Robert Delaney of The Michigan Catholic
Published March 23, 2007

Robert Delaney Marcela Djonovic, a member of St. Paul (Albanian) Parish , holds a copy of her wedding photo from 1997. Her husband has been detained since Feb. 1 under threat of deportation. The dilemma Many local Albanian immigrants came as refugees from political turmoil in Albania itself, or in portions of the former Yugoslavia — such as Montenegro, Macedonia and Kosovo — during the 1990s. When they arrived in the United States, they applied for political asylum and were granted authorization to work, but their asylum request has been denied. Local community activists, however, say their cases are complicated because: • The government didn't rule on their applications until seven or more years later, because of a backlog. By then, the political conditions had changed in their home countries and officials denied they faced persecution or danger. • The rulings were based on current conditions, not conditions prevailing when they came here. But in the meantime, many refugees had married, had children, put in years working at jobs or started businesses, and bought houses. • In many cases their spouse is a U.S. citizen, as would be any of their children born here. • Many have nothing to go home to. If from the former Yugoslavia instead of Albania itself — like most local Albanians — their home countries may have purged them from citizenship rolls in a form of non-lethal ethnic cleansing. • Some have been detained despite having official notification they would be allowed to stay in the United States. Having lost their bids for political asylum, some Albanians sought legal status via some other avenue, such as sponsorship by a relative, and have been told the request would be granted.

Rochester Hills — Fr. Anton Kcira first began to notice the absence of more and more of his regular parishioners at St. Paul (Albanian) Church back in 2005, and the loss due to deportations has escalated since then.

"Last year we lost about 200 families, and Our Lady of Albanians lost 120," Fr. Kcira, St. Paul's pastor says of the situation in his parish and at the other Albanian ethnic parish in Beverly Hills.

The deportations — and detentions pending deportation — have split hundreds of families, says Fr. Kcira, who conducted an outdoor Stations of the Cross and prayer service for the deportees, detainees and their families last Friday night outside St. Paul Church. An estimated 1,000 people attended the service, and a similar service was held at Out Lady of Albanians Church.

St. Paul parishioner Scipe "Skippy" Vuljaj, a 33-year-old mother of four, spent 99 days in detention last year before finally being released to return to her Sterling Heights home.

Another parishioner, Marcela Djonovic, 31, a mother of three and pregnant, is worried about her husband, Djelosh, 44, held in custody since Feb. 1.

U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement has been rounding up ethnic Albanians who have lost their political asylum appeals, and Fr. Kcira and other leaders in the local Albanian community want a moratorium until Congress passes a new immigration bill — as expected by this summer.

"Then, whatever the new process is, let them go through it," says Dede Beleshi, an activist in the Albanian community.

Greg Palmore, a spokesman for U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement, denies Albanians are being disproportionately targeted, but says he needs more time to comment on individual cases.

Fr. Kcira and Beleshi question whether under current law some of those detained should have been held. For example, some were picked up even though they had been notified they would be allowed to reside in the U.S.

Vuljaj had a letter saying she would be granted residency, but it didn't make any difference to the eight federal officers who came to her home at 11:15 p.m. Aug. 22, 2006. "I showed the letter to them, and one of them said, 'We came for you, and you're going to come with us,'" she recalls.

Vuljaj was taken first to the Dickerson Prison Facility in Hamtramck, then to the Calhoun County Jail in Battle Creek.

"I paid taxes for 13 years, never took anything from the government, and never even had a speeding ticket," she says.

Her husband, Don, and eldest son, Patrick, 16, helped care for the younger children — Gjovana, 10, Elizabet, 7, and George, 3. She says George is still afraid every time he sees a police car, after being present when his mother was taken away from him.

Vuljaj says she doesn't know what she would have done without her Catholic faith: "I prayed to God every day, 'Please God, help me get though this.' It was so hard to be without the kids."

But she adds that she found it comforting that Fr. Kcira was remembering her each week at Mass.

Vuljaj says she was in jail with as many as 9 other Albanian women in similar circumstances. "We would try to ease each other's worries, and tell each other, 'Don't cry,' but we would all cry," she says.

Fr. Anton Kcira conducts an outdoor Stations of the Cross and prayer service last Friday, asking prayers for parishioners who have been affected by deportations or detention pending deportation.

Although most, like her, were eventually released, she says she still prays for four of the women who were deported — Maria Camaj, Emiliana Kalaj, Aida Hoti and Hanna Drejaj — each of whom had children who were U.S. citizens.

Vuljaj says Drejaj's case was particularly troubling, because immigration authorities later picked up her husband when he was trying to catch a Greyhound bus to New York, and left their children — aged 14 and 8 — alone in the bus station to fend for themselves.

Vuljaj has been back with her family since her release on Nov. 29, but she lost her job as linen supervisor for a local hospital's housekeeping department. She says the hospital has agreed to hire her back, but she will have to start at the bottom.

Djonovic is hopeful her husband will eventually be released, too, because he also had been notified he would be granted residency. But she adds, "I have no idea how this will all turn out."

She recalls how she called home from her job at about 7 p.m. on Feb. 1, and her 7-year-old daughter, Martina, told her some men had come to take away dad.

Djonovic made it back to her Sterling Heights home by 7:30 p.m. to find immigration officers still there with her husband.

Fr. Anton Kciratalks with members of the Vuljaj family after Mass last Sunday. Scipe Vuljaj (center) was detained 99 days last year by immigration authorities. With them (from left) is Vuljaj's husband, Don, son Patrick, 16, daughter Elizabet, 7, son George, 3, and daughter Gjovana, 10.

Djelosh Donovic (his last name is slightly different because that is the way it is on his papers) was taken to the Dickerson facility for two weeks, and then moved to the Calhoun County Jail, where he remains.

While Djonovic was told immigration authorities intended to send her husband back to Montenegro, she expects they will probably find the government of Montenegro will not acknowledge him as a citizen.

"He's been here for 15 years. He doesn't exist there anymore," she says.

Meanwhile, Djonovic has been taking care of their children and traveling to Battle Creek once a week to visit her husband. She attributes problems with her pregnancy to the stress she has experienced.

Despite everything, she went back to work this week. "It's very bad, but I have to support the kids," Djonovic says.