Tuesday July 27, 5:15 a.m.
The Loop is warm, dark, muggy and still.
The sun won’t rise for another half-hour, but the line in front of the INS on Jackson Boulevard is already 65 deep.
Folks stretch and yawn in the half-light, reshuffle their papers and look again at their watches. Two more hours before the line will even move. But if people don’t get here this early, their chances of being seen, much less helped, are in doubt.
A Chinese student of computer science, who is attending the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign, steps into the line. She is there to inquire about a temporary work permit she applied for in March. The standard 90 days have passed and she never heard back from the INS. Her employer is getting nervous about her status.
The student and her boyfriend drove all the way to Nebraska on Monday. They did this because she could not get through to the Chicago INS office by telephone to find out where to apply in person. They decided to try Nebraska because all her INS correspondence originates there. But officials in Omaha told her to return to the Chicago office. When they arrived back in Chicago, after their second seven-hour drive, the INS office was long since closed.
“My friends on the East Coast and in Texas and California got their (work permits) in two to three months,” says the student, who was afraid to give her name. “For some reason the Chicago office takes a lot longer.”
Also in line is an Ecuadorian woman, who is accompanied by her Chicago-born daughter-in-law. They are trying to get a stamp on her passport allowing her to leave the country while her immigration status is pending. Attempts to resolve the matter by telephone were unsuccessful.
“I finally got an INS operator and she couldn’t help,” the daughter-in-law, Elizabeth Flores, says. “I’m cocky so I said, `If you can’t give us information, what good is this number?’ “
6:30: Hundreds of people are now queued up in a line that snakes around the INS building and curls into the plaza of the Dirksen Federal Building.
The recent swell of humanity waiting in line — up to 1,000 applicants a day — has been attributed to the annual push of last-minute green card renewal applications. Green card seekers are now to renew them (and process four other kinds of applications) by mail, but this is the last week they may also come to the office.
The crowd arrives in families, pairs, trios and sometimes alone. Many wince when they see the number of people who have arrived before them, but they gird themselves with looks of hope and determination.
Although the line hums with the low murmur of foreign languages, few people talk to their neighbors. When they do, the talk is of busy phone lines, interminable recorded messages and unhelpful operators. Many claim that they have come today simply to ask questions the INS operators could not answer.
7:06: The line starts to move inside the building. Spirits lift for the moment.
In a few minutes, an INS worker comes to distribute what look like old-fashioned movie tickets. Some people eagerly take them, while others refuse, explaining that they are only there to accompany a friend and don’t want to take a ticket away from someone needing help.
“You have to take the ticket,” the worker says coldly. “Anyone over the age of 14 has to take a ticket.”
Friends and relatives who, out of principle, don’t take tickets are refused entry. Since this INS office claims to serve 600 ticket-holders a day — after which they lock the doors — it seems underhanded to some in line that the staff knowingly doles out tickets to people who are not there for help.
“My mother-in-law came here recently at 6 a.m. and couldn’t get in because by the time she got to the doors, they had already given all 600 tickets away,” says Flores. “She said that the last person who got a ticket got there at 3 a.m.”
7:30: Those who arrived at 5:15 finally make it inside the building. They wind around in a series of roped-off lines taking advantage of a low windowsill on one end of the room where they can sit for a few seconds when the line moves them near it.
“I want one line against these people over here,” a guard barks repeatedly, trying to compress the lines. “Move all the way over, all the way over.”
Those who can read English are treated to a sign about how the INS has introduced changes designed to make the lines shorter and another that reminds them: “You deserve to be treated with professionalism and respect.” The sign announces that all complaints can be mailed or reported to the very office they are standing in.
At the end of the maze-like line stands a guard bellowing, “Next three step up!” Facing them are X-ray machines and metal detectors. The applicants are told to take off their belts (without any explanation) and put their bags and jackets on the conveyor belt.
It’s the kind of place that makes you long for the warmth of the post office.
Once past the security equipment, applicants ascend an escalator that seems to promise help at last. But at the top, they are instead instructed to get in yet another line that winds around in convoluted fashion.
A glimmer of courtesy arrives in the form of a guard who announces that pregnant women can sit and let their husbands or friends hold their place in line. Those who are there alone, however, must wait. He also announces bathroom locations in English and Spanish, the language of at least half of those in line.
The only other diversions from slow lines and aching backs are more signs. One reports that the INS is open from 7:30 a.m. to 2 p.m. Monday through Thursday (Closed on Fridays) and that during that time it processes 600 walk-ins a day. Anyone witnessing the ticket distribution system outside would smile wryly.
The sign notes that the 600-people-a-day policy “is in compliance with the building fire and safety requirements. Sorry for the inconvenience.”
This prompts the friend of one applicant to wonder aloud: “Since when do building and safety codes dictate how many people can be helped each day at a federal office?”
8:30: The Ecuadorian woman and her daughter-in-law make it to the front of the line, only to be told they need to go to the Ecuadorian consulate on this matter, something INS operators either could not or would not explain over the phone. Three hours of waiting for nothing.
In response to Schakowsky’s complaints, INS director Perryman had promised to put on extra staff to screen questions from people waiting in line. But none of the promised staff is working the lines, which would, for example, keep those who shouldn’t be at that office from having to wait hours to find that out.
8:32: The Chinese student finally gets her chance. A worker at the “forms” desk demands tickets from the student and her two friends. After the tickets are produced, the worker examines the student’s paperwork but seems bewildered. She asks a colleague, who says that the student must contact the office in Nebraska.
“But I was in Nebraska yesterday,” protests the student.
“No, you weren’t in Nebraska,” the second worker says.
“Yes,” persists the student. “We drove to Omaha because that is what was on the envelope and they said they can only process applications for Iowa and Nebraska.”
The second INS worker quickly changes the subject, snapping at one of the friends, “You still haven’t given me your ticket. Where’s your ticket?”
The friend points to his ticket sitting on her desk.
The two workers confer again off to the side. One says to the other, “I’m not sure what to do. If she gives you a hard time, send her upstairs.”
The first worker comes back and tells the student that the INS will contact her about whether she will get the permit.
“But it has been more than 90 days, and I really need to know if I will get it,” pleads the student.
The worker sends her to an office upstairs.
Dozens of people are already in a room that seems like heaven because it has chairs. Finally an opportunity to sit. A guard sits near the door in a comfy chair telling people to be seated.
When someone asks whom they should see, the guard tells them that the counter person is gone.
“Wait there till she comes back,” he says.
“Can we sit and wait?” the applicant asks.
“Do whatever you want,” the seated guard says. “You’ve got to check in at the window.”
Finally, after 10 minutes, the counter person returns. The student asks her if there is any way of knowing how long it might take to see someone.
“We can’t tell you that,” says the counter person.
“Well, how long does it usually take?”
“We don’t know.”
Chimes in another worker, “We have people out today and you just have to wait until your name is called.”
But when a Caucasian applicant with impeccable English directed the same question to the counter person, she got a much kinder, more direct response.
8:55: The student’s name is finally called. She disappears behind closed doors. Fifteen minutes later, she emerges with a copy of her original papers and permission to obtain a temporary work permit until the official paperwork comes through. She just has to return downstairs to Booth 15.
9:15: The student arrives downstairs to find a poster board with the words “Booth 15” on it. Following the instructions written on it, she deposits her paperwork in a tray and sits with dozens of other people. The wait begins again.
There are not enough chairs for the people waiting, so the overflow must stand. If they don’t stand in designated spaces, a beefy guard shoos them there.
To people who protest, he says, “You either have to have a seat, stand over there or move out of this building. You are blocking people’s views.”
It is unclear what views he is speaking of. He might have meant the readout of the electronic ticket number system, but it is broken. Workers are shouting out the numbers instead.
A very pregnant woman is herded into the aisle and stands there for several minutes until a woman offers her seat.
9:45: Finally the student’s name is called and she is told to line up next to Booth 15. All the women in line are instructed to remove their right earrings (without explanation) for the profile photo to which they must submit to get their temporary permits.
9:50: The student emerges with a temporary ID that will enable her to work for three months. She and her boyfriend will end their long road trip with a ride back to Urbana-Champaign and peace of mind for 90 days.
“I can’t believe I actually got something,” she says. “I just hope my application is processed by then and I don’t have to do this again.”
CHICAGO INS DIRECTOR RESPONDS
After our visit to the INS, we interviewed Chicago district director Brian Perryman. Here are his comments on a few of the issues:
On the office’s ticket-distribution policy: “What we try to do is give tickets only to the people trying to get the help. We wouldn’t give (those accompanying the applicant) a ticket; we would give the person who needs the help a ticket. The others would obviously be allowed to go in with applicants to help translate but we wouldn’t waste a ticket on one of those people.”
On the conduct of INS staffers: “We stress (respectfulness and saying please) across the board. I have been meeting regularly with my staff to make absolutely sure that is going on. They should give simple basic phrases that start with `please.’ We’re trying to emphasize that.”
On the lack of people working the line: Perry told the Tribune there would be “more” people working the line to answer basic questions while people are still waiting.
On staffers’ customer service and cultural-sensitivity training: “We conduct routine customer service and cultural-sensitivity training. This staff has already been through it, and they will go through it again.”
