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May 2009
Lana Hayaak
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“Lana, get to the Chinese Embassy before 9 a.m.,” my classmate, Tracy, suggested.
I climbed Cathedral Hill early, but a long line had already formed by the time I arrived. I get mocked whenever I tell people that San Francisco is cold, but on this particular day in May it was truly freezing.
Chinese instrumental music played in the background. I felt guilty that I wasn’t studying. However, it wasn’t easy to read a textbook while standing, so I pulled out a paperback novel.
I was trying to focus when a young guy on a skateboard rolled up and analyzed me.
“What are you reading?” he asked.
“The Game,” I responded. “It’s a guide for pursuing women.”
“Uh, huh,” the kid murmured while scanning the back flap of my book.
“It’s very popular in Europe,” I continued.
“Why would European men need that? Aren’t they the masters of seduction?”
I shrugged my shoulders and replied, “Good point.”
“So why are you reading it?”
“I want a different perspective,” I joked.
He listened intently and asked, “Why are you going to China?”
“I have a summer job in Shanghai. And you?”
“I’m heading there to buy a private jet.”
Looking at his rusty skateboard, I smiled and said, “Nice.”
He grinned and confessed, “I never go anywhere. I just process visas for companies.”
I nodded and continued reading.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Gertrude.”
“Do you have a Facebook account?”
I shook my head and lied, “I disabled it.”
He looked offended.
“I’m too old for you,” I explained.
The visa runner pushed his way through the line to get away from me.
I never enjoy these types of encounters; however, I was distracted by other concerns. The Chinese Embassy’s visa application form required a listing of all “former names.” All I could think was, Did anyone need to know that my birth name was Natalia Canaan?
***
I was late when I got back to campus because processing my visa took most of the day.
As I entered the arena-style classroom, my professor said, “Lana, tell us about Nguyen v. Texas.”
“Sure,” I responded while struggling to open my laptop. But it was frozen, like a stalled car in the middle of an intersection. I frantically grabbed my casebook, but couldn’t find the right page.
“Lana, we’re waiting.”
I heard giggles from across the room. My cheeks swelled while I felt glances in my direction.
Sitting in front of me, my girlfriend Tracy swung around and whispered, “Lana, get on IM. I’ll message you the answers.”
“Lana?”
Finally, I responded, “Nguyen v. Texas is about a man convicted of sexual assault. Nguyen risked deportation to Vietnam, because he was not a U.S. citizen. He was the illegitimate son of a U.S. soldier and a Vietnamese citizen. Nguyen’s mother abandoned him and he moved to Texas at age six where he grew up with his biological father.”
My professor nodded. “What was the issue?”
“Whether citizenship based on the child’s mother or father’s nationality violates the Equal Protection Clause?”
“And does it?”
I replied, “It doesn’t violate the Equal Protection Clause because when a child is born overseas and out of wedlock, strict proof of paternity rather than maternity is constitutionally required to prove the child’s citizenship if the child is born to only one citizen parent.”
My professor nodded and turned to question someone else.
I thought about Nguyen v. Texas. As far as I was concerned, this was a sex-discrimination case because fathers were treated differently than mothers. Yet I had never heard any outrage about it.
The court reasoned that it’s easier to prove a biological relationship between a mother and her child; as opposed to the father. However, I bet this wouldn’t happen in patriarchal countries.
I disagreed with the court because there was something inherently unfair about deporting someone to a foreign country after his biological father had raised him in the United States for most of his life.
After class, Tracy said, “Lana, I felt so sorry for you.”
“Thanks for trying to help me.”
“Hey, what’ve you got there?” she asked, eyeing my novel.
“Just fun reading,” I said quickly, stuffing my novel into my bag.
“You love fiction, don’t you?”
“There’s more truth in fiction than nonfiction.”
“That makes no sense,” Tracy joked while walking away.
As I headed home in the dark, I passed the historic Spanish Mission church and thought about the case discussed in class. Nguyen was mixed race which was ubiquitous in California. However, growing up, I didn’t meet very many Eurasians — persons of mixed European and Asian ancestry — except while living in Berlin. Remembering Europe always triggered memories of Mom and Dad.
I had expected to read about my parents in the KL newspaper, which I accessed online at the public library. For years, I followed current events in Malaysia. I thought I would read about police hunts, volunteer efforts, and theories concerning their disappearance. But there was nothing.
I fantasized that either parent might show up on my doorstep, but it never happened. I had almost given up, except for the faint hope that Mom and Dad could be in China. While neither had ever been there, it had long been a source of intrigue for both. Dad spoke Mandarin and Mom was an expert on the Far East.
During winter break I sent out numerous applications to law firms in China. I preferred a position in Beijing, but the only response I received was from a firm in Shanghai.