blind insight

More Mariel stuff.

A quick update this morning. This article from the Boston Globe does a much better job of explaining the indefinite detention issue now before the Supreme Court than did the first-out-the-gate wire piece I linked to yesterday.

I've had a long couple of days trying to synthesize the extensive, confusing, and repetitive decisions relevant to this issue, and am heading back into the office today to continue my efforts (after a much-needed pedicure and lunch with a friend). Once the brief is filed, it's a public document, so I'll try to figure out how to link to it in case you're interested in reading it (or just need a good sleep aid).

Cert. granted.

The U.S. Supreme Court has granted certiorari in Benitez v. Wallis, No. 03-7434, today, and will now determine whether the government may detain indefinitely "inadmissible" aliens whose ordered deportation cannot be carried out. This is the issue I've spent the last few weeks briefing, while keeping one eye on the Court's conference docket.

Like the petitioner in Benitez, my client is a "Mariel Cuban," who came to the United States with 125,000 other Cuban refugees in the 1980 Mariel Boat Lift. He committed various crimes in the United States, for which he was convicted and served prison terms. Upon his release from prison, the INS took him into custody and ordered him deported. However, Cuba refuses to repatriate the Mariels, so the INS (now the Department of Homeland Security) can't carry out the deportation. Instead, it has kept my client, and thousands of other Mariels, in prisons and detention centers. My client has been detained for roughly 18 years, though he is non-violent and has been found suitable for placement in a halfway house.

In 2001, the Supreme Court held that the statute the government uses to justify its detention of the Mariel Cubans does not permit indefinite detention. However, that case involved resident aliens who were ordered removed, not "inadmissible" aliens such as the Mariels. Although the statute in question (8 U.S.C. section 1231(a)(6), if you're interested) doesn't distinguish between resident aliens and inadmissible aliens, the government has maintained that the Court's decision does not apply to inadmissible aliens, and that those aliens may be detained indefinitely.

The circuit courts of appeal have been sharply divided on the issue. The Supreme Court has denied review in cases on both sides of the line, so the certiorari decision in the Benitez case has been closely watched by those of us who handle these issues. I don't know yet whether my case will go forward or will be stayed pending the Benitez decision. It looks like Benitez will be argued this term, so we should know the answer to the indefinite detention question by the end of June.

For some background on the issue, Gina Holland has this piece in today's Washington Post online. Please note, however, that most of the Mariels are detained because not the government thinks they are "too dangerous" to be released, but rather for administrative convenience.

President Yenta.

I keep trying to get to the point where nothing the Bush Administration does surprises me, but man, do they keep tossing out the zingers. The latest news is that, in addition to seeking billions of dollars to spend on colonizing the moon, Da Prez wants another bundle of cash to spend on promoting marriage. At least among straight people. And especially, it seems, among straight poor people.

If the White House wasn't so obviously dead serious about this $1.5 billion request for "marriage promotion" money, I'd think this was some kind of stupid joke spawned by a late-night talk show host ("Did you hear that President Bush is arranging marriages for homeless people and then shipping them off to the Moon colonies?). But it's reported right here, in the New York Times, which (Liberal Jewish Media Conspirator that I am) I consider a pretty darn reliable news source.

So I guess it's true. As Maureen Dowd comments today, President Bush wants to be the "national yenta."

What will this mean for the country, and particularly for us single folks? Will our dating expenses become tax deductible? Will Match.com, Jdate, and It's Just Lunch receive federal subsidies to further their efforts to pair off the American populace (and can I get a slice of the pie just for linking to them)? Will the government pay for me to visit an image consultant, a shrink, Rachel Greenwald, or some other expert who will teach me how to attract a marriage-minded man? And, perhaps most important, if I do get the ring, will President Bush pay for my wedding?!

But as much as this latest proposal seems to offer endless fodder for Bush-whacking, it's pretty scary. In a culture in which we increasingly are bombarded with the message that coupledom rules and singletons are somehow flawed (or at least incapable of scanning a decent picture and posting a few sentences of pithy self-promotion on one of the increasingly-ubiquitous dating sites), do we really need the entire United States Government exhorting us to stop being so picky and get married already?

I'm not exactly sure what the President hopes to accomplish with his matchmaking money. Apparently, the conservatives don't think he's going far enough, and the liberals are still trying to figure out how much humor-mileage they can get out of this idiocy. But it scares me, particularly since I think it marks yet another example of the Republicans' efforts to invade every aspect of our private lives, and to return the country to a 1950s-like era of racism, intolerance, gender-based discrimination, and moralistic hypocrisy.

Picture this.

I'm not technologically sophisticated enough to create my own website, complete with pictures, graphics, and other nifty features. But hopefully this will work:

This link should take you to a little album of photos from the New Year's Yurt Adventure. Many of our pictures turned out to depict great white expanses populated by tiny dark dots that are either one of us or a tree, but I've spared you most of these.

Enjoy!

P.S.: I've also updated my archived entry from Halloween to include a few photos. If you're interested in some ancient (in blogging time) history, click on the first line in the "Archive" list over on the right.

Plastic "surgery."

I'd intended to blog this morning about my frustrating night at tutoring, but discovered this morning that my credit card number has been compromised. I use only one card for virtually everything (gotta get those United miles!) and have many recurrent transactions billed automatically to this number. So I've spent my entire morning calling the cable company, land-line and cell phone providers, dry cleaners, health club, Starbucks, and too darn many other companies to alert them to the problem.

I'm sure I'm forgetting something. When this happened to me a few years ago while I was traveling in Asia, it took months to clear up all the detritus of the fraud. Fortunately, my credit card company caught the problem quickly, and there will be no financial consequences to me, but this is one pain in the tushie I did not need.

I'm going to try not to use any of my other cards until I get the new mileage visa next week. I seriously doubt, however, that I'll be able to manage. Especially since I've been walking around with about $3.00 in cash in my wallet for the past month. But maybe this experience will at least help me focus on how much unnecessary spending I do because of the convenience of plastic, and will force me to think twice before tossing around my limited funds. I don't really make New Year's resolutions, but I am trying this year to save my shekels for more important uses . . . .

Technical difficulties.

I went over to the Tenth Circuit this morning to hear oral argument in an appeal out of Wyoming that presents an issue almost identical to the core question in two of my pending habeas cases. I'd spent a couple of hours yesterday helping the petitioner's lawyer prepare for argument, so was looking forward to hearing how he incorporated our suggestions into his advocacy.

But alas, the infrared headset the court gave me to use didn't work at all, so I couldn't hear anything. Needless to say, this was rather frustrating, particularly since the court appeared sympathetic to the petitioner's position and I'd hoped to take the court's temperature on the issue. And I'm plenty busy this week, so as much as I love the atmosphere of an appellate courtroom, I had better things to do than sit for an hour unable to understand a word of the argument.

I only recently began using the infrared amplification system in court, but it has helped me increase my courtroom confidence dramatically. In the past, I would either strain to hear, ask to move myself closer to the judge's bench or the witness stand, or rely on CART (real-time captioning provided by a court reporter). Of these measures, only CART really helped. And while CART is a god-send for deaf and hard-of-hearing people in many, many settings, there is a slight delay between the spoken word and its appearance on the computer screen in front of me. In court, particularly in a court of appeals argument, this delay can be very frustrating, and back when I was in The Firm, I had a couple of judges get annoyed with my slightly tardy responses and objections.

When the new federal courthouse opened here last year, I was thrilled to discover that every courtroom is wired with infrared amplification capabilities, and headsets are kept at all times in each courtroom. I no longer have to make advance arrangements for my accommodations, and can simply walk in and grab a headset whenever I'm appearing or want to observe a proceeding. The Tenth Circuit used to bring over a portable system for my arguments, but this meant that I couldn't roam around to hear my colleagues argue in other courtrooms, or decide at the last minute to attend an argument that interested me. Finally, this past fall, the circuit court installed infrared in every courtroom, so that I now need only pop into the clerk's office to pick up a headset and can then attend any argument I like. It's a wonderful system.

Except when it doesn't work at all, like today! The clerk's office was very apologetic, and asked me to come over on Friday to try a different headset (and to hear my colleague Vicki argue). I'm scheduled to argue in March in the same courtroom in which I sat in silence today, and I need to know that the system will work for me then. The last thing I want to have to worry about when I'm standing in front of the judges is whether or not I'll be able to hear their questions!

All work and no blog.

Well, the Supreme Court did not issue a grant or denial of certiorari today in the case I've been monitoring, which was supposed to be considered on Friday. Instead, the Court postponed it for a later conference, suggesting to me that the Justices are debating whether or not to review the issue. So I'm hard at work trying to finish my brief on the same question, due in about a week. I've also spent much of the day helping colleagues prepare for this week's round of Tenth Circuit arguments, and had to run over to the district court for what ended up being a rather odd motions hearing.

Needless to say, this has left little time for the delightful procrastinatory act of blogging. I have all sorts of assorted thoughts percolating (in particular, after yesterday's Packers game nearly resulted in a burst blood vessel in the head of a certain adorable Wisconsiner, I've been musing about the nature of fan-dom and the development of intense sports loyalties). Hopefully, I'll have time to develop them here later this week.

Stay tuned! And if anyone has any brilliant thoughts on the legality of indefinite detention for inadmissible aliens whose ordered deportation can't be carried out (e.g., because their country of origin won't take them back), I'd love to hear 'em , , , ,

I was a teenage blogger.

An article entitled "My So-called Blog" appears in this weekend's New York Times Magazine. The piece explores the prevalence of blogs among teenagers, the role that blogging plays in contemporary high school culture, and the ways that blog imitates life by mirroring the inevitable lemming-ness of adolescence.

As a relatively recent arrival on the blogging scene, I read this article with interest and amusement. I'm actually rather busy today, so haven't had time to fully digest its contents yet and may have deeper insights to share later. But I was struck by the article's assertion that roughly 90% of all bloggers in the United States are younger than 29. I'm not sure if this means that I'm more trend-savvy or technologically advanced than most of my over-30 peers, or that I should grow up already.

"More bad judges."

If you thought the Bush Administration had eased up on its efforts to pack the court with under-qualified, hyper-conservative judges, think again. Political commentator Jack Newfield has this frightening essay in the current issue of The Nation. I recommend printing out the Newfield piece and pasting it in a prominent location wherever you listen to NPR or watch the news, for regular review as these horrifying nominees make their way through the confirmation process.

And it's an election year now, folks. Let's start getting informed, educated, and opinionated about who has the best shot at unseating President Shrub in November.

Reflections (or, Memoirs of an ex-punk queen).

As I was putting my grown-up face on at the gym this morning, my eyes caught on a young woman whose image appeared in the mirror behind me. The very fact that I thought of her as a "young woman" portended of my observations to come, which left me feeling even older than I do when someone refers to me as "lady" (e.g., "Hey, lady, watch where you're going!") or "ma'am" (ugh -- a knife-blade across the jugular of my youth).

This girl appeared to be in her early 20s and rather pretty. As I glanced in the mirror, I watched her don a pair of sloppy, baggy cargo pants, the cuffs of which dragged along the carpet, and an ugly, vertical-striped button-down shirt, both of which looked straight out of the Urban Outfitters Outlet. Then she hoisted her thick mane of wavy hair to the top of her head and secured it with a clip. I didn't pay much attention to this routine, though I noticed it because it seemed atypical of the dressing machinations of the morning suits-and-pantyhose crowd at the gym.

I did focus on what came next. After throwing on clothes that even generously can be described only as "schlumpy," the girl spent the next half-hour meticulously adjusting the messy wisps of hair falling out of her coiffe and applying more makeup than I wear in a week to achieve a sunken-eyed, sickly pallor. She was still fine-tuning when I headed to the exit. I walked out feeling amused that she had devoted so much time to conveying the appearance of having just rolled out of bed.

But as I walked up the stairs, I gave myself a mental poke in the ribs for my bitchy thoughts. And I realized that almost twenty years ago, some 33-year-old recovered hippie chick probably had an identical reaction to my teenage punker toilette.

Back in 1985, I spent eons getting ready in the morning, perfecting my look. Yet to the casual onlooker, I'm sure it seemed I had gone straight from my futon to my favorite bench on the Pearl Street Mall, with my poorly dyed mohawk standing spiky over black-rimmed eyes (and green mascara, of course), pale pancake base, dark-lined lips, earlobes full of diaper pins, an old, torn shirt retrieved from my father's castoff pile, a shapeless skirt strategically arranged to display my (ripped) black fishnet stockings, a random assortment of rubber, plastic, and rhinestone bracelets snaking up my arms, and a pair of beat-up combat boots anchoring it all. And boy, did I think I was the shits.

I imagine the girl at the gym knew exactly what level of grungy/messy she was aiming to achieve. And I suspect that when she glides away from the professional-infested waters of the gym and reaches her own world, her carefully cultivated sloppiness conveys readily understood messages to her peers, particularly those of the opposite sex. Just as my punker-babe style was aimed, at least in part, at attracting those bleach-haired, pierce-eared, leather-jacketed, anarchist-wannabe boys with whom I consorted back then, to my parents' thinly-veiled horror. Or perhaps amusement?