New Troubles

what the future holds: Awaiting final word on whether he can remain in the U.S., Malachy McAllister also mourns his wife. Photo By: Mike Mergen

A Philadelphia-based appeals court will define what "engaged in terrorist activities" means.

by Mike Newall

On a cold Saturday afternoon in October, Malachy McAllister stands outside the James A. Byrne U.S. Courthouse at Sixth and Market streets.

It is the first time the 47-year-old Wallington, N.J., resident is laying eyes on the building where his family's future will soon be decided by the Third Circuit Superior Court of Appeals.

"This is where it will end," he says, appraising the plain, brick facade.

For nearly nine years, McAllister, a thick-shouldered man, with salt-and-pepper stubble and piercing blue eyes, has been fighting to secure a life in America for he and his family. More than two decades ago, McAllister took action against a British government he deemed "oppressors." For that, the United States Justice Department wants to deport the McAllisters back to Northern Ireland, a homeland they fled 16 years ago, fearing for their lives.

In the eyes of the United States government, McAllister, a mason and father of four, is a terrorist, a "threat to the security" of the country.

Last month, the Third Circuit Court began reviewing the case of McAllister v. Ashcroft. A decision will be handed down sometime early next year. It will be a final determination of the McAllisters' fate. The decision will also offer legal precedent into what exactly it means to be a "terrorist."

"Whose purpose does it serve to see my family torn apart?" he asks, buttoning up his suit jacket as the wind picks up. "What threat do I pose to anyone?"

McAllister was raised Catholic in the Lower Ormeau Road section of Belfast in the strife-torn Northern Ireland of the 1970s. He came of age at the height of "the troubles"—the sectarian violence between the Catholic minority opposed to British rule and the Protestant majority loyal to the crown.

As Catholics, the McAllisters were second-class citizens. They had few civil rights and endured daily humiliations at the hands of the British occupationary forces.

As a child, Malachy witnessed his father being beaten at a civil rights protest. Other times, he watched as family members and neighbors were hauled off to government prison camps—often without reason.

McAllister's neighborhood was known as the "Murder Mile" because of how frequently the loyalist paramilitary squads visited.

He was 16 the first time he watched a friend die in the street. It was Jim Templeton, his best friend, shot dead in a loyalist drive-by outside The Rose and Crown, Ormeau Road's local Catholic pub. McAllister was standing just a few feet away.

"Catholics were being murdered left, right and center,'" he says. "We were in a full-scale civil war."

On one occasion, a gun was put to McAllister's head as he was ordered off a work site in a Protestant neighborhood.

McAllister was 22 when he cast his lot with the Irish National Liberation Army and helped plot two strikes against the Royal Ulster Constabulary (RUC), Belfast's predominantly Protestant police force, which often aided the loyalist paramilitaries in their attacks against Catholic civilians. On a hot summer day in 1981, McAllister took part in an ambush on a RUC convoy traveling down Ormeau Road. He served as a lookout for a shooter. One RUC officer was wounded with a gunshot to the leg.

"I regret what I did," says McAllister. "But it was a time when you were called upon to stand up and fight back."

A paid informant soon betrayed McAllister. Under interrogation, British authorities told McAllister that his wife, Bernadette—a strong-willed, blonde beauty he met along Ormeau Road—and their growing family would be in danger if he didn't sign a confession. Malachy spent nearly four years in the H-Blocks, the political wing of Northern Ireland's notorious Long Kesh prison.

After his 1985 release, Malachy tried to put the resistance behind him and took construction work to support his family. But the RUC was not willing to forgive McAllister's past. In one particularly brutal incident, members of the RUC forced Bernadette to watch as they savagely beat her husband with the butts of their rifles.

On the night of Oct. 2, 1988, two loyalist gunmen disguised in Halloween masks showed up at the McAllisters' home. An RUC contact had provided them with the address. Malachy and Bernadette weren't home that night, but three of their four children were inside with their grandmother. The gunmen calmly pointed their AK-47s at the front room and fired off 26 rounds. One of the gunmen spotted the children through a bedroom window and turned his weapon on them. Amazingly, the McAllister family escaped unhurt.

Three months later, the McAllisters fled Belfast—moving first to Toronto, and then, in 1996, to New Jersey.

The family entered the country legally, immediately applied for political asylum and went about creating a life in America. Malachy began a masonry business, enrolled the kids in school and joined the local parish. Gary and Jaime, the two oldest McAllister children, married Jersey girls. Nicola, the third oldest, is now applying to colleges. Sean, the youngest, is a standout receiver on the high school football team.

In October 2000, after a lengthy trial, a federal immigration judge ordered Malachy deported due to his past conviction in Belfast but granted asylum to Bernadette and the children. The judge ruled that the McAllister family had suffered "extreme persecution" and endured a "constant campaign of harassment."

McAllister filed an appeal against his deportation, and the government appealed the asylum granted to his family.

A bad omen came in July 2003, when John McNicholl, another former member of the Irish National Liberation Army who had lived peacefully with his family in Upper Darby for almost 20 years, was seized and deported. At 5:30 a.m. July 17, McNicholl stepped out his front door to head off to work when federal immigration agents swarmed. He was put in handcuffs and thrown into the back of a van. His son cried out in protest, but nothing could be done. Within hours, McNicholl was hustled aboard a plane back to Ireland, in all likelihood never to see Upper Darby again.

Last November, amongst friends and family, Malachy and Bernadette celebrated their 25th wedding anniversary at a local pub in Wallington. There was music and dancing, and the party stretched into the wee hours. "We were so happy to have endured as a couple, as a family, after all we've been through," remembers Malachy.

Days later, Malachy received a call he had been dreading. The Board of Immigration Appeals (BIA), under the jurisdiction of the Justice Department, had completely reversed the initial ruling.

Bernadette and the kids had 30 days to leave the country. Malachy was considered a fugitive.

Twenty federal agents clad in jumpsuits descended on the McAllister home on the morning of Nov. 21, 2001. Malachy wasn't there. Agents camped outside for a week and, according to Malachy, repeatedly taunted his wife and threatened the family with arrest.

The McAllisters' congressman, Democrat Steve Rothman, quickly fired off a letter—co-signed by ten other members of Congress—to Homeland Security Director Tom Ridge on the family's behalf.

"This whole case is a great injustice," wrote Rothman. "The McAllisters fled violent, political persecution and found refuge here in America. They should not be forced to return to Northern Ireland, under any circumstances, where they might well face further attempts on their lives."

When denying McAllister's plea for asylum, the BIA ruled that conditions have improved in Northern Ireland enough that the McAllisters would not be in danger if they were forced to return. McAllister expressed disbelief. His enemies are waiting, he says, and that his case has garnered a lot of publicity back home only makes him more of a target.

"Belfast may have changed some," he says. "But the same people who attacked my home in 1988 are still in power today."

McAllister also received broad support from Irish-Americans still simmering from the McNicholl case. (On Monday, McNicholl's attorneys plans to file a petition with U.S. Supreme Court requesting judicial review.)

"Irish-Americans who have for so long been law-abiding citizens have now become outlaws," says Ned McGinley, president of the Ancient Order of Hibernians and former president of the Pennsylvania chapter. "It is a misuse of Homeland Security personnel and finance. It may help them bump up their statistics, but it is not fighting terrorism."

Indeed, there has been, in the wake of 9/11, a widespread crackdown on Irish immigrants with nationalist pasts, who for years have enjoyed lax immigration standards, especially under the Clinton administration, which was heavily involved in brokering the 1998 Good Friday Peace Accord in Northern Ireland.

"They have lumped us up with other groups," says McGinley.

When reached for comment on the McAllister case, Kerry Gill, a spokesperson for the Newark office of Immigrations and Customs Enforcement of the Department of the Homeland Security, declined to answer any questions.

With Rothman's support, the McAllister family was granted a temporary reprieve by the Homeland Security Department. This January, the Third Circuit Court of Appeals agreed to review his case, finding that it raised several constitutional issues.

The BIA found that McAllister had "engaged in terrorist activities." McAllister's lawyer, Eamonn Dornan, is asking the Third Circuit Court to clarify the exact definition of that phrase, a legal exacting that could offer wide-ranging precedent in these post-9/11 times.

"Our argument is that there is no clear, precise definition of what "engaging in terrorist activities' actually means," explains Dornan. "Because it is so overly broad, it becomes unconstitutional."

Dornan argues that McAllister's actions should not be viewed as terrorism since they took place during a political uprising, in which the United States was neutral, and targeted combatants rather than civilians. Even if the court finds McAllister did indeed engage in terrorist activities, argues Dornan, that does not automatically mean there exists, as the BIA ruled, "reasonable grounds for regarding that person as a danger to the security of the United States."

There is legal precedent supporting Dornan's argument that a one-size-fits-all approach cannot be applied to terrorism.

"One country's terrorist," reads a 2003 federal appeals court ruling, "can be another country's freedom fighter."

For his part, McAllister bristles at the label "terrorist."

"What have I done over the last 16 years," he asks, "besides raise my kids, pay my taxes, be a good citizen and prove that I am no threat to the United States?"

In April of this year, Bernadette McAllister was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. She died six weeks later, on her 46th birthday. Malachy was holding her hand.

More than 400 mourners showed up for her funeral Mass. A number of politicians attended. Senator Hillary Rodham Clinton, of New York, sent a Mass Card. Malachy read a eulogy.

"You are free at last," he said. "I love you and I will always miss you."

Because of the uncertainity of the McAllisters' future, Bernadette's remains were cremated after the Mass. Where her ashes will rest permanently depends on the court decision.

"Every day without my wife is a struggle," he says now, outside the courthouse, choking up. "She had to endure so much over the years, just to try and raise her family in peace."

He pulls a memorial card from his suit jacket. It contains a smiling photo of Bernadette, looking beautiful in a white gown.

"I'm still in shock," he says.

Sometimes, he says, he feels like giving up. He'd return to Ireland in a moment if he could have her back, but he will fight on for his children.

"For Bernie and I, our struggle has always been to remain in America so our kids could have a better life than we had. She'd want me to keep fighting. And I will," he says, taking one last glance at the courthouse. "I don't know what the future holds. But there's still some hope."