Inside immigration court: A Venezuelan man's journey in Manhattan

Kenny Perez sat nervously outside an immigration courtroom in Manhattan while his future was in the hands of a judge inside.

Perez, 41, said he fled Venezuela 18 months ago to escape political persecution under the government of President Nicolas Maduro. Armed supporters of Maduro's regime had kidnapped him, put a hood over his head and driven him on a motorcycle to a remote location, where they beat him badly enough to send him to the hospital, he said.

If the judge approved his application for political asylum, he could stay in the United States permanently and maybe bring his children to Queens, where he has been living with relatives.

If he lost, he could be arrested on the spot and sent back to Venezuela, where he figured he would spend years in prison — or worse.

"I’m afraid," he said in Spanish, both for the judge's decision and what might await him in his homeland.

Perez found himself in one of the major locations in President Donald Trump’s pledge to carry out the largest deportation campaign in U.S. history.

Part of that effort is being conducted in three federal immigration courts in Manhattan, where advocates contend the government is using routine appearances to grab and deport migrants, often taking them by surprise.

The government’s tactic typically is to have the immigrant show up for a regular court hearing or check-in and then dismiss the case. That means the immigrant no longer has any protection. While a case is still being processed — sometimes for years — an immigrant generally cannot be removed from the country.

U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) and other federal agents — often in masks — wait in the court hallways for the next migrant to grab. Advocates wait, too, accompanying the immigrants as they walk down the hall and offering legal advice as they are arrested. The scene is tense and sometimes leads to scuffles.

Advocates say the practice violates the sanctity of the court system, but government officials contend it is an efficient and safer way to deport people living in the country illegally.

On June 20, a hot Friday, in Manhattan, Perez settled into a chair before Judge Lisa Ling and an interpreter in the courtroom at 201 Varick St. The government attorney was to his right.

Bucking the new trend, Ling allowed Perez’s case to proceed.

She interrogated him about his story, while the government lawyer tried to find holes in it. It was unclear which way the decision would go, until Ling announced her ruling.

"I thought he was a credible witness," she said.

Then to Perez what was semi-miraculous: She was granting him political asylum.

Perez’s head slumped as he was overcome with emotion, tears running down his face. When he got outside the courtroom, he dropped to his knees on the tile floor, looking skyward to thank God.

Later, in the afternoon, at 26 Federal Plaza, the government and the judge dismissed a political asylum case involving a man wearing a white shirt with the words "Nothing Impossible" in black. The government said he had entered the country illegally in March 2024, but was now free to leave the courtroom.

A half-dozen advocates swarmed around him as he was leaving and accompanied him down a hallway toward the elevators. Before he got there, ICE agents stepped in.

"I’m an immigration officer, and I’m taking you into custody," one bearded agent said. "I need you to get out of my way," he told the advocates. "I have the authority to interview this individual, who I believe is in the country illegally."

As he waited for the elevator, the man listened while Benjamin Remy, a lawyer from the nonprofit New York Legal Assistance Group, quickly explained his rights in Spanish. Then the man got in with the agents and was gone.