By Rayman Alcade
My name is Rayman Alcayde. I am 25 years old, and I am starting my life over in the United States. I left behind my country, my family, my friends, and everything I hold dear. I had to do it – the harassment by the police and people from my neighborhood had become unbearable. My crime: being gay in a country where this is hardly tolerated. It all began when my partner and I kissed in a public park, unaware of the chain of traumatic events that our simple, loving gesture would unleash against us. This is my story and how I began a new life, thanks to the Katharine and George Alexander Community Law Center (KGACLC).
There was nothing unusual or special about that day. We simply kissed, but did not realize that a police officer had witnessed our innocent gesture until he grabbed us by our arms and took us to the police station. Once there, the other officers harassed us as soon as we entered the building. One of the policemen pushed us against the wall and a couple of the officers began to frisk us very roughly while making fun of us and calling us all kinds of derogatory names. The police chief was writing the report with the help of the arresting officer, and I told him to "write this down too."
Suddenly, he yelled, "Are you going to tell me how to do my job now, little lady?" He then grabbed his baton and started hitting me. The other officers joined him. The three men hit us on our arms, stomachs, buttocks, and the back of our knees. We both bent down and tried to cower down against the wall in an effort to protect ourselves, but this was of no use. I was in pain and extremely frightened. I didn’t know if they were going to beat us to death, rape us (as they had done to some acquaintances), or kill us, and then claim we were robbed, just as the police had done with that guy outside the nightclub, an event I had actually witnessed some time ago myself.
They said that we had been arrested for "immoral conduct." I was relieved when a judge finally reviewed the case against us a few hours later at the Public Ministry offices. Surely she would apologize and release us immediately. Much to our dismay, she actually convicted us of "lewd conduct" and asked us to pay a hefty fine or spend two days in jail. The judge did not even ask why my partner and I were so bruised. As she left the room, I shouted after her that this was inhumane and that I was going to tell my story to the press and human rights organizations because homosexuals should not be treated this way. I was enraged, sad, and humiliated. But above all, I was inspired to write about this ridiculous incident so that people would know about the unfairness of the judicial system in my country. I went to our local human rights office and to the police headquarters as soon as I was released from prison. I filed a complaint and explained the events just as they had happened. I was determined to expose the police and their institutionalized discrimination and homophobia.
My activities did not go unnoticed, especially by the police. I soon started seeing a police car parked outside my parents’ house, where I lived, sometimes for hours during the day and night. The officers inside initially would just look at me in a menacing way, and then their harassment became more explicit. They would call my house and watch from their car as I answered. They would insult me and threaten me and my family. Even my mother and step-father became direct targets of these threats and harassment. When I went out, I had the distinct feeling of being followed. One evening, after getting off my bus, I made a calculated decision to take the shortcut in favor of the long way home. Even though it was barely 8PM, it was already dark, and the back alley represented both an opportunity and a risk to my safety. I should have known better. Half-way down the alley, I suddenly saw a police car from which two officers descended. They chased me, caught me and started beating and kicking me very hard. I heard one of them say, "Don’t take this personally, but we do enjoy this very much." The other one then said, "Do not mess with the wrong people…you know what we’re talking about." This event landed me in the emergency room, and I had to lie in bed for a number of days.
The harassment became unbearable. In spite of my characteristic courage, I must admit that I started trembling every time I saw a police officer anywhere in the city. It became impossible for me to leave my house without feeling terrified. I was so angry about my fear. I did not want to be afraid. This was not fair. I felt that my life was truly in danger, so I decided to leave. Leaving my city was not enough—I had to leave the country. I had heard recent news that an acquaintance of mine had been killed elsewhere in our country because his role as an activist had offended some powerful people. Even after I left, my mom and step-dad were forced to move elsewhere in the country because my absence did not stop the police from harassing them.
I came to San José towards the end of 2004. I felt alone and destitute, but at least I did not feel threatened. I still had my dreams of pursuing the fashion career I had started in my country, or perhaps studying anthropology or sociology, my life-long passions. After I told my story to an acquaintance, he mentioned the possibility of seeking political asylum in the U.S. I quickly discarded the idea, thinking that such status was only reserved for persecuted politicians. However, after I learned about the KGACLC, I decided to attend one of its immigration clinics to see about my status in this country. I worked with law student Merrill Hoult, who clearly loved her job. I was immediately impressed by the level of professionalism, competence and respect that she offered me. After the initial interview, I was told that my story had all the ingredients for a political asylum case. I was amazed, and once the Law Center decided that it could take my case on a full-representation basis, my work with Merrill became a race to meet a fast-approaching Immigration deadline.
From the very beginning, Merrill, Lynette Parker (my attorney), and Margarita Sandoval (Lynette’s legal assistant) treated me like a friend and a partner in an important project. This was very important to help me salvage the dignity I had left behind in my own country. Having no financial resources, I was relieved to see that their motivation was simply to help me, not to earn a high fee from me.
Today I have a work permit and a social security number. I am working and plan to attend school (my ultimate goal is to one day attend Santa Clara University). I am still waiting for a response on my case from Immigration. And although I still have the ghosts from my past (I still tremble in fear when I see a police officer), my will to pursue my dreams is much stronger. Thanks to the Katharine & George Alexander Community Law Center and its team of dedicated individuals and students, I am able to put all my fears behind and look towards the future with confidence, pride, and hope.
