Ode to Bureaucracy...

(Author's note:  This post was meant to be read with all of the playful sarcasm with which it was written.)

For those of you who are Non-immigrants--natives to your land. I would like to describe for you Hell. For after the events of this week, I'm quite certain of what hell looks like. You may find it interesting to realize that hell resembles nothing of what the media would have you to believe. That's right, no fire, no brimstone, no evil red man running around with a pitchfork. Hell, I am convinced, is much more simple.

Hell is a line.

It is a line that weaves back and forth in a narrow, crowded, hallway filled with people whom you do not know and with whom you cannot speak.

Many theologians argue that hell is an inhuman place entirely void of all hope. I believe this is only half-true. You see, the true torture of hell is not that all hope is lost (because eventually people would get used to hopelessness and, to some extent, learn to cope) true torture--involves only a little hope. Ideas of hope are, perhaps, whispered in your ears, or somewhere in the distance you will think that you see a sign which you are SURE says something like "the end is near"... and you take out a small insurance policy in that thought and live (although painfully) in the dire reality of present conditions watching the line diminish ever so slowly, "knowing" that right around the corner is your hope. You think to yourself, "As soon as this line finally makes its curve around the corner. I will see it--there it will be." But tragically, as the line round's the corner, you find nothing but another room, but this time even bigger, and more crowded, and the hope that you found yourself clinging to is torn from your iron-fisted grasp and what you thought would lead you to hope, actually leads you to two places:

1. Dire and absolute desolation, and
2. A new line.

And this is eternity.

Surprisingly, this is precisely how the immigration process works for lucky, young Americans who forgot to get their documents authenticated at the Philippine Consulate before leaving the states for the Philippines. I am sure that many of you have gotten a flavor of this reality every time that you have had to get a title for your car, renew your Driver's license, or for that matter, do anything even remotely associated with the Bureau of Motor Vehicles in the States. Really, this is not anything that is unique to the Phillippines.

Bureaucracy is bureaucracy no matter what corner of the globe that you find yourself in.

This is my predicament: I need to get a student visa to be able to stay and study here in the Philippines. A student Visa requires that I have several documents: My College transcripts, Proof of Financial Support, and a Criminal Background check from the FBI or BCI (Bureau of Criminal Investigation). All of these Documents need to be "Authenticated". Authentication simply means that the Philippine government looks at my documents and says, "yes, these are in fact documents" and then they give me a Cover Sheet with a seal that is stapled onto my Documents which says, "The following are, in fact, Documents." 

My papers were supposed to be authenticated at the Philippine Embassy in the States before coming. Well, I didn't do that. So, we called the Philippine Embassy... and after multiple attempts and getting nothing but an answering machine, we finally got through and they told us that I needed to go to the Immigration post in the Philippines and they could take care of me there.

TUESDAY: I made a 2-hour commute to the immigration post... and they were closed because Tuesday (little did I know) was a secret holiday.

WEDNESDAY: I started at 7am and made another 2-hour into the Manila Bay area, and went to immigration. Immigration told me that they could not do anything for me. I needed to go to the DFA (Department of Foreign Affairs), which is conveniently located miles from Immigration. 30 Minutes and a Taxi ride later, I found myself in the throes of eternal torture (yes. That's right--weaving lines, crowded hallways, and endless rooms of false hope and eternal waiting). About two hours or so later, I made it to the window, where I was convinced an Authentication Certificate would be happily waiting for me... HA! That's what you would like to believe. Actually, they told me that before they could do anything there, I had to get to the American Embassy, where they would give me a Certification to get my documents Authenticated by the DFA. Emotionless, in desolation, and with a developing facial twitch, I walked away stripped of hope.

On my way to the Embassy, I regained a little sliver of hope thinking that THEY could take care of me. However, I would soon find out that they were closed. And even if they WERE open, they only accepted VISA authentications from 8-11am.

It was 11:15. And I was in awe.

THURSDAY: I returned to the Embassy at 10:40am (after getting some other paperwork done at immigration) to find that actually, they didn't close authentications at 11am, it was 10am. Hmm... convenient...especially seeing as it was already 10:40, and there was really no way of avoiding it anyway seeing as I had to be at immigration by 10am anyway. I kindly talked theology with the guard and described for him true eternal peril (the Department of Foreign Affairs) and evidently he knew what I was talking about, because he let me in.

Another 45 minutes of waiting later, I was told that all of the information that was given previously was a lost cause and would get me nowhere. After preforming cardiac defibrillation on myself, I recovered and the man told me that I needed to call the Philippine Embassy in the States. I told him that, "I already did that, they sent me to Immigration, who sent me to the DFA, who sent me to you." He gave me a very complex alternate plan involving an Affidavit, a stamp, a couple of signatures and a long trip BACK to immigration.

Back at square one (immigration) they told me that The Embassy's plan "B" would never work, and there was nothing they could do, so they took most of my hope that was left and told me to give the embassy a call to double check about getting the certification to get the authentication, to get the Visa, to go to school in the Philippines. I called... everyone was at lunch, although an operator that I talked to gave me the Idea of having Immigration call the DFA and talking to them for me because there was a special "American Services Division" that could help me.

So, I went back in, but they couldn't help me because they too were taking their 12 o'clock lunch, at 11:40. Frustrated and out of time I gave up, and headed back to the Metro that brought me there. Determined to exhaust the rest of my energy making phone calls, and writing e-mails to offices instead.

Actually, (and Ironically) I received an e-mail while writing this post. It was a response from an e-mail that I sent to the Department of Foreign Affairs... the subject line says in bold print, "Undelivered Mail Returned to Sender." --Hmm... I didn't see that one coming... 

 The body of the letter continues: 

"<oaa@dfa.gov.ph>: data format error. Command output: oaa: Mailbox does not exist"

Well, on the brighter side of things, I always have been a fan of irony.

But, don't worry! Hope found me this morning. As I was explaining my bueaucratic woes to my school's administration, Brian Woolery, a recent graduate here from the states told me that He and his wife found themselves in the same situation 4 years ago. And the only hope for the matter was to literally, FedEx everything back to the states, having the documents authenticated, and then having them shipped back in just enough time that your Tourist Visa doesn't expire before the papers get here and your Visa is processed.

The up side: there is hope.

The down side is, I'm going to be out another couple hundred dollars.

But... hey, at least there is hope. And I got I good story out of it... with a side of Irony.