The Trump administration is making it harder for children to secure pro bono lawyers to represent them in deportation proceedings.
ANNANDALE, Virginia — Judge Paul McCloskey scanned a group of immigrant children, none of whom had lawyers present, in his windowless suburban Virginia courtroom this past Thursday.
“Where’s the 7-year-old?” he asked.
The clerk gestured to Moises, a small boy in a wrinkled white button-down shirt and blue pants, and his mother to come forward to make his case.
The U.S. government is trying to deport Moises. Since his young mother is not yet in what are termed “removal proceedings,” Moises has to navigate the immigration courts as an individual.
McCloskey explained Moises’ legal rights and gave him a continuance until Sept. 15 to find an attorney. He directed Moises and his mother to a list of pro bono legal services providers at a table in his courtroom, cautioning that the groups may be very busy.
“Prepare yourself to speak on your behalf,” McCloskey told Moises in a soft but stern tone.
The Trump administration has made it considerably more difficult for Moises — and the eight other children who showed up without legal representation in McCloskey’s courtroom Wednesday and Thursday — to find a lawyer.
The courts, and the lawyers who represent immigrants before the Justice Department’s administrative judges, have been swamped as the Trump administration has ratcheted up its immigration enforcement crackdown. And the U.S. government has been mired in a lengthy contractual dispute with legal services providers representing children who came to the United States by themselves, refusing to pay these nonprofits for months.
That standoff — culminating in the government allowing a contract to expire on July 31 with the main disburser of those funds, the Acacia Center for Justice — has left many organizations in deep financial straits. Some nonprofits have reduced operations and laid off staff.
The administration “is turning a system that was designed for protection on its head to become one that’s really focused on detention and deportation of children,” said Wendy Young, the president of Kids in Need of Defense, one of the largest nonprofit groups representing unaccompanied minors in court.
The funding issue has turned into a drawn-out court battle between the nonprofit groups and the Trump administration. The Department of Health and Human Services has said it is withholding funds because it wants a better accounting from legal services providers about how they are spending federal dollars. The providers argue that would expose sensitive information about their clients and that HHS isn’t honoring its contractual obligations.
Last week, a federal judge in Oakland, California, ordered the government to disperse the Acacia Center funds by Friday at noon. On Friday, HHS said in a court filing that Acacia would have access to that funding as early as Monday for work dating back to December 2025.
Some other funding for future legal services is also coming. HHS has announced two funding agreements — for $150 million and $20 million — to provide legal services in certain locations.
But the backlog is already having a real impact in the courtroom, including in cases that may be closed by the time more funding makes it to these groups. And legal services groups are unsure how quickly they can recover, or whether they will have access to any of that new funding.
One of the two pro bono providers listed on the sheet McCloskey gave to Moises is the Amica Center for Justice, one of the main plaintiffs in litigation against the government to restore funding. Another, Restoration Immigration Legal Aid, is a small organization with only a handful of lawyers.
The White House referred a request for comment to HHS, which said in a statement that its Office of Refugee Resettlement continues to “pursue all avenues to provide legal services for Unaccompanied Alien Children” and remains “committed to ensuring every UAC has legal representation in immigration court.”
The Justice Department’s Executive Office of Immigration Review, which administers the nation’s immigration courts, declined to make McCloskey available for an interview and stated that it does not comment on the cases before it.
A number of attorneys who tried cases in McCloskey’s courtroom during the two days a POLITICO reporter sat in on proceedings shared just how strained they are as caseloads continue to climb — and how unsustainable their operations are becoming.
Watch: The Conversation
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Dasha Burns presses Mike Johnson on the economy, Iran and Trump's agenda
Sofia Lorenzo, an attorney for KIND, represented a middle schooler named Sergio in a Thursday afternoon hearing. She asked McCloskey for more time, given that her organization is experiencing funding issues and will furlough staff at the end of the month.
KIND had been a major Acacia subcontractor, but withdrew earlier this year amid the funding battle with the Office of Refugee Resettlement; it is $27 million in debt.
Other lawyers in McCloskey’s courtroom last week said they could not accept the first dates the judge offered for future hearings, noting considerable caseloads and that they had multiple hearings in person and online in various jurisdictions over the next few weeks and months. McCloskey offered some rescheduling flexibility but granted few of the longer continuances the attorneys requested.
The hearings of children without lawyers present were remarkably different in tone, tenor and speed from the three dozen others McCloskey heard in those two days.
McCloskey sped through the hearings with lawyers with some ease, taking motions and quickly getting explanations from the attorneys about timelines for future applications and evidentiary submissions. But he had to slow down for the children without lawyers to ensure they understood their rights.
In Moises’ case, his mother tried her best to answer the judge’s yes or no questions through the interpreter, sounding nervous. The 7-year-old boy focused on sitting still as his proceedings went on, only occasionally shifting in the black leather chair. His hair at times bobbed up and down as he adjusted in his seat.
Moises didn’t speak during the hearing except to confirm his name.
POLITICO is withholding the children’s last names to protect their privacy. Moises’ mother — who did not give her age but looked to be in her early 20s — gave her name at the beginning of the proceedings, but so faintly that it couldn’t be heard further back in the courtroom.
Translation was another factor. Some children before McCloskey spoke at least some English, but the judge opted to use an interpreter to ensure they all understood what was being asked.
That, however, led to lags, especially at times when the judge, the interpreter and the children and their parents needed to repeat themselves for clarity of the legal record and the proceedings. The parents also often spoke limited English.
By contrast, nearly all the proceedings involving an immigration lawyer did not require translation. Only in a few of those instances, when DHS wanted to ask clarifying questions of the child, did the judge have to rely on an interpreter.
When issues with translation came up with the unrepresented minors, there was no lawyer to insist on more clarity.
At one point, the POLITICO reporter in the room noticed the interpreter misunderstood one of the children.
Veronica, a 17-year-old from Honduras who appeared in court Wednesday, said in Spanish that she had not obtained a Special Immigrant Juvenile Status visa, but her sister — who was in the same situation as she — had. The interpreter, who was attending the hearing remotely, translated that as Veronica saying that her sister had a birth certificate and she did not.
Veronica, who lives with her aunt, had no family member present at the hearing. The girl came from Virginia Beach, roughly 200 miles away, accompanied by an older white woman. The woman declined to provide her name, but did say she was a volunteer with the DMV Accompaniment Network, a Washington-area volunteer organization whose members go with immigrants to court appearances and check-ins with Immigration and Customs Enforcement.
McCloskey flagged potential inconsistencies in Veronica’s argument. When he asked her about the circumstances of her entry to the U.S., she said she crossed the border on a different date than the government had alleged. There was also ambiguity about the country of her birth since she testified she was born in a Salvadoran hospital but grew up in Honduras near the border between both countries.
McCloskey gave her a few more weeks to find a lawyer, noting that her statements were “all over the place” and that Veronica’s aunt was gathering the funds to pay for her representation.
The judge gave continuances to two other underage migrants, Diego and Alison, so that the court could process their asylum applications. Neither provided their age but they appeared to be in middle school or high school.
Another teenager, Mariana, was less lucky. The girl and her mother, through an interpreter, had expressed that they were unable to find a lawyer. McCloskey opted to proceed.
He adjudicated Mariana’s asylum claims in minutes, finding that there was not enough “credible fear” in her and her mother’s argument that as women living alone they would be at risk of rape and sexual violence in El Salvador for him to grant asylum.
McCloskey ordered Mariana deported back to El Salvador.
Mariana’s mother, who is not yet in removal proceedings, said she would appeal the decision.
McCloskey’s clerk gave the two the necessary forms to file an appeal and the judge counseled the two that churches in the area often help immigrants fill out the paperwork in English.
“Good luck to you both,” McCloskey said to the girl and her mother as they exited the courtroom.
“Where’s the 7-year-old?” he asked.
The clerk gestured to Moises, a small boy in a wrinkled white button-down shirt and blue pants, and his mother to come forward to make his case.
The U.S. government is trying to deport Moises. Since his young mother is not yet in what are termed “removal proceedings,” Moises has to navigate the immigration courts as an individual.
McCloskey explained Moises’ legal rights and gave him a continuance until Sept. 15 to find an attorney. He directed Moises and his mother to a list of pro bono legal services providers at a table in his courtroom, cautioning that the groups may be very busy.
“Prepare yourself to speak on your behalf,” McCloskey told Moises in a soft but stern tone.
The Trump administration has made it considerably more difficult for Moises — and the eight other children who showed up without legal representation in McCloskey’s courtroom Wednesday and Thursday — to find a lawyer.
The courts, and the lawyers who represent immigrants before the Justice Department’s administrative judges, have been swamped as the Trump administration has ratcheted up its immigration enforcement crackdown. And the U.S. government has been mired in a lengthy contractual dispute with legal services providers representing children who came to the United States by themselves, refusing to pay these nonprofits for months.
That standoff — culminating in the government allowing a contract to expire on July 31 with the main disburser of those funds, the Acacia Center for Justice — has left many organizations in deep financial straits. Some nonprofits have reduced operations and laid off staff.
The administration “is turning a system that was designed for protection on its head to become one that’s really focused on detention and deportation of children,” said Wendy Young, the president of Kids in Need of Defense, one of the largest nonprofit groups representing unaccompanied minors in court.
The funding issue has turned into a drawn-out court battle between the nonprofit groups and the Trump administration. The Department of Health and Human Services has said it is withholding funds because it wants a better accounting from legal services providers about how they are spending federal dollars. The providers argue that would expose sensitive information about their clients and that HHS isn’t honoring its contractual obligations.
Last week, a federal judge in Oakland, California, ordered the government to disperse the Acacia Center funds by Friday at noon. On Friday, HHS said in a court filing that Acacia would have access to that funding as early as Monday for work dating back to December 2025.
Some other funding for future legal services is also coming. HHS has announced two funding agreements — for $150 million and $20 million — to provide legal services in certain locations.
But the backlog is already having a real impact in the courtroom, including in cases that may be closed by the time more funding makes it to these groups. And legal services groups are unsure how quickly they can recover, or whether they will have access to any of that new funding.
One of the two pro bono providers listed on the sheet McCloskey gave to Moises is the Amica Center for Justice, one of the main plaintiffs in litigation against the government to restore funding. Another, Restoration Immigration Legal Aid, is a small organization with only a handful of lawyers.
The White House referred a request for comment to HHS, which said in a statement that its Office of Refugee Resettlement continues to “pursue all avenues to provide legal services for Unaccompanied Alien Children” and remains “committed to ensuring every UAC has legal representation in immigration court.”
The Justice Department’s Executive Office of Immigration Review, which administers the nation’s immigration courts, declined to make McCloskey available for an interview and stated that it does not comment on the cases before it.
A number of attorneys who tried cases in McCloskey’s courtroom during the two days a POLITICO reporter sat in on proceedings shared just how strained they are as caseloads continue to climb — and how unsustainable their operations are becoming.
Watch: The Conversation
Dasha Burns presses Mike Johnson on the economy, Iran and Trump's agenda
37:20
Dasha Burns presses Mike Johnson on the economy, Iran and Trump's agenda
Sofia Lorenzo, an attorney for KIND, represented a middle schooler named Sergio in a Thursday afternoon hearing. She asked McCloskey for more time, given that her organization is experiencing funding issues and will furlough staff at the end of the month.
KIND had been a major Acacia subcontractor, but withdrew earlier this year amid the funding battle with the Office of Refugee Resettlement; it is $27 million in debt.
Other lawyers in McCloskey’s courtroom last week said they could not accept the first dates the judge offered for future hearings, noting considerable caseloads and that they had multiple hearings in person and online in various jurisdictions over the next few weeks and months. McCloskey offered some rescheduling flexibility but granted few of the longer continuances the attorneys requested.
The hearings of children without lawyers present were remarkably different in tone, tenor and speed from the three dozen others McCloskey heard in those two days.
McCloskey sped through the hearings with lawyers with some ease, taking motions and quickly getting explanations from the attorneys about timelines for future applications and evidentiary submissions. But he had to slow down for the children without lawyers to ensure they understood their rights.
In Moises’ case, his mother tried her best to answer the judge’s yes or no questions through the interpreter, sounding nervous. The 7-year-old boy focused on sitting still as his proceedings went on, only occasionally shifting in the black leather chair. His hair at times bobbed up and down as he adjusted in his seat.
Moises didn’t speak during the hearing except to confirm his name.
POLITICO is withholding the children’s last names to protect their privacy. Moises’ mother — who did not give her age but looked to be in her early 20s — gave her name at the beginning of the proceedings, but so faintly that it couldn’t be heard further back in the courtroom.
Translation was another factor. Some children before McCloskey spoke at least some English, but the judge opted to use an interpreter to ensure they all understood what was being asked.
That, however, led to lags, especially at times when the judge, the interpreter and the children and their parents needed to repeat themselves for clarity of the legal record and the proceedings. The parents also often spoke limited English.
By contrast, nearly all the proceedings involving an immigration lawyer did not require translation. Only in a few of those instances, when DHS wanted to ask clarifying questions of the child, did the judge have to rely on an interpreter.
When issues with translation came up with the unrepresented minors, there was no lawyer to insist on more clarity.
At one point, the POLITICO reporter in the room noticed the interpreter misunderstood one of the children.
Veronica, a 17-year-old from Honduras who appeared in court Wednesday, said in Spanish that she had not obtained a Special Immigrant Juvenile Status visa, but her sister — who was in the same situation as she — had. The interpreter, who was attending the hearing remotely, translated that as Veronica saying that her sister had a birth certificate and she did not.
Veronica, who lives with her aunt, had no family member present at the hearing. The girl came from Virginia Beach, roughly 200 miles away, accompanied by an older white woman. The woman declined to provide her name, but did say she was a volunteer with the DMV Accompaniment Network, a Washington-area volunteer organization whose members go with immigrants to court appearances and check-ins with Immigration and Customs Enforcement.
McCloskey flagged potential inconsistencies in Veronica’s argument. When he asked her about the circumstances of her entry to the U.S., she said she crossed the border on a different date than the government had alleged. There was also ambiguity about the country of her birth since she testified she was born in a Salvadoran hospital but grew up in Honduras near the border between both countries.
McCloskey gave her a few more weeks to find a lawyer, noting that her statements were “all over the place” and that Veronica’s aunt was gathering the funds to pay for her representation.
The judge gave continuances to two other underage migrants, Diego and Alison, so that the court could process their asylum applications. Neither provided their age but they appeared to be in middle school or high school.
Another teenager, Mariana, was less lucky. The girl and her mother, through an interpreter, had expressed that they were unable to find a lawyer. McCloskey opted to proceed.
He adjudicated Mariana’s asylum claims in minutes, finding that there was not enough “credible fear” in her and her mother’s argument that as women living alone they would be at risk of rape and sexual violence in El Salvador for him to grant asylum.
McCloskey ordered Mariana deported back to El Salvador.
Mariana’s mother, who is not yet in removal proceedings, said she would appeal the decision.
McCloskey’s clerk gave the two the necessary forms to file an appeal and the judge counseled the two that churches in the area often help immigrants fill out the paperwork in English.
“Good luck to you both,” McCloskey said to the girl and her mother as they exited the courtroom.