I'm not very sure how far back this goes. In the dim and distant reaches of my memory, I seem to recall not having any particular problems going down to seminars, and speaking at conferences, in the United States. Then we got NAFTA, the North American Free Trade Agreement. This was supposed to make things much easier. This was supposed to make travel and work between Canada and the United States more accessible. Horse feathers.
I used to go to the border, they would ask business or pleasure, I would say business, they would say what kind of business, and I would say I'm teaching a seminar. They would say, "Drive on."
Under NAFTA, you needed to get a visa. A TN-1 visa, specifically. This came in a variety of flavours. I was mostly there as a computer systems analyst. As a computer systems analyst, I was supposed to have a degree, and at least five years work experience. Well, no problem. I had two degrees, and more than twice the requisite experience. The first time I was told to apply for a TN-1 visa, somebody told me to take my book along as proof that I had to work experience. At this point, in fact, I had two books out. So I took my Bachelor's degree, my Master's degree, and my two books, when I went to the border to get the visa. I also had a number of letters attesting to my experience, and work for various individuals and companies. So I get to the border, and say I want a TN-1 visa, and they direct me inside. So I go inside and wait for a while, and then get called up to the counter, and say that I want a TN-1 visa as a computer system analyst. I have the letter from the company attesting to the fact that they want to employ me as a computer systems analyst. So I give that to the agent. Then he asks if I have the relevant degree. I pull out my framed Bachelor's degree and place it on the counter. Then I pull out my framed Masters degree, and place it on the counter. At this point the agent who is dealing with me is joined by one of his colleagues who comes and peers over his shoulder. The agent dealing with me looks at the other agent, and the other agent says, "I want to see him pull out his doctorate." So I say, "Well, I haven't got one of those, but I do have..." and I pull out my two books.
Up until now, things have been polite, but business-like. When I pull out the two books, it's fairly obvious that, yes, I do have work experience. I know what I'm talking about. So then the two agents start talking about all the requests they get for TN-1s from people who still have the ink wet on their diplomas. So, with someone with experience, they regale me with tales of the dodges that people try to use at the border to try and get a TN-1 visa without any experience at all. I am their new best buddy. I'm actually qualified.
But that's only the first time. Now apparently the directions, the policy, for TN-1 (as I get from my DHS buddies at Agora) visas is that if you have the degree, and you have the experience, you get the visa. So now the guys at the borders are starting to ask all kinds of irrelevant questions to try and safeguard the sanctity of these very common visas. And they find all kinds of reasons to turn you down, even if you have the proper diploma, and the proper experience.
So there's all kinds of objections raised. There's all kinds of questions asked. And there is no recourse. There is no one you can appeal to, when one of the frontline border guards has ruled against you at the border. That's it. Full stop.
So, on another trip down, one of the guys at the border is asking all kinds of questions. Irrelevant questions. Having nothing to do with my experience or qualifications. And, even though I have answers for all of these questions, eventually he goes away and starts writing up a form. At great length. And one of his colleagues walks behind him, as he's seated at the desk writing, looks over his shoulder, and then rears back and almost shouts, "You can't turn him down for *that*!"
I never did learn what "that" was, because when you are rejected you don't even get a copy of the form.
One of the times I was crossing the border for the Agora meeting, was back in the days when Agora still sent out letters, actual paper letters, in the postal mail. I had brought the invitation with me, detailing the meeting, and who was speaking. So, on this particular occasion they decided to call me into the office (it was early on, and I had inadvertently used the s-word), and an agent spent forty-five minutes grilling me about this meeting, and who was speaking, and what they were speaking about. Over, and over, and over, and over again. And at one point, faced with such repetition, my brain kind of froze up, and the next time he asked me, "And who is the *other* speaker?" I said, "I'm sorry, it's early in the morning, and I can't remember anymore; the paper is there on your desk." And he looked at the paper, and he looked at me, and he looked at the paper, and he looked at me, and he finally said, "You want me to *read* this?" And I did know, even in my sleep deprived and beleaguered state, that the correct answer to that question was not, "Can you?" (The DHS guys *really* enjoyed that story ...)
Previous: https://fibrecookery.blogspot.com/2024/07/mgg-530-hwyd-worlds-longest-undefended.html
Introduction and ToC: https://fibrecookery.blogspot.com/2023/10/mgg-introduction.html
Next: https://fibrecookery.blogspot.com/2024/07/mgg-532-hwyd-smuggling.html
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