Beatriz, a Venezuelan-American lawyer, advocates for unaccompanied minors facing immigration proceedings, navigating challenges posed by recent federal policies that threaten their legal representation.
In February 2025, Beatriz, a Venezuelan-American lawyer, received an unexpected order from the Interior Department directing her nonprofit organization to cease all operations. This directive significantly impacted her work representing unaccompanied minors—children navigating immigration proceedings without their parents.
These vulnerable youngsters often find themselves in precarious situations, living with relatives, placed in foster care, or held in detention centers. Many are as young as Beatriz was when she immigrated to the United States at the age of eight, fleeing violence and political persecution in Venezuela with her family.
Having witnessed her parents struggle through numerous meetings with immigration lawyers, Beatriz pursued a legal career to leverage her experiences in helping others. “I know how terrifying it is to be a child, alone and unable to speak English, trying to deal with authority figures,” she reflects. “That’s why I became a lawyer, to bring some empathy to that process.” Today, Beatriz is a proud U.S. citizen.
The sudden stop-work order disrupted her mission. “It came completely out of the blue—suddenly, everything changed,” Beatriz recalls. The cancellation of federal contracts forced organizations like hers to downsize, leaving those who remained to manage an overwhelming workload. “For those of us left, it was all hands on deck,” she adds.
Although the stop-work order was later lifted, legal disputes over the canceled contracts continue. The immediate fallout, however, has been severe. “In practical terms, it left children without anybody to advocate for them,” Beatriz explains. While barred from providing direct assistance, she and her colleagues attended immigration hearings to observe and take notes. In one particularly heart-wrenching case, Beatriz witnessed a confused six-year-old appear in court without any legal representation. “These young children are being brought to immigration hearings—speaking no English, and without a lawyer—to try to explain why they shouldn’t be deported,” she laments.
Compounding the challenges, immigration courts have increasingly adopted “rocket dockets,” scheduling multiple hearings in a single day. “They started fast-tracking kids through the system at a time when we weren’t able to accompany them,” Beatriz notes. “It’s just been an onslaught of attacks, specifically targeting unaccompanied children.”
Beatriz has also observed the chaos in children’s lives caused by the detention of their caregivers by Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE). Some of her young clients have been placed in detention or the foster care system, while in other instances, the government has withheld information about the whereabouts of caregivers. “It’s something none of my superiors—including people who worked during Trump’s first term—have ever experienced before,” she states.
The impact of these policies is evident in the anxiety experienced by the children Beatriz serves. Many are now afraid to attend school or even leave their homes. “So much of my job is now simply dealing with anxious kids,” she explains. “Pretty much every one of these children has a deep sense that the U.S. is no longer a safe place for them.”
This pervasive fear extends beyond the children to Beatriz’s entire community. Even before the Trump administration canceled Temporary Protected Status for approximately 350,000 Venezuelans, her WhatsApp groups were filled with messages from individuals whose loved ones had vanished from their neighborhoods. “I have friends who are scared to step onto the street,” she shares. “The demonization of my culture and my community is really hurtful, and really harmful.”
As discussions about denaturalizing or deporting U.S. citizens to foreign prisons and eliminating due process for migrants circulate, Beatriz worries for the safety of her own family, all of whom are now American citizens. “We worked hard to get citizenship, but there’s a real fear that even that won’t protect us,” she says. “For Venezuelans, the feelings of insecurity are always present. It really weighs heavily on us.”
Source: Original article