The Juvenile Docket

“Isaac” is seventeen years old, but looks more like thirteen or fourteen, slightly built and quiet. Until last October, he lived in a small town in Honduras with his aging Aunt. He left school a few years ago to go to work, but every time payday came around, he was afraid for his life. That was when a gang of eight to twelve boys and young men would wait by the bridge he had to cross on his way home and attack him to steal his money or whatever he had been able to buy before reaching them. Sometimes he could outrun them, finding his way to the relative safety of his home. Other times, he was not so lucky. He estimates that he was badly beaten at least eight times—punched in the face, kicked, even attacked with a machete. His aunt would treat his wounds, but he never went to a hospital or even saw a doctor because he couldn’t afford the cost. The gang threatened to kill him unless he joined them, but he refused.

Finally, last fall, Isaac fled. Somehow, he made it through Mexico and into Texas. He was driven across the border and then left to find his way on foot. After walking for two days, he was picked up by Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE), who kept him in detention for eighteen days. They eventually released him to his mother, who has lived in the U.S. most of Isaac’s life (his father died when he was too young to remember). He now lives with his mother and siblings on Long Island, and attends ninth grade at a public high school.

This week Isaac was one of dozens of kids in immigration court for the “juvenile docket,” a special day for minors in removal proceedings. The rules are a little more relaxed in order to make the court system a little less intimidating for young people but the goal is the same: the government has determined that these kids should be sent back where they came from. “Aliens” facing deportation have the right to legal representation, but because it is considered a civil matter, the state is not required to pay for a lawyer. Instead, Isaac and others in similar situations depend mostly on local immigration lawyers who show up for the juvenile docket to take cases pro bono. This week, like most juvenile docket days, there were far more children than lawyers looking for cases.

The judge who presided over the docket was clearly concerned first and foremost for the children’s well-being. He asked each one who came before him for evidence that they were in school, and told them how important it is for them to remain in school and do well. He was very lenient in granting postponements to allow the kids time to find lawyers—and thereby postpone deportation for months at a time. (Many of today’s cases had their next appearance scheduled for December.) But for these children and their volunteer lawyers it’s mostly a question of finding ways to delay the inevitable. However sympathetic the judge may be, he is constrained by the law as it is written, and by the fact that the government has chosen to pursue these children.

Isaac might be eligible for asylum based on his legitimate fear of being killed by gangs if he returns to Honduras. But that would require proving that he is being targeted for one of the reasons enumerated in our asylum laws—in the end, whether he is allowed to stay in the U.S. with his mother and siblings will probably depend on the judgment of an asylum officer or judge. I heard from one of the lawyers about another teenager in court that day, an eighteen-year-old girl from Korea whose father sent for her, promising permanent residence through his marriage to a U.S. citizen. When his fiancée left him because of his alcoholism and abuse, he returned to Korea, leaving his daughter with no legal status here. She is a star student, and hopes to go to an Ivy League college—but can only do so if she finds a way to be here legally. The best advice the lawyer could offer was that she marry her boyfriend.

Sitting in the courtroom, I watched child after child appear before the judge, while a few sympathetic lawyers tried to do what little they could to help them stay in this country. I couldn’t help but wonder: Why? Whatever your opinion about immigration, and whatever you think about the millions of undocumented immigrants here, why is the government making it a priority to expel these “illegal” children? Surely, there are more pressing issues for our law-enforcement agents to focus their attention on. Meanwhile, the best hope for Isaac and the other children in the system is that their lawyers will be able to delay their cases longer than Congress delays immigration reform, and that whatever compromise eventually passes will provide some kind of relief for them.