Breaking the Law

Without a doubt, I have always been a law abiding citizen. Never in my life have I had a speeding or a parking ticket. I obey laws not necessarily because I believe they are always good or fair, but mostly because I like order and discipline. Being informed also helps. Many times, back in Romania I went all the way to the very limits of the law asking for my rights, but always stopped before crossing the line, so I never got myself in any trouble. I learned that the “enemy” needs to be fought with their own weapons. It is the only language they understand.

In the summer of ’93 I went to Romania to see my son and take him to Italy for a two week vacation. I wanted him to have as much exposure to the world as possible. The year before my son had spent three months in The United States with me and my husband Stan. He learned some English and made some friends while visiting 18 states by bus on a three weeks YMCA tour. When he returned to Romania, Tino was a different person; much more secure in his own abilities, more social and less shy. During the trip, they started fires for cooking and put up tents for themselves. They learned to be self sufficient.

After my arrival in Bucharest my plans for an Italian vacation changed dramatically the very next day. My son was living with his father and his new wife; as I found out both of them were alcoholics. Danna was in the hospital once again trying detoxification. My ex-husband, who once was a very good looking man, had now the aspect of a homeless person; unshaven, unkempt, prematurely aged, wearing clothes that looked too big for him and had not been washed or ironed in a long time.

I understood from my son that the situation has been deteriorating by the day over the last year and their house became an inferno with frequent fights, as well as verbal and physical abuse. The situation was not only unacceptable it was dangerous. No child should live like that. No wonder my son’s grades were slipping and he was missing school.

The following day I went to the American Embassy asking for an emergency meeting with the general consul. I explained the situation and ask for help.

I needed an emergency visa for my son so I could take him back with me to The States.

“That should not be a problem. Your son is a minor and you are an American citizen, therefore he will be given first priority. It is the easiest case scenario. You have to fill out an application and wait for due process. The immigration service will contact you. Living in Los Angeles may take longer than usual due to the numerous problems with the illegal immigration in the area, but I expect your case will not take longer than a maximum of 18 to 24 months.”

“That is an eternity, Sir. My son could not possibly live in such conditions for another day. In 18 months he could be a runaway, a drug addict, an alcoholic or dead. This is a special situation and I need you to treat it as such…”

“All situations are special… We hear horror stories every single day. We have to follow the law. All I can promise you is that your request will leave the Embassy with the first courier. I will see to that”.

“I thank you for your kindness, but that will not do it. I am not leaving Romania without my son. He spent 3 months in the States last year. I could have kept him, but I did not. I let him come back to Romania because I promised to do so in the affidavit you required me to sign. I am a law abiding citizen; I am an honorable person and I kept my promise”.

“That is expected of an American citizen... We are a country of laws”

“I know it and I respect that. I am not asking you for anything illegal. I need to protect my son and I need you to help me.”

“I wish I could do more, but I can’t. The immigration law is clear and we expect everyone to obey it.”

“And for the American authorities to treat us with respect and dignity is not to be expected? How can you call this human rights and civilized behavior?

I am sick and tired of democratic slogans, Sir. Before you export your precious values to the rest of the world, you should implement respect and dignity at home…”

“Those are very grave accusations, Madame. Looking at your affidavit of support I can see that America has been good to you. You own properties, you have your own business, money in the bank and other important assets… You did well for yourself”

“Let me assure you Sir that what I have is the result of hard work and plenty of sacrifice. My husband and I live modestly and economically. I cook and take care of the garden. My husband does all the electrical work, plumbing and painting at home as well as at the apartment building we own. Neither one of us ever got a red penny from the government, not ever! I don’t have to justify myself. It is all on the tax return and I am sure you have access to such information. Go right ahead, check all you want, I have nothing to hide, nor do I have anything else to talk to you about. I know exactly where you stand now. Have a great day and a peaceful life, Sir”.

I turned my back on him and left without giving him a chance to say anything else. I was mad as hell at this paper pushing governmental jerk intoxicated by bureaucratic philosophy. I knew his type well. I dealt before with underachiever clerks when I was fighting for my passport to leave Romania in the summer of 1979. Bureaucrats are all the same, no matter who they work for. All they care about is to keep their “important” jobs, so they treat people as faceless files devoid of humanity.

With my son’s passport in hand, I went directly to the Italian Embassy and asked for a tourist visa. Then I went to a travel agency and bought plain tickets. The next day we were in Rome. A few days later, after visiting the Vatican and other tourist attractions, I went with my son to the American Embassy on Via Veneto.

I explained we were visiting Italy, but my son had a “tooth infection” that could not be successfully treated in Romania, so I needed to take him back to the States where my cousin was a dentist in New York.

The young lady I was talking to looked at my son’s passport and saw he had a prior tourist visa for The States from the previous year. With no other questions she stamped his passport and we were home free.

We celebrated the “victory” by actually taking the vacation initially planed. We went all over Italy from Rome to Venice, Padua and Ravenna, as well as Florence, Pisa and Assisi. We stopped in Lago di Garda for three days. I took my son to Verona to see Aida at the old roman arena. He was impressed by the elephants and camels brought to the stage as Radames was making his triumphant entrance.

The marathon through Italy continue with stops in Milan, Lago Maggiore and Lago di Cuomo. My son was impressed and excited; I was more than happy and at the same time amused to discover his preferences and the first signs of his eccentric personality. In reality, I was just getting to know my son a little bit at the time. We have been separated for eleven years. Every day was precious and we enjoyed every minute.

I contacted my husband Stan back in Los Angeles and told him the news about my son coming back with me. He was thrilled to have Tino with us for good.

I had no choice but to talk to Tino’s father and let him know we were not coming back to Romania.

“You must be out of your f… mind! Don’t mess with me, Petra! I will call the FBI right this moment. What you are doing is kidnapping! You better get back here right now and then we will see… I am not kidding! I will raise hell if you do not bring the boy back, and I mean now, tomorrow at the very latest. Is that clear?”

Once again I felt that, sometimes, being honest is not such a great idea.

“What are we going to do, Tino? It is sad to see that not everybody appreciates honesty. I could have not called him now, just as I could have kept you with me a year ago when you were already in the States.

Lying and breaking the law is not my style. I am totally against this type of behavior and I will always avoid it if I could. At times people leave you no choice…”

“Don’t worry mom, we are going back to Romania to avoid troubles. Should my father dare stop me from coming with you, I know exactly what to do.”

“And what will that be?”

“You will see”

We went back to Romania. My heart was pounding, my legs were shaking and I was asking myself “why in the name of God did I listen to a 13 years old boy?”

We met Tino’s father for breakfast the next morning at a coffee shop near the Romanian Radio station where he worked as a journalist.

I was hoping that early in the morning he would not be drunk yet and we could have a somewhat normal conversation. I was dead wrong. He had started early and was far from lucid. Even when sober, my ex-husband did not have a logic mind. He kept on talking nonsense.

My son took control of the situation that was getting out of hand just as I was losing patience.

“Very well dad, why should I go to the States and work as hard as Stan does? It would be much better for me to stay here and be a hooligan. I don’t have to go to school either. I have plenty of friends that steal and use the money for drugs. I could very well do the same. I don’t have to be a responsible person when it is so much more fun to be a bum. I don’t even want to go to America, to tell you the truth! Why should I have to sacrifice and work hard? I would rather stay right here and have fun!”

The look in my ex husband’s eyes assured me that his inebriation was miraculously over.

“Go then! Go and be your mother’s son! I only hope one day you will understand I tried my best. There is nothing else I want to talk about, just go now. Forget about my sacrifices and my broken heart. Go with your mother! Go and be happy, but just remember she had abandoned you… She may do it again.”

Both Tino and I knew it was the alcohol speaking, rather than Mircea.

He was bitter, but he had not been a bad father. He did want the best for his son, but he was a lost soul. He did not know what best meant anymore.

Through the years he has bought into his own version of the events. He needed an explanation and an excuse for not letting Tino come with me years ago when I applied for leaving Romania. All he wanted to do at that time was to protect his career as a journalist employed by the most powerful propaganda machine. After the collapse of the communism he had nothing more to fear, but his own version of the facts had taken deep roots on his tormented mind and he could not let go of it.

We left him at the coffee shop with another glass of vodka in front of him and went straight to the airlines to get Tino a ticket for the next day to New York.

A last minute ticket cost me $2700. I would have gladly paid even more just to know my son was safe and his father would not change his mind yet again.

When I took my son to the airport to board a plane for The States, my heart was in my throat. He had a valid exit visa, but it was obtained in Italy.

I was hoping and praying that nobody would notice it and he could pass through passport control without problems.

Tino went on without incident and then turned back and waived to me with a smile on his face. It all went well and he was on his way to embrace with a smile the Lady of Liberty.

That minute I felt like I was born again; not in a religious sense, but in a much more real and earthly one.

This particular time, breaking the law, felt good. It felt right, because it was right.

P.S. Part II "The Illusive American Democracy" from the book "Disposable People"

 

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