To me, Shaheen is an American hero.

She was 16 years old, teaching children in an elementary school in western Pakistan, and studying computer technology – her chosen field of work – when her father died suddenly. Her brother came to her and told her that he was now her guardian and he had decided she would marry a cousin she barely knew but disliked intensely.

Her cousin belonged to the Taliban, and he frightened her. She knew well what marrying him would mean for her life, a lifetime in bondage.

I met Shaheen in the Pine Hill neighborhood of Albany Thursday. She was warm, with a ready smile, and anxious. It took a half an hour to negotiate taking her photo, as it often does with some Muslim women I am meeting for the first time.

In the village she came from, being photographed by a strange man without the permission of a husband or father could be a death sentence. By now, I am familiar with this fear, and have learned  how to talk it through.  I proposed she draw part of her hijab over her nose and face..

I told her I had a contract with my readers. If I ask for money, they must see where it is going and what for. I never ask them to help people they don’t get to see. That is the trust between us that has worked so well.

We both agreed, and eventually laughed about the idea that she was a free woman in America now, and no one could tell her when to be photographed, including me. But I told her I understood the great fear she carried, especially  about her mother, who, she says, was left behind is in grave  danger for helping to free her.

I agreed to not use her whole name, or address or phone. I promised.

Just after her sixteenth birthday, Shaheen’s older  brother came to her to tell her that she would be married in a few weeks. He was in charge of her life in the absence of her father, he said, and he had chosen a husband for her.

She must leave their home and give  up her job as a school teacher and abandon her studies in computing and information technology. There would be no career outside of the home.

Shaheen had already drawn attention and suspicion for her independence, for working outside fo the home as a teacher and aspiring to a career in computing outside of the home and without the approval of a man. Those were dangerous decisions for a woman.

Shaheen is a feminist, it is apparent in almost every thing she says, and she fell apart and said she would refuse to marry her cousin. She was beaten severely, as was her mother, who defended her and tried to protect her. Her mother, she said, understood and fought for her. That was also a dangerous thing for a woman to do.

“It is as if I am two years old,” she said, “that is how I feel about being a free woman in America. My life began when I was free here to live my life.” She intends to get healthy again, return to school,  take computing classes, and work in the computing field. But it is not an easy life here, and will not be for some time.

In Pakistan’s Shaheen’s mother took her into her room to hide her and protect from the marriage neither of them  wanted to accept. She even made her sleep with her in the same bed so she would be safe.

Before the wedding, her mother helped her to escape the house and get to UNHRA, the United Nations  Refugee Agency. In September of 2016, she was given a visa to come to the United States as a refugee. She knows she would not have been permitted to come today. Her sister came to America also, and Shaheen shares her apartment with her and her children.

Her brother and cousin blame her mother for her escape from Pakistan and the arranged marriage and  her mother has suffered terribly, she has suffered beatings and been ostracized and confined to her  home.

Shaheen is very worried about her, and is trying desperately to get her out, but given our new government’s policy towards refugees, it is almost impossible. For now, she is trapped there.

Shaheen suffered several experiences I would prefer not to write about.

When she is in a crowd, or hears loud noises, or if there is much movement, or thinks of her mother, her hands begin to shake uncontrollably and she can’t stop the shaking. She sometimes suffers from debilitating depression. Refugee officials who have worked with her say she can’t work now, she is in treatment for PTSD and depression.

She insisted on working, and had a job at a major medical center in Albany, but her office was so crowded and loud her hands began shaking more and more and she was let go. When she lost her job, she was not able to pay her share of the rent of the apartment she shares with her sister.

She believes she will have to work in a quiet office until she heals.

She owes $2,100 in back rent and yesterday, and is facing eviction. We got on the phone and began negotiations with the landlord to see if the fee is negotiable, or if it can be paid off over time.  We don’t know yet.

I wrote her a check for $600 yesterday so that she can make the first payments to the landlord  and we can negotiate the rest of her overdue rent. I hope they will be patient. I know she also borrowed some money to survive when she lost her job. As a rule, Ali and I have agreed not to pay off large personal debts.

When Shaheen lost her job, all of her subsidies and support payments were dropped.

Ali and I have been talking about how to help her.

I thought about it all night, I told Ali we should stand where we are for now, and do nothing further. He agreed. As I have  written before, we operate on a small and restrained scale.

We can’t save lives or take them over, we can only offer help. Small acts of great kindness. If I gave Shaheen, $2,100 that would almost obliterate the refugee fund, and deprives others in need of help.

Shaheen is in treatment, getting counseling for her depression and shaking. We will stay in touch with her.

I am coming to learn that the refugees left good lives behind, few of them were poor or unemployed. The myth that they have come to harm us or take our jobs and money is a scandal.

They will make good citizens of our country, they love America.

But in the past year or so, their lives have become so much more difficult, as the government that admitted them no longer takes any responsibility for what happens to them, and in fact, has made it clear they don’t want them here at all.

There is no way Shaheen can or return to her country, and in a just world, her mother, who is a hero of this story, should be safely with her here. But it is not a just world, we can only do the best we can for as long as we can. She wants to be free in the land of the free.

Her courage and determination to live the free life of an American woman is inspiring to me, and is the very essence of being an American patriot as I understand the term. For all her struggles, she loves her new country very much and appreciates freedom in only the way someone who nearly lost it can understand.

I told her women everywhere in America are speaking out for one another and for themselves, and I was glad she made it here, where, no matter what else happens, no one will  force her to marry someone she doesn’t love.

I need to think small and in a disciplined  way to make this work. I’d love to give her all of my money, and Mawah and Saad and Omnarosa too. That would bring this all down. So we do what we can, we have no miracles in our pockets.

So at the moment, I’m not asking for contributions for Shaheen. I had the $600 in the refugee account.

Let’s see what happens.

I will accept contributions and donations for the refugee work Ali and I are doing. If you wish to contribute, please send your contribution to the Gus Fund, Jon Katz, Post Office Box 205, Cambridge, N.Y., 12816, or via Paypal, [email protected].