Last year I visited immigration court a few times to understand how children are forced to brave it alone. Here is an essay about those kids, and that experience. A short version can be found here, and the full version here.
“The courtrooms were labeled with numbered plaques, like exam rooms in a medical office. Inside, however, was the traditional setup that I’d only ever seen on television — rows of wooden benches for spectators, a waist-high railing separating the gallery from the two lawyers’ desks and the judge’s elevated bench, all in dark wood. Flanking the judge were two more women: on the right, a young clerk; on the left, a woman wearing reading glasses who was the Spanish interpreter.
The judge’s voice was soothing, like a late-night radio DJ’s. She turned her attention to the child in the respondent’s seat — an 11-year-old girl. I’ll call her Elena. Elena smiled shyly at us, then at the judge. She crossed her arms over her stomach. On one wrist was a rainbow of plastic bracelets.”
