Jane Feldman didn’t expect her decades in law to leave her unprepared, but immigration court was a world she did not recognize.
When she volunteered to help a Cameroonian man seeking release from immigration detention, she thought the process would be straightforward. The longtime attorney found herself staring down a system where basic rules didn’t seem to apply.
It was one of a few cases she had picked up pro bono, or for free, after feeling outraged at the stories of communities struggling with the first Trump administration’s immigration crackdown.
Feldman quickly learned that the procedures for immigration cases were unlike anything she had encountered before. Seemingly routine cases were met with unanticipated and arbitrary barriers. Upon filing paperwork for the man from Cameroon, Feldman expected a simple process resulting in his release from detention. Her request was rejected.
An ICE representative told Feldman that she needed to file original copies of her client’s tax returns. But in her experience, she knew that photocopies are admissible in federal court. She sent an email to a detention center official to ask for clarification.
Her client was released by 2 p.m. that day.
The experience taught Feldman an important lesson: Without her pushback, the man likely would have remained in detention.
“The lack of due process in immigration court is really astounding to me,” Feldman says. “They just made stuff up.”
At the time, Feldman was one of around 30 lawyers who were trained by the Rocky Mountain Immigrant Advocacy Network to take on immigration cases for the first time. When RMIAN offered the no-cost training again in January, days before Donald Trump was sworn in for a second term, more than 100 Colorado attorneys signed up.
In a state with one of the lowest legal representation rates for immigrants, efforts to protect noncitizens are gaining momentum. Lawyers, advocacy groups and community members work together to do their part in supporting noncitizens facing fear or risk of deportation.
Like RMIAN, university law clinics provide pro bono services while nonprofits offer legal aid at a reduced cost and host free clinics and workshops on asylum eligibility. And though people were held in detention facilities, faced court alone and have been deported under previous presidential administrations, this year there is a heightened sense of urgency to find ways to better address the system.
Even with over 40 years in the legal field, Feldman says she finds immigration law “unbelievably convoluted and complicated.”
“I knew almost nothing about immigration. I had been a criminal prosecutor, an environmental lawyer, and I was the director of the state Ethics Commission, but I never took immigration law in law school. I’m not even sure it was a course way back when,” Feldman says.
“I will probably do a case again, but they’re very hard,” says volunteer immigration attorney Jane Feldman. “You’re dealing with people who — many of whom have suffered unspeakable trauma.” (Kortney Russell, CU News Corps)Taking on pro bono immigration cases, Feldman learned how drastically the system differed from criminal court. The process, she said, was not intuitive. She attended two more RMIAN workshops after her first to fully understand the procedures.
“It’s a whole different language. And even though I have a lot of legal experience, it was a language I didn’t know and I had to completely learn,” Feldman says.
The book on U.S. immigration and nationality laws is just shy of 1,000 pages and is full of technical jargon that even fluent English speakers can find more like navigating another language. For somebody with limited English proficiency, deciphering the complex legal terms may be nearly impossible.
In his Wolf Law Building office, P. Deep Gulasekaram, professor of immigration and constitutional law at the University of Colorado, gestures to his copy of the book in front of him. The book, he says, has remained relatively unchanged for decades.
The Fourteenth Amendment in the U.S. Constitution contains a due process clause, guaranteeing citizens and noncitizens alike a day in court where they can exercise their legal rights. While noncitizens in the U.S. have the right to seek legal representation, unlike citizens, they are not offered court-appointed lawyers.
For those trying to navigate the intricacies of immigration law, a field Gulasekaram says “probably only rivals the tax code in complexity,” legal representation is essential.
LEFT: P. Deep Gulasekaram is the director of the Byron R. White Center for the Study of American Constitutional Law. RIGHT: He co-authored and contributed to multiple immigration law books including an immigration law casebook commonly used in law school. (Isabella Escobedo, CU News Corps)
Feldman agrees. In all her immigration cases, she never had a client get deported. “I don’t think it’s a reflection on my genius, I think it’s a reflection on the fact that if you have a lawyer, you’re going to do better.”
Interest in learning immigration law has surged
As RMIAN works to train lawyers, rapid changes under the current administration present significant challenges.
On Jan. 22, they received a stop-work order for three of their federally funded critical legal programs, cutting off support for thousands of immigrants in need of legal assistance. This shutdown was part of a broader effort based on Trump’s “Protecting the American People Against Invasion” order which aims to intensify immigration enforcement.
Although the programs were reinstated, valuable time was wasted.
Carly Howenstein is the coordinator for RMIAN’s continuing legal education course that trains lawyers to defend clients facing removal. Trump’s return to office brought a surge of interest in the clinics. But the need for legal representation, Howenstein points out, is not new.
“I specifically work with people that are in immigration detention and just like it was last year, and the year before, there’s a lot of people in need of representation,” Howenstein says.
RMIAN’s training sessions have ripple effects that extend far beyond the trainees themselves. After attending one of their workshops this year, Jeff Pearson, a seasoned attorney working on his first immigration bond case, took the extra step to recruit others.
“I encouraged friends of mine, who are retired lawyers, to watch the video and review the instructional materials and see if they could get trained up themselves,” Pearson says.
By mobilizing retired attorneys, Pearson hopes to expand the pool of legal professionals available to provide urgently needed free legal services with RMIAN’s support. Even so, the need persists.
Feldman recalls the number of family members who would approach her at the detention center, asking her for help.
“Almost every time I was sitting there, somebody would come up to me and say, ‘Are you a lawyer? Can you help my son? Can you help my sister? Can you help?’” Feldman says.
Law students step in to fill gap in immigration defense
Cost is a significant barrier to obtaining legal representation for immigration cases in Colorado.
In addition to RMIAN, there are only two other organizations providing immigrants with free legal defense. With a scarcity of options in between free representation and market-price attorneys, many navigate the legal system alone.
Violeta Chapin, clinical professor of law at the University of Colorado, leads one of the state’s few pro bono legal defense groups through her role as the director of the university’s Immigration Defense Clinic, where she works with eight law students who advise noncitizen clients at no cost in a wide variety of legal proceedings.
Violeta Chapin has played a vital role in supporting immigrant communities, including on campus. During the first Trump administration, she began work helping about a dozen staff members from El Salvador obtain green cards, a process that took seven years. (Isabella Escobedo, CU News Corps)In exchange for academic credit, students gain experience and knowledge that can’t be taught in a classroom. Hunter Parnell, a second-year University of Colorado law student, plans to work as a public defender after receiving his law degree.
“In a normal law class, you read case law, you read stuff by the court of appeals, by the Supreme Court, and you talk about it in class as if that’s actually how it works,” Parnell says. But time in the clinic and in courtrooms has proven that lessons in the classroom can only go so far. “There is a big gap between the theory and the practice of law.”
“Theoretically, you have tons of rights. Practically,” he pauses, “sometimes you don’t.”
Knowing what to do with law enforcement, like being able to identify an administrative warrant versus a judicial warrant “can stop you from having to interact with an ICE agent and that can sometimes be the only opportunity you have to enforce your rights,” Parnell says.
Even so, “there have been people whisked out of the country before they had the opportunity to invoke their rights to anything,” Parnell says, referencing the hundreds of Venezuelans deported to El Salvador, many without due process.
Hunter Parnell describes himself as a cynic who comes from a family where many men have interacted with the legal system in some capacity. His desire to work as a public defender comes from wanting to “help people who are from families like mine.” (Isabella Escobedo, CU News Corps)Parnell thinks complex issues require multifaceted solutions. While some people in policy believe people holding cardboard protest signs don’t accomplish much and the people marching in the streets believe little can be done in the Capitol building, Parnell believes both sides are wrong.
“Social movements require everything. They require people to be in the streets to create the atmosphere and they require people to be working on policy,” Parnell says. Looking back to the civil rights movement, he continues, “not everybody who marched in Selma was working on policy and not everybody who worked on policy marched. They couldn’t do it without each other.”
“What did they really do? They showed the country that people care. Are you going to capitalize on that or not?” says Hunter Parnell, speaking on the protests that took place at capitol buildings around the country on Feb. 5. (Kortney Russell, CU News Corps)“You need the movement in the street to create political pressure and you need people in positions of power and influence to activate that, to take advantage of that pressure,” Parnell says.
Natalie Mousa, a fellow law student working in the Immigration Defense clinic, offers another perspective. While she engages in protests and finds it to be good for the soul, Mousa believes change is driven in the Capitol or in courtrooms.
But she acknowledges that people have different ways of coping with feeling powerless. Some people protest, others take to social media, and many use whatever means they can afford to assist the immigrant community.
One reason Natalie Mousa chose this clinic is because she knows people who are not U.S. citizens who, in the past, asked for help she couldn’t provide. Learning and understanding the law allows her to “help people who probably feel like I did 10 years ago when I was just clueless about the law.” (Isabella Escobedo, CU News Corps)On Feb. 5, demonstrators at capitol buildings across the country wielded flags and hand-lettered signs in protest against the current presidential administration policies. What was advertised nationwide as a planned protest against the Heritage Foundation’s “Project 2025,” which seemed to guide Trump’s early moves in office, became a clear opportunity for residents of Colorado to stand up against the threats of mass deportation and rhetoric targeting Aurora and surrounding communities.
LEFT: Lupita Morales attended the Feb. 5 protest with a sign that translates to “My parents fought for my future. Now I will fight for theirs.” She says, “I’m here for my parents and I’m here for my ancestors, and all my family that brought me where I am today.” RIGHT: Jennifer Lara, left, and Jessica Torres, right, stand together during the protest. “I have a lot of immigrant friends,” Torres says. “I should be able to stand up for them.” (Kortney Russell, CU News Corps)
Hours before the Feb. 5 protest, Caitlin Trent, a volunteer for the Colorado Rapid Response Network, received notification of ICE activity at the Cedar Run apartment complex in Denver. As a confirmer, Trent responds to reports of potential ICE activity by verifying what is happening on scene and interacting with agencies on site. She was one of the first volunteers at the apartment complex — one of the targets of the raid, where agencies expected to arrest over 100 people.
“They wouldn’t let us anywhere near the apartment,” Trent says. She recalls thinking, “How do we help these people right now when we’re not able to get anywhere near them?”
From a sidewalk across the street, Trent used a megaphone to advise occupants in the complex on their legal rights. This tactic, she later says, was impactful. Trent says only six people were detained at the Cedar Run complex.
Federal officials later said a total of 30 people were detained in raids in Colorado that day.
“That’s why they’re angry,” says Trent. “That’s why they want to go after these organizations because they know ‘Know Your Rights’ stuff is working.”
LEFT: “Immigrant rights right now are at the forefront of protecting constitutional rights because they’re so blatantly being violated. To me, it just feels like the front line,” says Caitlin Trent. “If we don’t hold the line here, everything slides so it’s important to hold that line.” (Isabella Escobedo, CU News Corps) RIGHT: Colorado Rapid Response Network posters at a cafe in Denver. (Kortney Russell, CU News Corps)
Trent also works as the political director for the Colorado Immigrant Rights Coalition in Denver. There, she advocates for legislative changes through what she calls the “inside game,” working directly at the Capitol to influence policy.
In May, Trent helped push through a bill that, among other things, requires ICE to present a judicial warrant to enter nonpublic areas of sensitive locations like schools, health care facilities and child care centers.
CIRC is a collaborative effort between several local and national organizations that work to educate and support immigrant communities.
As part of those efforts, CIRC hosts renewal clinics for people with Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals, or DACA, status, as well as citizenship clinics and “Know Your Rights” presentations.
The desire for those presentations rose dramatically starting in November with over 400 requests, says JuanDavid Garza, a legal services manager at CIRC. This volume of requests is overwhelming but shows a sense of urgency related to the expectation that the “new administration (will) come in swinging,” says Garza.
Garza says the “Know Your Rights” presentations and widespread information is working, citing an interview where Trump’s border czar Tom Homan expressed his frustration with community members knowing and exercising their rights in Chicago. “It’s making it a lot harder for these arrests to happen,” Garza says.
JuanDavid Garza, featured above, presented a “Know Your Rights” workshop on April 12 in Edwards, Colo. with a total of three participants. This is a stark comparison to the online workshops, where Garza says up to 200 people attend. (Kortney Russell, CU News Corps)Demand for legal help still outpaces the resources
Attorneys who have practiced immigration law for years are also stepping up to help out where they can.
Nick Pierce, founder of the nonprofit Amistad Law in Westminster, works primarily with families from Afghanistan including those who were displaced or came to America after the U.S. withdrawal from Kabul in August 2021.
“I feel sometimes neglected in these conversations,” Pierce says, because of his work with the Afghan community.
Amistad Law has completed around 1,800 filings on behalf of Afghans in Colorado, and between 400 and 500 for non-Afghans.
Many of Pierce’s clients are from religious and ethnic minorities and have assisted U.S. military and diplomatic efforts. They are eligible for special immigration visas that allow entry to those who have assisted in U.S. operations abroad.
They hate legal immigrants, I think, more than they hate undocumented people, because legal immigrants have minimum wage protections. Legal immigrants have recourse to the law. … They want people to come without papers to pick strawberries and to never have a pathway to voting.
— Nick Pierce, founder Amistad Law
One of the most difficult conversations Pierce recalls since starting his work in immigration law took place at a community center clinic. A couple approached him — the wife, crying and confused — saying she did not understand. They couldn’t get housing vouchers, work permits, food stamps or Medicaid. They said they had to spend a weekend under a bridge in Aurora with their five kids. The wife thought, after the 20 years her husband dedicated to working for the United States, that the U.S. was on their side — that this was where they were supposed to go.
“I will never forget the look in her eye. It’s the most ashamed I’ve ever been to be an American because she deserved our help, but we were treating her like a criminal,” Pierce says.
This was in 2023.
Pierce’s nonprofit won the asylum case for the family of seven in May 2024. Only then were they entitled to government assistance and the work permits they needed to make money and move into an apartment. Their journey is not yet over.
In March, the Trump administration issued an executive order pausing the processing of green cards for people who have been granted asylum by the deportation court. For these families, permanent residency seems even further out of reach.
“There’s a high degree of insecurity in their current circumstance, because they have legal permission to remain and work in the United States, but Trump is interfering with their ability to step up into the next phase, and then to put themselves into a permanent — as the name implies — a permanent relationship with the United States, where this will become their forever home, so long as they want it to be,” Pierce says.
At his Amistad Law office, Nick Pierce fields daily walk-ins while managing a large caseload. Pierce acknowledges that the need for legal representation is far greater than his current capacity. “I’m turning away so many people, it’s breaking my heart every day,” he says. (Kortney Russell, CU News Corps)Among the other groups that step up to fill the gap in legal representation for immigrants is the Colorado Asylum Center.
Every Thursday and Friday, up to 30 people gather in a community resource center lobby to learn about asylum. These clinics, hosted by Christina Brown’s nonprofit, the Colorado Asylum Center, support noncitizens trying to navigate the asylum process but cannot afford attorneys.
Brown and her volunteers sit down with attendees asking about their stories. By understanding why they left their home country and whether they were persecuted, harmed, or mistreated, volunteers advise them on their eligibility for asylum.
Those who do not have legal representation may not understand the intricacies this process. For instance, if a trial attorney asks a noncitizen whether they were persecuted because they are part of a particular social group, they likely won’t understand the burden of proof for this claim. This is why having an attorney is so important. Attorneys are trained to articulate and tell somebody’s story based on the relevant context.
In addition to her nonprofit, Brown has a private immigration law practice. She recently had a client who was called in for an ICE check-in after being charged with driving without a license. “I could tell you a year ago what would happen in a case like this, but right now, I can’t tell you anything at all because I have no idea.”
While Brown is doing what she can, she acknowledges that the demand for legal assistance outpaces the available resources. To address this challenge, Brown’s stance is that people should contribute however they can.
“I am devastated about what’s happening in detention. I am super angry too, and I want to be there. But I don’t have all the skills that make me the best person to defend people in the detention setting right now. I have the best skills to help people apply for asylum,” she says.
I’ve been representing asylum seekers for 12 years under various administrations, and it’s always been pretty terrible. They’ve always been the scapegoat for literally every politician who needs a punching bag.
— Christina Brown, founder of the Colorado Asylum Center
As organizations continue to push back, some wonder if it will be enough. Attorneys and advocates agree that the future is hazy.
Trump’s goal of deporting millions is “logistically impossible,” says Chapin, the CU law professor. “What they’re trying to do is ramp it up, which is why you’re hearing about military bases being opened to accommodate people.”
Buckley Space Force Base in Aurora has been opened by military officials for ICE to process and temporarily hold detained noncitizens. This decision drew scrutiny from community organizations and U.S. Rep. Jason Crow, a Democrat whose 6th District includes the base. (Kortney Russell, CU News Corps)“Are we willing and ready as Americans to witness long term members of our communities pulled out of their homes and placed in facilities? I think across the political divide, Americans right now have a much higher tolerance to witness cruelty like that,” Chapin says.
Legal teams and organizations continue to navigate the overwhelming demand for legal aid, while immigration enforcement efforts remain in flux. Resources are stretched thin, and the political outlook offers no clear solutions.
Brown sums it up in stark terms: “Saying it’s going to get worse before it gets better is true, but better is years from now, and it doesn’t apply to everyone, right? It applies to people who survive this unscathed, which I don’t know if that would be anyone.”
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