“How are you?” Listening and Providing Hope to Detained, Separated Afghan children

It is a typical August morning. I’m driving to the shelter along the familiar route I’ve taken for the past several months, and I can’t help but think about where I was just one year ago. In early August 2021, I had recently graduated law school and had just finished the most difficult experience of my life: the Bar Exam.

I had no idea that later that same month, Afghan children, like the ones I was on my way to see at the shelter today, would be facing the most harrowing experience of their young lives as they were forced to flee from the Taliban. It’s hard to believe even now that just a few months into my first job as a freshly licensed attorney I would be representing children displaced by a humanitarian crisis that had been building for the past two decades.

Even after surviving their traumatic escape from the Taliban, unaccompanied Afghan children still face ongoing challenges here. The goal is to reunify these children with their families who were left behind because of the chaotic evacuation. For those who have no family or sponsors in the United States, they face lengthy stays at government-run shelters because the reunification process is so prolonged.

When children experience trauma, it is understandable that they may become withdrawn and wary of others. These feelings are compounded by lengthy stays in a shelter setting, as it contributes to feelings of hopelessness and isolation. I’ve found that as their attorney, it is not only my job to assess their forms of legal relief and advocate for their needs, but just as important, it is incumbent on me to ensure they feel heard. For many of these children, their attorney is going to be the most consistent adult in their life outside of those in the shelter. Just being regularly available to them and listening to them means more than you can imagine.

I began meeting with detained Afghan children in April of this year via video chat and we were completely reliant on the help of interpreters. As their shelter stays lengthened, we’ve been able to meet more regularly in person, and as their English continuously improves, we’ve been able to communicate more often in English. I’ve found our meetings to be just as enriching for myself as it is for them, if not more.

That is why I’ve been making these trips to the shelter to meet with these children at least once or twice a week for the past several months. During these weekly meetings, I check in personally with each one of the kids. Some meetings are quick, lasting less than twenty minutes, while others can be quite lengthy – stretching up to three hours. Every day is different. Some days, one of the kids may be struggling more than the others. So, I begin every meeting by asking how they’re doing. If I have to discuss a difficult topic with them, I spend even more time at the beginning of our meeting to ensure they’re in a stable state mentally and emotionally before proceeding.

Even though I begin every meeting the same way, I try to personalize every conversation and keep our discussion lively. I sprinkle lighthearted comments and observations throughout our meetings. I’m thrilled when the kids smile and laugh. Sometimes, they’ll even share their own funny comments. I consider it a triumph to lift their spirits even for a moment. During our many meetings, we’ve talked about a host of different topics, including how their week is going, what movies they’ve been watching, what books they’ve been reading, any activities or hobbies they’re interested in, how their schoolwork is going, how their families are doing, and so on.

Then, we dive into their cases. I update them about any new developments and address their questions and concerns in turn. I’ve submitted work permit applications for all the kids, and most of those have already been approved. When I gave them their work permits, their eyes lit up in excitement. When I gave one of them their social security card, they thought I was joking as their face beamed in disbelief. Seeing their reactions was such a joy. It was clear that getting these cards was more than just a formality, it was a meaningful sign of progress in their legal case they could hold in their own hands.

As I near the shelter this morning, I consider how I’m going to approach my meetings with the kids today. I’ve been preparing their asylum applications, and today’s agenda involves further developing their personal declarations. It’s been worthwhile to devote many meetings across several days and weeks to give these kids enough time to deal with the difficult task of recounting their traumatic experiences.

One method that proved helpful early on was having them write their experiences in their own language. I framed it as an assignment they could do to help advance their applications and they responded positively. This also allowed them to better organize their thoughts and process what happened to them. After having their writings translated and reading them to determine what aspects we needed to further develop for their asylum applications, I would follow up with the kids. As a result, I’ve been able to draft detailed declarations thanks in large part to the relationships I’ve fostered with these kids and the trust we’ve placed in each other. We’ve certainly come a long way since our initial meetings.

I’ve begun learning Dari in my free time. One of the kids even volunteered to help teach me and has already taught me several words and phrases in Dari. During another check-in, I found out I owned the same book one of the kids had just begun reading. We agreed I would begin reading my copy so we could discuss the book during our subsequent meetings, forming our very own book club.

I’ve been offered traditional Afghan dishes and snacks during my visits. I’ve been shown amazing drawings they’ve done. I’ve even been gifted a page from a coloring book one of the kids completed by asking me to pick what colors to use – this is a memento I will cherish forever. Moments like these illustrate the difference we can make in the lives of these kids by simply showing up consistently. They also demonstrate the influence these kids have on us.

As I park and make my way towards the shelter, I can’t help but be grateful for our time together. These visits have become what I look forward to the most during my week. Getting to meet these kids and speak with them so regularly has been the most rewarding part of my job. Hearing their experiences and helping them tell their stories has truly been the privilege of a lifetime.

I often find myself wishing I had even more time to speak with them – more time to listen to them share their dreams and concerns, to offer words of comfort to help them get through day after day in the shelter, to give them a bit of hope and joy they could take with them to sustain them. Above all, I want to do everything I can to ensure they remain in the U.S. where they’re safe and have every opportunity to pursue their goals.

With all this in mind, I walk inside the shelter and greet one of the kids, “Salam, chetoor hasti?” I say in my rehearsed Dari – and we’re off and running.