The American who Crushes our Dreams and Hearts

Dan here, savoring my last day of expat anonymity.

Up to now, I have been responsible for serving Americans: whether they need a new passport, get themselves arrested, or just want to vote absentee. Tomorrow I start my new job of adjudicating visas for non-Americans who want to travel to the United States. I will interview 70 people per day, and before too long, I will be a quasi-celebrity on the street.

Some countries’ citizens do not need visas to enter the US. France, Germany and Japan, for example. But visas are required for citizens of countries with characteristics such as higher unemployment, such as Jordan.

It is a completely different job, and I am excited for the change.

I will be using more Arabic than ever. First, I need to determine why you want to visit the US. Second, if you entered the US, what would keep you from over-staying? As a result, young singles get refused a lot.

During visa training, I realized how seldom I ever said “No” to Americans. Maybe I said “come back with more documents” or “bring your wife here with you”, but almost never a flat-out “No”.

Not so with visas. Actually, saying “No” isn’t so difficult. The harder task is making a quick decision, yes or no. (Duffy can confirm this, I’m certain) Apparently my judging muscles need a good workout. The assembly line is no place for navel-gazing. Once I’ve made the decision, saying “No” isn’t so bad. Jordanians are so polite that many say “Thank you” after being refused. Of course, some break down and cry, but this only reinforces our confidence in our decisions to refuse.

And those decisions are final. No appeals. Of course, you can always write an angry letter to the Ambassador (the title of this entry is a reference to my colleague, quoted from one such letter). And you can always apply again. Maybe another officer will see your case differently.

Many refused applicants say they want to travel to the US to visit a relative, but the airfare alone will cost them several months’ salary. Later, after they are refused, the reaction is sometimes so emotional that it casts doubt upon the applicant’s story: would you cry if you couldn’t visit your cousin? No offense to my cousins, of course!

Last week I completed a farewell tour of the kingdom’s jails to visit our incarcerated Americans one last time. It was my second time to see them. One inmate remembered me and literally turned his back to me when I entered (a very insulting gesture here). “You have done nothing with my complaints since you last visited! Why should I even talk to you?!” He would say nothing more until I left. He deserves a change. So do I.