[Congressional Record Volume 142, Number 29 (Wednesday, March 6, 1996)]
[Extensions of Remarks]
[Pages E297-E299]
From the Congressional Record Online through the Government Publishing Office [www.gpo.gov]




                        TRIBUTE TO CAROL JENIFER

                                 ______


                         HON. JOHN CONYERS, JR.

                              of michigan

                    in the house of representatives

                        Wednesday, March 6, 1996

  Mr. CONYERS. Mr. Speaker, given that we are so frequently confronted 
with the troubles and the travails of the Immigration and 
Naturalization Service, I would like to have the following uplifting 
article from the May 1995 issue of Management Review inserted into the 
Record. The article, by Anita Lienert, profiles Carol Jenifer, the 
first African-American woman to manage day-to-day operations in an INS 
district office. Ms. Jenifer is the District Director of the INS 
district office at the United States-Canada border located in my 
hometown of Detroit, MI. I hope and expect that the INS will continue 
to attract and promote individuals of Ms. Jenifer's caliber.

       Carol Jenifer does not look like a huggable person. She 
     wears her hair in a Marine Corps-style buzz cut and shuns 
     makeup and jewelry. Although she's six feet tall, she seems 
     even taller, carrying herself with a military bearing that 
     reflects her years as a police officer in Washington, D.C. 
     She carries a gold badge that says ``District Director'' and 
     has just ordered a Glock handgun to keep in her desk. To get 
     inside her office at the U.S.-Canada border in Detroit, you 
     need to get by a metal detector and armed employees.
       So when one of her clients leaps out of a seat in the 
     waiting room at the Detroit branch of the U.S. Immigration 
     and Naturalization Service and gives Jenifer a big hug, it 
     seems somewhat out of place.
       ``Oh, Miss Jenifer,'' says Chadia Haidous, a Lebanese 
     immigrant ``I just got sworn in today! I'm an American 
     citizen! And now I don't have to worry about my daughter.''
       Jenifer, 45, the first African-American woman to manage 
     day-to-day operations at one of the 33 INS district offices 
     in the United States, hugs her back and rejoices with the 
     Haidous family.
       Moments later, loping up the back steps to her office that 
     overlooks the Detroit River, Jenifer explains that little 
     Alica Haidous, 11, who was born in Senegal, could have faced 
     deportation because her mother was not a U.S. citizen.
       ``The family was afraid the daughter would have to go back 
     to Senegal unescorted,'' Jenifer explains. ``I could have 
     stuck to the book, but why? I made a heart decision and I 
     made it in the name of family unity. I could have sent her 
     back and had them petition for her, but I didn't. And now it 
     won't happen because we don't treat our citizens like that.''
       Jenifer, who oversees a hectic operation with a $14 million 
     annual budget, considers herself one of the new breed of INS 
     managers. While the southern bormost of the media attention, 
     INS officials say the northern border has its share of 
     illegal immigrants--they just don't talk about how many.
       Therefore, it's her mission to walk a tightrope to satisfy 
     a number of different constituents, from American taxpayers 
     who are disturbed by the lare disturbed by the large number 
     of illegal aliens entering the country, to immigrants who 
     complain about long lines and insensitive treatment at INS 
     offices.
       One of Jenifer's first management decisions was to improve 
     the atmosphere by installing brighter lights in the crowded 
     waiting room. She is considering hiring a customer-service 
     representative to handle complaints generated by the 48 
     million people who pass through INS checkpoints in her 
     jurisdiction each year, including the Detroit-Windsor Tunnel, 
     the Ambassador Bridge and Detroit Metropolitan Airport. She 
     is also determined to hire an inspector who is fluent in 
     Arabic because her client base is 50 percent Middle Eastern 
     and no one in the office is fluent in that language.
       Jenifer has made it a point to get to know the names--and 
     personal details--of the 254 employees and one drug-sniffing 
     dog who work with her in patrolling eight ports of entry 
     along 804 miles of water boundary between the United States 
     and Canada.
       So far, one of Jenfier's ``employee'' relations challenges 
     has been communicating with the German shepherd: Gitta only 
     responds to commands in German. Even so, Jenifer still knows 
     how to work a room--whether it's full of customers or 
     employees--in a charismatic style reminiscent of Ronald 
     Reagan. She stops often to ask about sick wives or new 
     husbands. But don't confuse her familiarity and warm-and-
     fuzzy approach with wimpiness. In reality, her management 
     style is much closer to the tenets of Tough Love.
       After all, her office deported 1,249 people in 1994. And 
     shortly after the heartwarming scene with the Haidous family, 
     Jenifer stands firm on a $15,000 bond set by her deputy 
     director earlier in the afternoon on a Jordanian immigrant 
     whose wife had blurted out during his naturalization 
     interview that she had been ``paid to marry him.'' He also 
     had prior felony convictions and there was an outstanding 
     warrant for his arrest.
       But to get a real feel for Jenifer, you need to see her in 
     action at 7:30 a.m., as a single parent in Detroit getting 
     her two daughters, Eboni and Kia, both 13, off to school, 
     Jenifer skips breakfast and barks orders like ``Kia, did you 
     finish those dishes?'' and ``Eboni, give me that assignment 
     notebook to sign.''
       While her girls scurry around, Jenifer straightens her 
     simple black dress, snaps on a beeper and bundles up in a 
     coat and scarf, stopping only to grab her ever-present black 
     leather organizer.
       Outside, it's 20 degrees and still dark, with a light 
     snowfall. Sounding like a typical mother, Jenifer grumbles 
     that she can't get the girls to wear their ski caps to school 
     and that they keep pestering her to buy a dog.
       ``When I applied for the job a year ago, I told my 
     supervisors that the girls were a huge part of my life,'' 
     Jenifer says in the car on the way to work. ``I told them I 
     would have to limit travel because I attend games, go to 
     parent conferences and pick them up after school. It didn't 
     seem to hurt, because I think they wanted someone who could 
     humanize the office.''
       At work, her office is decorated with striking paintings of 
     ``buffalo soldiers''--the all-black cavalry who fought and 
     resettled the West. Jenifer explains that since taking the 
     job last spring, she has been worried about every little 
     detail, including whether or not she should have hung the 
     artwork.
       ``I almost took the pictures down,'' she says. ``I didn't 
     want to overwhelm people who couldn't relate to something 
     like that. But after I thought about it, I realized I needed 
     those men (in the pictures) to watch my back. Management has 
     some pitfalls.''
       In private, Jenifer admits that ``being a tall, black 
     female has had its problems.''

[[Page E298]]

       Testifying before a congressional committee last fall on 
     equal employment opportunity protection and employment 
     practices at the INS, she described the low points of her 
     career, beginning with her job interview 12 years ago for an 
     INS analyst position.
       ``The interviewer seemed more surprised that I was 
     articulate and a product of the D.C. public school system 
     than in other qualifying factors,'' Jenifer told the 
     committee. ``It was quite obvious that I did not fit whatever 
     image this manager had regarding African-Americans. He later 
     remarked that one day I would be his `boss' . . . There 
     remains a perception that my advancement was due to 
     connections and not based on merit.''
       She says she had to struggle for every promotion at the 
     federal agency, at one point hiring an attorney to present 
     her concerns about lack of advancement to INS personnel 
     officials.
       Despite those early challenges, Jenifer says the transition 
     to her new $88,000-a-year position has been relatively 
     smooth, due in part to her long INS experience that ranges 
     from working as an officer in the detention-and-deportation 
     branch to holding the post of second-in-command in Detroit 
     before she got the director's job. Her boss, Carol Chasse, 
     INS eastern region director, describes Jenifer as ``a shining 
     star.''
       ``She's got it,'' Chasse says. ``She's a practitioner of 
     good human relations. Leadership in the '90s is about people 
     skills and that's critical here because we deal with huge 
     volumes of people.''
       Although Jenifer grew up in Washington, D.C., she never 
     dreamed of working for the INS. The daughter of a bookbinder 
     at the Federal Bureau of Engraving wanted to be a 
     firefighter. ``But back in those days, women didn't get to be 
     firefighters,'' she says. ``I had to settle for police 
     work.'' Her time on the D.C. force included a stint 
     undercover on the prostitution detail.
       Jenifer later earned two master's degrees, one in 
     counseling from the University of the District of Columbia 
     and one in public administration for Southeastern University. 
     She said the degrees helped her develop the discipline to 
     manage efficiently.
       The first order of almost ever day is meeting with her top 
     managers. Six out of seven of Jenifer's managers are women, 
     which is notable considering there are no female border 
     patrol chiefs in the United States and there are only two 
     female district directors. On the day of the interview, 
     Jenifer seems to be running later for her daily briefing, 
     until she explains that she sets her office clock 15 minutes 
     fast on purpose. She grabs a piece of hard candy from the jar 
     on her desk and heads out right on time.
       The meeting is fast-paced and informal, and covers topics 
     ranging from the need for air fresheners in the office 
     bathrooms to a video for employees about avoiding sexual 
     harassment. Jenifer insists that her managers keep their 
     remarks to a minimum, and they give their daily reports in a 
     sort of verbal shorthand that takes a total of 21 minutes.
       ``E-mail is negative,'' begins administrative officer Judy 
     McCormack.
       ``No arrests yesterday,'' pipes up James Wellman, acting 
     assistant district director for investigations.
       The issue of bathroom air fresheners prompts some 
     discussion. ``I don't care what you get, as long as we get 
     them in there,'' she says to her staff, slightly annoyed 
     after being questioned about what type should be ordered.
       Jenifer is anxious to end the meeting and get down into the 
     public waiting room for her daily ``walkaround'' with people 
     who are here to take citizenships tests, file paperwork 
     contesting deportations or apply for green cards. Although 
     she speaks English only, she communicates well, sometimes 
     with gestures or hand-holding or by repeating phrases over 
     and over.
       Today, about 75 people are assembled by 9:30 a.m., under 
     disconcerting signs that say things like Fingerprinting--Now 
     Serving #823. Jenifer later explains that the signs record 
     the number of people from January 1 to the present. Still, 
     the signs just seems to magnify the ``Waiting for Godot'' 
     atmosphere in the room. The Detroit office serves about 350 
     people a day and conducts about 1,300 naturalization 
     interviews a month.
       Jenifer doesn't identify herself, but plunges into the 
     crowd, smiling and joking.
       ``Where are you from?'' she asks one man.
       ``Nigeria,'' he replies tersely.
       ``What part?'' Jenifer continues.
       ``Africa,'' he says.
       ``I know it's Africa, silly,'' she chides him, laughing. 
     ``I've been there. What part?''
       By this time, the man and his companions are smiling. 
     Everyone in the room is staring.
       ``Lagos,'' he says. ``Have you been there?''
       She has been accused of working the crowd, but ``this is 
     some of the most important work I do,'' she explains 
     afterward. ``I got a real feel for front-line work when I 
     worked for the INS processing refugees in Kenya a couple of 
     years ago. It sure gives you a different perspective on 
     naturalization. It makes you realize that these are peoples' 
     lives you're making decisions about.''
       Back in her office around 10:15 a.m., Jenifer sucks on 
     another hard candy and meets with Harold Carter, an INS 
     examiner who chairs a committee representing minorities in 
     the Detroit district.
       ``Come on Harold, get comfortable,'' Jenifer coos as she 
     scrabbles around on her desk looking for a pen. After Carter 
     settles into a chair, she launches into her concerns: ``There 
     are no Hispanics in investigations . . . We don't have any 
     representative [minority] groups at Sault Ste. Marie. We have 
     to show we've tried to reach parity. Can we get people to 
     work up there?
       Carter laughs, noting it's pretty cold at the Soo, which is 
     an INS port-of-entry located in Michigan's Upper Peninsula. 
     But they get serious again quickly. After all, there is a 
     class-action suit in Los Angeles about lack of advancement 
     among black INS officers.
       After the meeting, she's off to the Detroit-Windsor Tunnel, 
     which runs underneath the Detroit River, but first stops to 
     order Girl Scout cookies from a coworker. ``I should have 
     ordered more,'' she muses. ``My kids know I hide them under 
     my bed.''
       Jenifer needs to see how work is progressing at the tunnel 
     and Detroit's Ambassador Bridge--the largest commercial-
     vehicle entry port in the United States--on the ``Portpass'' 
     program. Portpass allows pre-qualified drivers to use express 
     lanes, which will speed up the flow of traffic.
       ``Traffic can be my worst nightmare,'' Jenifer says. ``We 
     have a federal mandate to get people inspected here in less 
     than 20 minutes--and we have to keep it moving or the 
     complaints start backing up.'' The INS inspects people 
     crossing the border, while U.S. Customs agents inspect 
     things, but the two cross-train and work together. To the 
     public, they are virtually indistinguishable.
       Touring the new tunnel Portpass office, Jenifer is 
     complimentary about the countertops that will separate staff 
     and customers. ``Good,'' she notes, ``I like them wide so 
     nobody can reach across and grab our people.''
       She's less sanguine, however, about the Portpass signs in 
     the traffic lanes at the tunnel. ``The signs are too 
     little,'' she complains. ``I don't know if people will be 
     able to see them.''
       At the bridge at noon, Jenifer is still obsessed with 
     signage. She tells Norman Byron, port director for the 
     bridge, that she's worried that people won't be able to see 
     the express lane signs at night. He assures her that they 
     will be well-lit.
       The two tour a trailer-type office set up at the foot of 
     the bridge to accommodate the new program and staff. Jenifer 
     checks out every closet and toilet and pushes back part of 
     the wall paneling that has bowed out. She nearly slips coming 
     down the steps in the snow and asks when skid strips will be 
     put in.
       ``The skid strip for steps costs $3,000 a roll,'' Byron 
     says. ``Some things we can't do until the weather gets 
     warmer.''
       Back in Byron's office, Jenifer banters with several INS 
     agents and asks for their recommendations on good places to 
     eat nearby. They direct her to a restaurant in Detroit's 
     nearby Mexican Village that looks like a dive, but turns out 
     to have decent food.
       Jenifer orders the quesadillas and chicken enchiladas and 
     ends up taking home a doggie bag of most of the food for her 
     kids. ``I'm a horrendous cook, so I love leftovers,'' She 
     admits.
       By 1 p.m., she's on her way to Detroit's Metro airport to 
     check on a request for more INS inspectors to accommodate a 
     60 percent increase in international passengers since 1993 
     due to airline mergers. It's a 45-minute drive to the 
     airport, and on the way she talks about the mundane, yet 
     important issues that face single parents, such as getting 
     the laundry done and whether it's wise to hire a housekeeper.
       Stuck in rush-hour traffic with Jenifer, you find yourself 
     sharing the problems of raising teenagers and getting along 
     with men. She seems more like an old friend by mid-afternoon 
     than an interview subject. But then, her staff has warned you 
     that Jenifer often ``pulls an Oprah,'' or gets people to tell 
     all unwittingly.
       At the INS section of the airport, Michael Freeman, the 
     supervisory immigration inspector at the airport, prints up a 
     computer list of how passengers have increased on each 
     airline since 1989. Jenifer studies the printout and tells 
     him she'll consider hiring 10 or 11 new inspectors to ease 
     the crunch. Jenifer asks Freeman if he's lost weight. It's 
     clear Freeman's busting to tell her something else and he 
     finally does.
       ``I just found out my wife is having a baby,'' he says. 
     They chat about children and health concerns. If Jenifer ever 
     tires of the INS, she could probably have her own talk show.
       She makes it a point to shake hands with or speak to all 12 
     of the INS inspectors on duty that afternoon before heading 
     back to her office. The new hires, whose desks are piled with 
     books like The Art of Cross-Examination, stiffen when Jenifer 
     walks in the room. But within minutes they are relaxed.
       Back at the office, Jenifer goes through the paperwork that 
     has sprouted on her desk over the last few hours. Her 
     secretary puts the most urgent notes on her chair. There are 
     employee identification cards to sign, a quarterly meeting 
     with immigration lawyers to arrange and an application for a 
     bowling tournament with the heads of other federal agencies 
     in Detroit, from the Secret Service to the FBI.
       ``Oh,'' Jenifer groans, ``I need a coach to help me bowl 
     better. I bowled an 80 last time and have yet to live down 
     the shame.''
       By 4:45 p.m., Jenifer is walking out the door to pick up 
     the girls. They are waiting for her in the school library, 
     complaining about their eight-grade class pictures.
       Jenifer studies the photos as closely as she's looked at 
     any paperwork today. ``Yes,

[[Page E299]]

     I'm keeping these for blackmail purposes,'' she says. The 
     three of them burst out laughing.
       By 5:15 p.m., the INS manager who insists that ``fair 
     management and families'' are the cornerstones of her 
     personal and professional life, is walking in the side door 
     of her house holding the leftover chicken enchiladas in her 
     free hand.

                          ____________________