Being denied by NICS for a firearm purchase is definitely a unique experience.
Settle in and grab something to drink or munch on. This is a long story.
First, you need some background.
I am a lawful permanent resident of the United States. That is the formal term for what most Americans know as "having a Green Card". Being a permanent resident is like being a citizen, but on probation. It gives you the right to live and work anywhere in the USA (provided you notify the INS whenever you move), it gives you all of the Consitutional protections of a citizen under the law (rights of due process, unreasonable search and seizure, protection against self-incrimination and so on) and gives you some citizens' rights and responsibilities.
Voting isn't one of them but owning guns is.
Yes, a non-citizen can own firearms in the United States provided they are a permanent resident. There is an exception for those who don't have a Green Card but meeting the requirements as a non-Green Card holder are rather difficult and are strict as to what you can own and how. For all practical purposes, non-Green Card holders can't own guns (kind of like Class 3 ownership, they can do it but it is generally more trouble that it is worth).
The requirements for a Green Card holder to own guns is the same as a normal citizen. You must prove state residency, fill out the forms (ATF 4473 and any state forms) and pass the NICS (National Instant Check System) background check. See my previous post here for full details on how the NICS check works.
So, keeping this fact in mind, here is what happened.
My Virginia FFL, Guns and Ammo Warehouse in Manassas, VA had brought in a bunch of used rifles and shotguns. All in various calibers. Most were bolt-action rifles but a few were single shot or semi-automatic.
Kevin, my primary dealer, is always encouraging me to buy guns. He's an enabler of sorts (and there is nothing wrong with that). So here I am trolling the racks. A few nice guns and two catch my eye. One is a hunting rifle in .257 Roberts based on a Mauser action. What was weird about the gun is it had a laminate thumbhole stock for a left-handed shooter. Which I am. But it had a right-handed bolt. Talk about a Frankengun. Suffice it to say, general appeal of that rifle is going to be limited.
To understand this properly, a left-handed shooter using a regular right-handed bolt action rifle will take their left hand off the grip/trigger, reach across the rifle and cycle the bolt in a crosswise pattern. If you watch movies, a beautiful illustration of a left-handed shooter is Private Jackson, the sniper in "Saving Private Ryan" up in the bell tower near the end of the movie. He is a left-handed shooter using a right-handed rifle in this fashion.
This oddball meant you could either cycle the bolt in this manner or maintain your grip and remove your hand from the handguard and cycle the bolt with your right hand. A possible advantage shooting from a prone, supported position but a bizarre setup under normal conditions. And no right handed shooter would want this rifle because it was impossible to use right-handed short of putting a new stock on it. And lastly, there was the cost of feeding it. 20 rounds of .257 Roberts (a great hunting cartridge) costs around $24 for a box of twenty. At $1.20 or more per shot (this stuff can run up to $30 per 20 depending on load and bullet type), this is a very expensive rifle to use for casual shooting. Pretty it was but not a common usage rifle. For comparison purposes, feeding a .50BMG using surplus ammunition doesn't cost much more per shot.
The other rifle I fell in love with instantly. It was a synthetically stocked bolt-action rifle in 6.5mm Swedish, likewise based on a Mauser action. It had a heavy barrel. What hooked me though, was the trigger. It broke with only a minor amount of pressure. A gauge showed a trigger pull of around 3.2 pounds. Absolutely exquisite with no creep. This would make a perfect sniper, cough, target rifle. But the dealer had no 6.5mm Swedish in stock. At around $280, it was a nice rifle. Shiny, crisp bore, clean bolt and chamber. Nothing wrong with it at all.
I fondled both guns over a couple of weeks. Especially the Swede. I just loved it. But I couldn't quite bring myself to commit despite the fact it was calling to me. Then the dealer sweetened the pot. They were having a summer sale and were offering 10 percent off on one used rifle or 25 percent for two. After a bit of discussion, Kevin the Enabler convinced me that these two rifles needed to come home with me. The Swedish for its trigger and the .257 solely for the fact they were going to have that rifle forever due to its layout. So, feeling sorry for it, I decided it at least needed a good home.
Being short of funds, I gave them a deposit and had them put on layaway. The threshold of temptation had been crossed and I said I would be back in a couple weeks to pick them up. Being a fantastic shop for customer service, this was not an issue.
Fast forward to a warm Friday night a couple weeks later.
I brought my paperwork with me and walked into the store. For all of the staff there who know me on sight, this is a sure sign I was there to pick something up. I only brought my proof of residence if I was planning to purchase. However, it was busy and I'm patient. So I waited as the dealer on duty, Bill (who we call 'Uncle Bill', an older fellow who is a truly down-to-earth gentleman) finished up with the other customers. Around 7:30pm, 30 minutes before close, he asked if he could help me out and I raised my paperwork. Realizing it was late, I told him I could wait until tomorrow to pick up my rifles since, for me, a background check generally took an hour or two. He said it wasn't a problem and didn't mind staying past close for me. As I said, truly fantastic customer service. So he pulled out the forms, I paid for the guns and went to retrieve them while I filled out the forms.
Laying all my ID out for him, he got on the phone and started to call in my information. I don't know why I get nervous doing this but I do. I had no problems in the past and I had no reason to believe this time would be any different. However, strangely, I opted to use my utility bills rather than my Virginia concealed carry permit as my secondary ID. I guess I figured since I wasn't buying a handgun, I would just stick to my normal routine.
On the phone, Bill started reading off my height, weight, place of birth and country of citizenship. For any of you who have or will go through a NICS check, when the dealer starts to read off your vital statistics, your check is being delayed. Not a big deal, they just have to dig deeper. Bill said "Thank you." to the person at the NICS center and we looked at each other and said "Delayed." at the same time. It happens to me every time and I know within a little bit, they'll call the FBI and INS and get my approval.
So I browsed around, chatted with Bill about the family, the usual casual talk as we waited. About 8:10pm, ten minutes after closing, the phone rang. All done. Bill answered and started to talk to the folks from NICS. Then he got a funny look on his face and said "Hang on.".
"Matt, they want to know what you are going to use these rifles for." he asked.
Huh? That was a first. So I told him, "Target shooting. What I always use them for.".
He relayed my answer to NICS. Then asked me, "Do you have a hunting license?".
By this point, we both had quizzical looks on our faces. This was not in the NICS script. I replied "No." and he again passed it along. After some back and forth, with "Ma'am, he's a target shooter, not a hunter!" thrown in, he hung up with a "We'll be here." and announced that they would call back in a bit. Then he told me what they kept asking if I had a hunting license. We both felt that was truly bizarre as he had never had NICS ask him that before and I, not being the business of selling guns, had never heard of it either.
We continued to wonder about this until they finally called back around 9pm. Bill answered and prompted blurted, "What?!?". Then continued with "Ma'am, I've sold to this gentleman before and I have his paperwork right here. I can fax it to you. He has a Virginia concealed carry permit!". More argument with Bill defending me to the hilt.
Then he said it, "They want to talk to you.".
Ever had that feeling of your stomach falling through your shoes in dread? I did at that moment.
So I took the phone and the woman on the other end politely informed me that she had to deny my purchase due to the fact that I was a non-immigrant alien. I was stunned. I responded by stating I was holding my Green Card in my hand and could fax her a copy, that I had a concealed carry permit for Virginia and that I had been a permanent resident for a while. She was very apologetic and said it was a problem with the INS and I was going to have to call them and when they fixed it, they would approve me. I thanked her and hung up.
Bill and I were stunned. He felt this was wrong and was very apologetic. As was I. I felt bad keeping him there past closing only to get dragged into this. Sadly, my rifles went back on to my shelf and I said the only thing I could do was to call the INS and get this fixed. So he closed up and proceeded to head home.
It was during the drive home that my natural, irrational paranoia began to kick in. Realizing the Virginia State Police had a record of denial for a firearms purchase to what they thought was a non-immigrant alien, I started to panic. I owned several firearms and I began to serious question the prospect of that denial as being probable cause enough for the VSP to search for previous transactions in my name and learn very quickly that I owned several other guns. Despite having valid approval numbers, the not-unreasonable thought had me wondering if they might want to play better safe than sorry and get a search warrant.
By the time I got home, I was in a full nail-biting panic. Just the thought of having to go through the legal hassle of having to prove my residency and fighting to get my guns back had me dizzy with fright. Wouldn't you be terrified at that moment?
First things first though. I immediately got online and made an appointment with the INS office in Fairfax at the first available date. First available being two weeks later. So I signed up and began to make phone calls to friends asking if they could give a home to my guns in the interim, just in case. Another call to a friend who was ex-law enforcement finally convinced me to settle down with the non-too-pleasant idea that if the police didn't show up within 48 hours with a warrant, odds are they weren't going to.
It was a very long weekend.
The two weeks passed without a visit from the State Police. I guess I just wasn't high enough on their scale to warrant attention. I guess a Canadian possessing all manner of arms was ok. Or maybe they figured I'm harmless. Since when do you hear about a Canadian going on a shooting spree or being a suicide bomber in the name of the right to play hockey?
For those of you who have never been in an INS facility, let me tell you: you aren't missing much. It's like the DMV in Virginia. You wait in a line to get in, get a number and wait more. Except the line to get in takes two hours for fifty people to pass through.
When I finally got to the officer at the desk, she asked why I was there. I told her that the INS had messed up my file saying I didn't have a Green Card when I did. She asked to see it, which I produced and she brought up my record. "Yup, they messed up all right." was the reply as she compared my Green Card to whatever was on her screen, handed me a number and told me to take a seat around the corner.
Just like the DMV except with padded seats. I figure this is because you might as well be sitting comfortably on the part of your body you are about to receive a royal shafting in. Understand, this area with counters is not for people having good things happen. Citizenship and residency interviews happen elsewhere (having been on that floor). This area was for processing and fuckups. I knew which category I was in.
After another two hour wait, I finally had my number called and approached the officer. I then politely informed him that my INS records were messed and they had lost my status. Proceeding to then explain that such knowledge had been brought to my attention was by failing a background check with the State Police for a firearm purchase and could they please fix it before they decided to come and arrest me. He asked for my Green Card. I handed it to him and what happened next was straight out of a bad movie.
He started with "We have you scheduled for an interview in September 2004..." and then trailed off. I managed to squeak out, "An interview for what?!?" and then shut up as I realized the interview was from a year prior. He started intently scrolling up and down on his screen, began muttering to himself. At one point, I swore I heard him say "What in the holy hell?".
Something was obviously wrong and I wasn't about disturb him. Angering INS officer: Not a good idea. But the weirdest part was the whole time he would hit a key, look up at the screen, look down at my Green Card and back again. Flip the card over and over, stare intently at it, me and then the screen. And getting more dour looking with each iteration. This went on for ten minutes.
I was firmly convinced at that time, as I am to this day, that he honestly believed that he was holding a fake Green Card. After all, the computer couldn't be wrong, could it? And was trying to get me to do or say something to slip up and get me to admit it. Which I wasn't because if I had a fake Green Card of that quality, I was in the wrong line of work. Finally, after fifteen minutes of silence and keypunching, he finally handed my card back and said he would have to request my file from the Central Records facility in Missouri and have them re-entered.
Leave it to a government official to deadpan something like this like it was no big deal. I replied ok and asked how long it would take to do and get fixed. His answer was around two weeks. I nodded and asked him if the INS could call me when it was fixed.
His answer: "We don't do that.".
I almost replied with "Well, try." but instead answered, "Ok, could you make an exception or is there someone I can call to confirm everything is ok?".
Reply: "No. They are two different systems.".
Another piece of the immigration process you don't want to know about: Your immigration status is managed in two places. The first is the INS case processing system. This system tracks your progress through the red tape hell that is being a legal immigrant or worker in this country. But all it does is track cases and history. It does not store your actual immigration status (worker on a visa, tourist visa, student visa, Green Card application pending, authorized for work, etc). For legal purposes, your actual status is tracked in a database maintained by the INS and used by people like the FBI, Border Patrol and Customs to check on us aliens to determine what type we were.
The two are not connected and take a wild guess which one was in error? Yup, the important one.
Figures, eh?
So they had to get a copy of my paper file with all my notices, applications and most importantly, approval paperwork, have it sent back up and get some drone to punch it all back in. If any of you out there think that paperless record keeping in any arena (especially government) is a good idea, this experience of mine ought to serve as an example of why you should never do it. Because it was the paper that ultimately saved me. I work with computers so I am very accepting of the idea of it being messed up because I've been there, done that and on occasion, been the reason why.
And the end result of all this: The only way I could determine if the data was corrected in the system was to submit to another background check.
You read that right. To find out if they fixed the screwup, I was going to have to let the State Police take another shot at me.
I waited another month just to be sure and then went in early on a Saturday to try again.
Since I'm writing this, you know what happened. Bill was there as was Kevin the Enabler (who ran the check). And we all breathed a sigh of relief three hours later when it came back clear. I did catch one thing during the process of the call in: The Virginia State Police knew my name because at one point Kevin did say "Yes, it's him again.".
That is a distinction of sorts. I don't recommend it.
I took home four rifles that day. I figured if I was going down, I might as well go down in flames and glory. Because if I failed again, I would wager I'd be seeing the State Police within a couple hours.
I also have another distinction as a result of this experience: I have become what I believe to be a very small number of people who have failed a NICS check spectacularly and come away from it unscathed.
The only saving grace of this is I am glad it happened in a gun-friendly place like Virginia. I shudder to think of what might have happened to me in Montgomery County where I live now in Maryland.
Now you know why I get nervous every time I get near Form 4473.
Or maybe they just don't want Canadians to have guns.
