The Ukrainian translator, 20 years on the job, told her not to worry.
He gave the family a 99 percent chance of being granted asylum. He
was wrong.
Two weeks later the judge's decision came down. Their application was
denied.
The family's most recent appeal in federal court was also turned
down.
Now their only chance of staying in this country seems to be an act
ofCongress. They have contacted the offices of U.S. Rep. Curt Weldon
and U.S. Rep. Jim Gerlach of Chester County.
Weldon's Chief of Staff Mike Conallen says that since 9/11 it has
been much more difficult for congressmen to help people like the
Ambartsoumians.
"The entire process has grinded to a halt almost," Conallen told me.
"Nobody wants to make the mistake that allows the next terrorist in."
Bill Strassberger, a spokesman for Citizen and Immigration Services,
said that even if a congressman does propose a bill granting
citizenship in a particular case, only 10 percent of those bills
actually pass.
Which is to say, it doesn't look great for the Ambartsoumian family.
"We love America," said Nadia. "We not angry about this. But
something misunderstood maybe. I willing to work hard, pay taxes,
obey law." Nadia looks at her husband.
"For us, we will never be rich. Who painter and housekeeper be rich?
But we happy. We take risk. We can get better life for our kids."
She looks at her daughters across the table.
"They give us things they never had," says Karina.
"Freedom," says Nadia.
Now, she has to go. It is 7 p.m. Friday. She has an office to clean.