Immigration lawyers on the ropes in the Trump era: ‘The community needs us. If we leave, they lose hope’

Wilfredo Allen had planned to retire soon. With four decades of work as an immigration lawyer in Miami under his belt at 74 years of age, the time had come. “But now, I feel like if I retire, it would be like giving up. Like fleeing the battlefield. And that’s not my thing. My parents didn’t teach me to run, they taught me to stay and fight,” he says over the phone. He also explains that, although there’s more work amid the Trump administration’s crusade to increase deportations at all costs, that’s not the hardest part: the worst part is the frustration that, even if everything is done right, the rules of the game have changed.

Immigration lawyers in the United States have been facing a difficult situation for years. In the absence of definitive statistics, there are probably fewer than 20,000 attorneys specializing in immigration matters in the entire country: the 16,000 members of the official national association, which is almost all of them, plus the few who are not. In a country where there are currently more than three million open immigration cases, a number that increases daily, none can keep up. If in 2019, 65% of migrants had legal representation, by 2023 it would be 30%. Now, when immigration detentions have reached record levels, that number is surely even lower, although there are no official data on this.

In U.S. immigration courts, unlike criminal courts, the government does not provide a lawyer to those who cannot afford one. So if the shortage already meant a limited supply, the explosion in demand is pushing the system to breaking point. Some lawyers warn that the time will soon come when they will be completely overwhelmed and there will be no one to defend immigrants’ rights in the courts.

Faced with this disheartening outlook and maximum pressure, some have thrown in the towel, but the majority remain standing, like Allen, driven by the conviction that for their clients, they are the last hope of remaining with their families, of living the American dream, of being considered as individuals with rights.

Jonathan Shaw is another who is motivated by fighting back. The head of a law firm with 10 lawyers and 55 employees, Shaw represents immigrants across the country, although he’s based in Utah. “A friend of mine, who runs a similarly sized firm, called me this week and asked, ‘Do you ever think about retiring? Selling your firm?’ And I said yes, it crosses my mind sometimes, but we can’t leave. The community needs us. If they see us leaving, it’s like losing hope. We have to be here. We have to stand strong.”

He understands that stress and pressure eventually get the better of some. And as a boss, he must carefully balance his employees’ workload. But he also sees it as a filter that only those who are there because of their principles will pass. “The chaos weeds out certain people, those who are here just for the paycheck. Those who remain are the truly passionate,” he says. In recent months, he has seen colleagues and employees leave their jobs and move to less intense fields, he admits, but he has also witnessed with joy and hope how the gaps they leave have been quickly filled by those who want to do their part to help immigrants.

He’s also had to start turning away clients, even though it weighs heavily on his heart. “We’re focusing on the most critical cases: asylum requests in immigration court. We can handle many other cases, but we have to concentrate our resources where they’re most needed.”

Despite everything, the biggest challenge is constantly adapting to the changes imposed by the administration. One day, humanitarian parole is ending; the next, Temporary Protected Status (TPS); and the next, immigrants are being arrested at immigration courts, something that has never happened before. “We have to pivot, rethink how we’re going to protect our clients. We’re doing everything we can now to prevent them from having to go to court alone,” explains Shaw, who has become adept at avoiding the traps laid by the government.

These traps are also Allen’s greatest source of frustration. “I’ve never had a client detained at the door of immigration court before. Never. I’ve always had good luck: even in cases I lost, I’d go in with my client, I’d walk out with my client, we’d appeal, we’d go to court... but having a client detained at the entrance, that’s never happened to me. And now I have six clients detained. Two of them are in the notorious Alligator Alcatraz detention center. According to the government, that center was for ‘the worst of the worst,’ but that’s a lie,” the lawyer says, angrily adding that he senses malice at every turn, deployed to intimidate, to wear them down, so that they’ll eventually agree to leave the country voluntarily.

Allen’s prediction for the next six months isn’t good. He says he sees prosecutors becoming increasingly intimidated as well, lacking discretion in deciding cases. “It’s exhausting. One of the young lawyers in the firm had five clients arrested in less than 10 days. He told me, ‘I can’t take it anymore. This is depressing me. I can’t look at people’s faces when they’re arrested; it hurts to talk to their families.’ It’s not easy, but I have to motivate the team. Those defeats, those tears, those injustices, have to help us fight harder.”

As defeats batter lawyers, fear gnaws at immigrants. The phone in Shaw’s office rings nonstop. Since Trump returned to office, he hasn’t had to advertise his services, and while technically that’s good for business, he finds it sad: these are families who will be separated. “Our job is to help immigrants. We adapt quickly and share everything we learn, especially on social media, so even those who aren’t our clients will know how to protect themselves.”

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