http://www.startribune.com/stories/462/1629011.html
Aspiring lawyer opens doors to legal rights to Somali community
Kavita Kumar Star Tribune
Published Feb 16, 2002
It's about 7:15 p.m. on a recent weekday. Hassan Mohamud has just gotten home after a long day spent dealing with immigration law. He plans to spend the evening with his wife, Asha; their 1-year-old daughter, Sara, and the newest addition to their family -- Zuhour, barely a week old -- in their Minneapolis apartment.
A Somali woman who lives in his building knocks on his door. She is frantic, afraid the landlord will kick her out because of a question about her Section-8 status. He listens, calms her and tells her to make an appointment at his office the next day. (He's already booked two weeks out, but will find some extra time for her.)
Later that evening, a friend, Abdulahi Omar, has a friend who wants Mohamud's advice about going to law school. The young man arrives at his door about 9:30 p.m. "We need this guy," Omar says of Mohamud. He adds, with a smile: "We ask Allah to give him a long life and good health."
Mohamud, 40, is a man in demand these days. He graduated last month from William Mitchell College of Law. He is, many believe, the first Somali to earn a degree from a Minnesota law school. And he is helping to swing open the door to legal rights for Somalis.
For many Somalis, he also is a resolver of disputes, a sealer of marriages and a shoulder to lean on when they don't understand aspects of their job, immigration status or housing rights.
He's a cultural broker -- a bridge between the world they know and the world they're trying to learn. It's a bridge that carries a lot of weight and responsibility, but one that he knows he can't afford to break.
He knows there is much to do. "I want to bring Somalis to American culture. We are not guests here anymore. We have to learn about one another," he said.
Technically, Mohamud won't be an official lawyer until he passes the Minnesota bar exam, which he plans to take in March and July.
In the meantime, he is a legal assistant at the Legal Aid Society of Minneapolis. Working on an immigration project, he holds monthly seminars to educate Somalis about their rights, gives talks to agencies such as the Immigration and Naturalization Service to teach them about Somali culture, and does outreach work in Minneapolis high schools.
He has about 175 cases on his desk right now, and more pour in everyday. Most of his clients are Somalis or other East African immigrants.
Peggy Russell, managing attorney at Legal Aid, said having a Somali lawyer helps build trust in a community that has mistrust and fear of the U.S. legal system.
"I think that it really helps a community . . . to make them feel as though they have a voice," she said. "Some are very hesitant to pursue legal rights. One, they don't know they have them. And two, they worry if they complain they will be in bigger trouble."
That Mohamud speaks Somali helps. But more important is his knowledge of culture and history. And he's able to explain intricate legal issues in a way his clients understand, Russell said.
His prominence in the community is another plus.
"We have hundreds of people calling us for assistance who probably wouldn't have because Hassan is in the office," she said. "I feel so fortunate to have him."
It's Tuesday evening at the Al-Taqwa Mosque in St. Paul, where Mohamud is an imam, or prayer leader. It's also home to his Somali Families and Youth Organization, a nonprofit group that he heads.
He sits, bundled in his coat in the chilly office, and holds a two-hour walk-in clinic offering free legal advice. He asks questions in Somali of a woman who wants a divorce. He explains her situation to Ken Gilchrist, a lawyer with Southern Minnesota Regional Legal Services who advises him.
"It's important to have a Somali attorney," Gilchrist said after the client leaves. "But more than that, it's important to have one who is committed to working with his people like he is. We need attorneys who know the culture and who they can afford."
But some worry that won't always be the case with Mohamud.
"Many people are saying now Hassan will be a rich person, and after two years he will leave Legal Aid Society and start his own business," Mohamud said. "But my goal is not to make money. My goal is to make justice. And not justice for one group or people of one skin color. But justice for all people. Like Dr. King's dream."
The son of a doctor and a businesswoman, Mohamud was born in Mogadishu. He attended Somalia National University, where he majored in civil law. He then went to Cairo to study at the Institute of Islamic Studies, where he received a graduate degree in Islamic law in 1989. He was planning to return to Mogadishu to teach at the university, but the civil war in his homeland interrupted his plans.
In 1996, he came to Dallas, Texas, as an asylum seeker. The next year he came to the Twin Cities to work in the St. Paul School District as an educational assistant and multicultural consultant.
In August 1997, he enrolled as a part-time student at William Mitchell, financing school through loans, scholarships, and working full time.
Those were rough days for him and his family. Four hours of sleep a night. Coming home from the library at midnight.
"My family missed me," he said. "They need me now."
His fast-paced life has slowed a bit since graduation, but he's still very busy -- running from meetings to appointments to prayer services.
"He gives more of his time than any Somali I know," said Abdi-Rahman Mohamed, one of few Somali doctors in the Twin Cities. "And I've never heard him complain of how busy he is or of what he is doing."
Mohamud says simply, "If you believe in Allah, you will have enough time . . . My wife believes the same thing."
-- Kavita Kumar is at kkumar at startribune.com
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/ dave /