IMPACT OF OUR WORK: “My journey from Immigrant to Immigrant Advocate”
by I-ARC’s Policy and Advocacy Manager, Funmi Akinnawonu
My parents were born and raised in Nigeria, and moved to the United Kingdom in their twenties. One of my earliest memories is the swearing in ceremony where they became British citizens. I was too young to grasp the significance, so for me, this was a quiet, unremarkable moment where I sat in an office with my family.
In hindsight, however, this was a huge moment in my family’s history - I did not yet understand how much work it took for my parents to reach this milestone, or what it meant for my siblings and me. We were born in the UK, which, unlike America, does not guarantee citizenship to those born on its soil. I did not find out until I was older that my siblings and I were registered as British citizens only because of my parents' swearing in ceremony, which was also my first exposure to any immigration system or its processes. At the time, I only witnessed the ceremonial portion, but I would soon learn much more, particularly in moving to America, where I began to understand immigration as both a life-changing experience and a complex governmental process.
When I was seven, my family moved from London, England to Queens, New York. We eventually settled on Long Island, and except for a couple of years living in Alabama, this is where I spent the remainder of my childhood. In America, probably because I was older, I was more aware of the difficulties of navigating the immigration system. I remember my dad reading immigration law and trying to make the right decisions for our family. I remember the times when people tried to exploit him or threaten his immigration status. My father would use his knowledge of immigration law, and the support of his network of fellow immigrants, particularly fellow Nigerians, to assert his rights as an immigrant. The attempts to exploit my father, in part, defined how I thought of my identity as an immigrant, viewing it both as a point of pride and a vulnerability - one which people could try to exploit if you did not have substantive knowledge of immigration law, or access to those that did.
By my final year of college, I was eligible for U.S. citizenship. Since I was over 18, I applied individually for naturalization, sat for a citizenship test administered by an US Citizenship and Immigration Services (USCIS) employee, and then, almost 14 years after arriving in the U.S., I was sworn in as a U.S. citizen.
At the time, I felt excited (mostly to be able to vote!) but I also felt less vulnerable. No one could use deportation as a threat against me like they did against my father. While I knew my family’s pathway to citizenship was stressful, in many ways it was privileged: one of my greatest privileges was never ending up in deportation proceedings.
A few years later, I was in law school and I decided to work in my school’s immigration clinic. Our clinic took on humanitarian-based immigration cases for low-income litigants, particularly those who were unlikely to find representation elsewhere because of unfavorable facts in their cases. I worked on Asylum, Withholding of Removal, and Special Immigrant Juvenile Status cases. Then in the summer of 2019 while working as a criminal justice reform legal extern, in the Jackson, Mississippi Office of the Southern Poverty Law Center (SPLC), I was given an opportunity to visit the SPLC’s Special Immigrant Freedom Initiative (SIFI) site sandwiched between the LaSalle and Pine Prairie ICE detention facilities in rural Louisiana. SIFI sites are designed to provide immigration legal services to individuals in ICE facilities located in the rural south, where there are few immigration lawyers but several ICE detention facilities and immigration courts. It was there that I visited an immigration court for the first time.
I visited the Oakdale Immigration Court in Oakdale, Louisiana. It was a small facility and on the day that my fellow externs and I arrived, there was only one judge present and he was conducting an asylum case. Under U.S. asylum law, foreign nationals already in the United States or arriving at the border can be granted immigration status and allowed to remain in the U.S. if they meet the international law definition of a refugee, meaning a person who is unable or unwilling to return to his or her home country due to past persecution or a well-founded fear of being persecuted in the future on account of race, religion, nationality, membership in a particular social group, or political opinion.
We had to ask permission from the asylum applicant to view their case, since individual hearings are not open to the public. It was a very short and incredibly sad proceeding. The asylum seeker was unrepresented and the judge denied his claim, citing insufficient evidence to support it. As a person who was detained and unrepresented, he was destined to fail.
Based on my own experiences, and my experience in Louisiana, after law school I decided to pursue an immigrant-advocacy path, working as a legal fellow for a year on humanitarian-based immigration cases, then starting my position at Immigrant ARC (I-ARC), now in a position to advocate for changes in immigration law and policy.
On August 4, 2022, I visited a New York immigration court for the first time to observe master calendar hearings, which are the immigration court equivalent of an arraignment in criminal court. This is where charges that triggered the deportation proceedings are read, though this can be waived by the immigrant or their attorney, and the immigrant who is in danger of being deported can enter their pleadings. Unlike individual hearing, these are open to the public. I went to 26 Federal Plaza in downtown Manhattan, a large complex that houses several federal agencies, including both an immigration court and a United States Citizenship and Immigration Services Field Office.
When I went to 26 Federal Plaza for the first time, I arrived around 8:30 am with my I-ARC colleagues, and there was a line wrapping around the building. It was a sweltering hot day, even at that relatively early time in the morning, and people were holding drinks and using umbrellas to shield themselves from the sun. It was not apparent to me whether or not I needed to stand in this line.
After speaking with a guard, we realized this was the line to enter USCIS and that the people waiting more than likely had ICE check-in appointments. These are mandatory check in appointments, and if a person misses an ICE check-in, it could have serious consequences for the immigration case; for example, a person who has immigration status that allows them to remain in the U.S. could be placed in deportation proceedings and be eligible for removal from the United States. We entered the building and were able to go to the 12th floor to view each judge’s docket, listed on the wall, so we could select a courtroom.
So why was I entering immigration court to observe the proceedings? It was the first day of I-ARC’s most recent court observation project, which was launched in response to legal service providers and mutual aid organizations receiving immigration documents through the mail for individuals whom they have never met. These documents included Notices to Appear in immigration court.
What’s frightening about this problem is that there is often no way to find these individuals to whom the notices are supposed to go, which means that they will not know about their court dates. Then, if they miss their court dates or ICE check-in appointments, they’re in danger of being issued a deportation order in absentia, which is one of the major issues that court observers have been able to document as part of the problem with the major lines of people outside of 26 Federal Plaza, all waiting to get in and delayed in doing so.
Now that we’re a few months into this project, there are coalitions advocating to address the issues surrounding the erroneous address issue as well as the long lines at the immigration courts - but there is no quick solution to any of this, and the problem is ongoing. The consequences for those who are not able to get into this court or never receive their immigration documents can be catastrophic. I am glad to play a role in addressing these issues.
My job is to advocate for immigrant New Yorkers like me, and those more vulnerable than I have ever been. Every immigrant has a story and deserves support as they navigate this complex system.
