In Pakistan, a son is desperate to visit his dying father in Philly. The U.S. government won’t let him in.

Joarlais Robert desperately wants to come to the United States to say goodbye to his father, who lies dying of cancer in a Philadelphia-area hospital. And to share a last memory of their native Pakistan.

As of now, that’s not going to happen.

The federal government won’t let Robert into the country, turning down his request for a visa even as doctors warn that time is short.

“This is his last wish,” Robert, 34, said in an email interview from Pakistan. “It would be a great blessing if I could stand before my father and see him.”

The problem for Robert is what’s called “immigrant intent,” an important concept in U.S. immigration law. If someone requests approval to visit the U.S., the government assumes that the person intends to try to stay permanently. The onus is on the applicant to show otherwise.

To overcome what the government presumes is a veiled attempt to remain in the country, applicants must show they have compelling reasons to return to their homelands — a spouse, property ownership, involvement in social or religious organizations.

Meeting those standards does not guarantee admission, and denials cannot be appealed. The process does permit new requests if additional information can be developed.

The State Department did not immediately respond to questions about the case this week, and said it would be in touch soon.

Robert insists he only wants to see his father, to comfort him at the end of his life. His wife, Asma, would remain in Pakistan.

For father and son, separated by law and distance, it’s a painful, personal situation. It’s also a product of how the United States orients its immigration system, toward denial and enforcement. And how that same system can assist a family with one hand and impede it with the other.

Documents show that in 1995, Joarlais Robert’s father, Robert Barkat, was granted asylum by the U.S. government, awarding him a protection reserved for those who cannot go home because they’ve been persecuted or have a well-founded fear of future persecution.

Then, in 2019, the government granted U.S. citizenship to Barkat. The man known as “Rocky” took the oath in Philadelphia.

For years he has been destitute, living on the streets and moving from shelter to nursing home to hospital as his health deteriorated.

Today Barkat, 74, is at Mercy Fitzgerald Hospital in Darby. In March, he was diagnosed with small cell carcinoma of the lungs, his life expectancy estimated at months.

“He’s been so adamant about having his son come,” said Barkat’s friend, Daniel Bonness, 29, of West Philadelphia. “He really wants to see Joarlais.”

Bonness, an engineer, met Barkat when the older man was sleeping outside a neighborhood supermarket. They started talking. Both, it turned out, follow the teachings of Jesus Christ — unusual in Pakistan, where less than 2% of 243 million people are Christian.

He was left brain-damaged by torture inflicted upon him in Pakistan because of his religious beliefs, according to records and his doctor. His son said that in 1990, Barkat helped build a church, which provoked a riot. The father was injured and imprisoned, and eventually fled the country.

He suffers from congestive heart failure and chronic obstructive pulmonary disease and, three years ago, became partially blind in one eye after misunderstanding the directions for his blood-pressure medication.

“Watching him deteriorate, it’s really sad,” said Dr. Christopher Chambers, a Jefferson Health physician who began treating and advocating for Barkat more than a decade ago. “He had a light in his eyes and was a fun person. I work in a large office, and everybody knows him.”

One time, Chambers said, Barkat showed up with 30 pizzas for the staff. Another day, after a discussion about whether mango was the best flavor of ice cream, he appeared with a case of mangos, six quarts of cream, and five pounds of sugar — insisting it be mixed into frozen treats for everyone.

In the last three years, as his patient’s health declined, Chambers wrote at least 30 letters to elected and appointed government officials — including those at the U.S. Embassy in Islamabad — trying to get Barkat’s son and daughter-in-law into the country to care for him.

Now, with time short, Philadelphia immigration attorney Alex Isbell is volunteering his time to try to get Barkat’s son admitted.

“He’s not coming to the U.S. to stay or to work,” said Isbell, of the Center City immigration firm of Palladino, Isbell and Casazza. “He’s asking the U.S. government to [let him] come say goodbye to his father.”

Isbell got involved in late August when a man in a wheelchair appeared at his office, saying he’d been told the workers there could help him see his son. Barkat shared his naturalization certificate, along with other immigration and medical records. In spring he had been hospitalized for more than three weeks, under the care of Dr. J. Grey Faulkenberry at Penn Presbyterian Medical Center. That’s when he was diagnosed with terminal cancer.

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Isbell managed to get Robert another consular interview. The son traveled four hours to Islamabad for what turned out to be a fresh rejection.

People sometimes deliberately overstay their visas, or even use them to enter the United States while knowing they don’t plan to go home, but in 2019 only 1.2% of people admitted into the U.S, overstayed, according to U.S. Customs and Border Protection. That’s out of more than 55 million admissions.

“I get that people overstay,” Isbell said. “But this is a person who is coming with a specific and concrete plan, with a specific humanitarian need.”

The lawyer has considered filing for humanitarian parole, which can allow people to enter the country in urgent circumstances, including to care for a sick relative. The problem in this case, Isbell said, is time. Federal Citizenship and Immigration Services usually needs 90 days to consider a parole application, and now warns that requests will take “significantly longer” due to backlogs.

Joarlais Robert said his father does not have that time.

“He is in his last moments,” he said, “and I am not with him.”