When I was a kid our grandfather taught us a game that we enjoyed so much that we ended up playing all the time. The first step was gathering eight rocks, four per player. After gathering the rocks, we chose a spot on the sidewalk, preferably under a tree and drew a square with two diagonal lines and a cross through its center.

The first player would then place a rock on a spot where two or more lines met. The next player would then place their rock and so on until all the rocks were placed. The players would take turns moving their rocks around the lines on the sidewalk until someone could not move their rocks anymore. You were not allowed to jump over any rocks. The winner was the player who could trap the other player between their rocks.

The game was so liked that it went viral throughout the neighborhood.

One morning we were sitting down in front of our house when we noticed a black van pull up. We all looked at each other as four bearded men, armed and dressed all in black got out of the van and approached us.

Two of the men stopped to photograph the game boards we had drawn a short while ago. The other two men continued straight to us.

“Do you know who has been drawing those symbols all around town? Did you see anybody suspicious walking by?”

We stared at each other with a look of complicit understanding. We simultaneously shook our heads and watched as the men photographing the sidewalk started gathering the rocks and putting them into plastic zip bags.

“What do you think? ANTIFA? Illegals? Islamists? Gays? Commies? Commies?”

“Doesn’t matter. They are all enemies of the people. Subversives and criminals. It’s some kind of code the underground is using to communicate. Better gather some of the adults for questioning.”

We watched as the Faith Protectors started up the steps of the house and pushed through our door. We heard my mom scream, broken dishes, the voice of my dad, followed by a loud thump.

The last time we ever saw our parents was when they were walked out of the house with their hands tied behind their back and a black sack placed over their heads. They were forcefully thrown into the van like garbage is thrown into a trash bin.

The sound of squealing wheels filled the street as one of the Faith Protectors approached us and in his warmest words reassured us.

“Don’t worry. Children’s Ministry agents will place you in a deserving God fearing home.”

Your honor, my partner and I walked for days through ice and snow. We almost died but it was worth it for a chance to live our lives free of the threat of violence and oppression pervasive in our country.

My parents’ disappearance and other atrocities committed by my government against its own citizens in the name of protecting “freedom,” stopping communism and elevating God’s law is the reason we are asking you to grant us asylum in your country for fear of death and imprisonment if we are to return to ours.

I humbly ask that this court uphold the rights of asylum for all refugees fleeing the repressive, authoritarian regime created many years ago in my country by the implementation of Project 2025.

Thank you for your time.