Worlds Apart

When it comes to immigration for gay bi-national couples, love does have borders

"I have idealism in the face of a huge lie -- it's very American," says performance artist Tim Miller. He is standing on the sixth-floor veranda of a central Phoenix apartment building, but it seems more like he's hanging over the edge, clinging to that last shred of optimism as he counts down his remaining days as an American artist. Miller handles the pressure well. He is collected and humble, calm and articulate -- despite the fact that he's certainly pissed.

"America is fucked," he says as simply as if he's just ordered pastrami on rye. An hour ago Miller was standing naked on a stage in front of 200 people, talking about love, U.S. immigration policy, the constitutional lie about equality for all people and rimming, among other things. No need to mince words now. The idea that the U.S. government is not nice to gays is not news to this cocktail party attended mostly by gay men. He's preaching to the choir boys.

The stage he just exited was Miller's Phoenix performance of Glory Box, a one-man show about same-sex bi-national couples. Glory Box is an intensely personal account of Miller's struggle to keep his partner of six years, Alistair McCartney, from being deported from their home in California to Australia. The audience seemed sympathetic. The only ones shifting uncomfortably in their seats were probably the plainclothes police officers brought in because of death threats aimed at a local theater writer who previewed Miller's show. (Evidently, not everyone in Phoenix is sympathetic.) But the majority of audience members laughed at the right places, nodded in knowing agreement and gave the play a standing ovation. The collective sigh was one of relief at seeing a candid portrayal of an issue that is gaining recognition in the gay community and getting some attention in the straight press.

Tim Miller's one-man performance of Glory Box explores his struggle to deal with the potential deportation of his partner.
Paolo Vescia
Tim Miller's one-man performance of Glory Box explores his struggle to deal with the potential deportation of his partner.

Many of the same faces in Miller's audience appeared at the first meeting of the Phoenix Lesbian and Gay Immigration Rights Task Force (LGIRTF) held last Saturday, a week after Miller's performance. Nearly 30 people gathered to discuss how to keep their loved ones in the country. LGIRTF points to refusal to allow marriage as one of the more obvious ways the U.S. government denies homosexuals their civil rights, citing more than 1,000 rights and privileges that are granted to heterosexual couples when they marry. In the case of same-sex bi-national couples, the most important right is citizenship -- and the ability to share it.

When a heterosexual person marries someone from another country, or, say, orders a bride from Russia, the Immigration and Naturalization Service grants residency to the foreigner. However, same-sex partners mean nothing to the INS because gay marriages are not legally recognized. In most cases, this leaves a gay person with a foreign partner two options: separation or exile.

For the couples at Saturday's meeting, neither of these options is attractive.

"We don't want to go to Canada. Our family is here," says Diane, a computer programmer from Phoenix. "But I'd like to wake up in the morning and feel safe that the next day we're not going to be separated."

Diane met her partner, Emola, while serving in the Peace Corps near Fiji in the South Pacific. It is difficult to get even a visitor's visa for people from Emola's island, but Diane's Peace Corps supervisor had a friend at the embassy who did them a favor. The couple initially settled in Hawaii, but when Emola's temporary visa expired, she was sent home within 24 hours. Diane holds back tears as she describes Emola's deportation.

"At first we thought life was going great," Diane says. "Twenty-four hours later, she was on a plane back to Fiji. Gone. We had just rented a new apartment in Hawaii. It was the most torture I'd ever been through, wondering if my girlfriend was coming back, or if I had to pack up and go to Fiji. After that happened, I never feel safe."

Emola is here now on a student visa. And once again, the clock is ticking.

Cee-Cee, from Costa Rica, is in a similar situation. She is here with her wife, Anne, on a student visa. They met Diane and Emola on a list-serve for gay international couples.

"It was nice to find someone in the same situation," Diane says. "We wondered, "Is there anyone else out there?'"

Cee-Cee and Anne exchanged wedding vows six months ago in Costa Rica, which also does not recognize the legality of gay marriages.

"When it comes to the law, when it comes to citizenship rights or taxes, we're as good as single," Cee-Cee says. "We cannot file joint taxes, we cannot claim each other as dependents, we cannot visit each other at the hospital. And if I have to go back to Costa Rica because my visa expires, then we will be separated again."

Both couples came to the LGIRTF meeting with the hope of learning new ways to stay together in the United States and meeting other couples in similar predicaments. This issue is still marginalized even within the gay rights movement, although gay rights activists estimate that 30,000 gay couples must contend with immigration issues. Many of their stories go unheard because they are forced to live underground.

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