“You are Not Welcome Here”
About the Author: Brian Betcone was a mentee of Dr. Kristin Yarris. 2023 Graduate of Global Studies and Global Health program at the University of Oregon and a former legal operations assistant for Equity Corps of Oregon, a nonprofit coalition seeking to provide free, universal immigration court representation for asylum seekers in Oregon.
Abstract: Immigration court’s hostility often appears quietly in missing interpreters, rushed instructions, and polite indifference.
Keywords: Portland, interpretation, asylum, quiet hostility
Citation
Betcone, Brian. 2026. ““You are Not Welcome Here”.” Semi-Structured (Washington, D.C.), On Ethnographic Witnessing: Student Encounters with Immigration Court, vol. 1 (3). https://doi.org/10.57912/34050549
As a senior in college at the University of Oregon, Dr. Kristin Yarris would drive a group of my classmates and me in the early morning two hours from Eugene to Portland Immigration Court. Our commute paled in comparison to the difficulties that asylum seekers face by the immigration court system.
One asylum seeker at her first Master Calendar Hearing (MCH) sticks in my mind. This hearing was the woman's first contact with the immigration court system, the first of what would likely be a multiyear process of more master calendar hearings and a final "individual hearing" where her asylum claim would be decided. MCH are purportedly intended to be a time to explain to applicants their "rights and responsibilities" while they are in removal proceedings.
One of those responsibilities is attendance at MCH, a responsibility that this applicant took seriously. She had arrived early, dressed very nicely in a white ironed blouse and black shirt, and was attentive to the directions from the judge. At the very start of the proceeding, she let the judge know that, like many other Indigenous Guatemalan immigrants in Oregon, she spoke Mam. The judge, unable to secure a Mam interpreter over the phone after making a brief, half-hearted attempt, proceeded with the MCH using a Spanish interpreter even though the woman made it clear immediately that she had a very limited understanding of Spanish.
The policy manual that governs immigration court states, "Interpreters are provided at government expense to individuals whose command of the English language is inadequate to fully understand and participate in removal proceedings.” By using a Spanish interpreter, the judge was clearly not facilitating “full understanding.” The Spanish-language interpreter explained that a Mam interpreter was not available just as she was thrown into a whirlwind of proceedings.
The judge then rapidly explained that she needed to do an E-33 Change of Address form. This form was essential so that she would receive her notice for her next hearing. If she failed to appear in court, she would run the risk of a deportation order. The woman's confused facial expression indicated she did not understand. Nonetheless the judge swiftly dismissed her from his courtroom.
Dr. Yarris, my classmates, and I followed the woman down to the lobby and tried to clarify what the judge had neglected to explain to her. We showed her the E-33 form and tried to explain the sections she needed to fill out. She was appreciative and thanked us for trying to help.
I would come to understand later, when I began working for the Equity Corps of Oregon’s Universal Representation program, that what we witnessed that day was only the tip of the iceberg. Many Indigenous language speakers from across the Americas have similar experiences when they request interpretation in Q’anjob’al, K’iche, Mixteco, or Quechua. Indigenous language interpreters are routinely difficult to find, and hearings are often conducted in Spanish irrespective of the respondents’ fluency in Spanish.
The court’s failure to fulfill its responsibilities to the applicants – who themselves take their responsibilities to the court very seriously – is consistent with the modus operandi of the entire immigration legal system. As my classmates and I observed over and over, the system feels deliberately designed to be difficult, confusing, and unwelcoming for asylum seekers. This was true even with respect to the physical infrastructure of the courtroom: there is no water or tea to drink; the court is located on the 5th floor of a very large and confusing building, and there is almost no signage. Each of these details sends the subliminal message: ‘You are not welcome here.’
We hoped our presence as court watchers might communicate the opposite – a message of solidarity. Interestingly, the judge was relatively pleasant towards the asylum seekers, even nice. I decided, however, over the course of those courtwatching sessions that I’d rather the judge have been meticulous, attentive, or even curious instead of nice. Justice is not about being pleasant or agreeable; justice is about being thorough and treating each respondent with patience and respect. Instead, the judge seemed in a rush to get cases off his docket—he sped through explanations, leaving asylum seekers with more questions than answers. The asylum seekers we met did not need performative friendliness; they needed interpreters in their languages and to understand the proceedings. Asylum seekers have a right to an immigration legal system that facilitates their right to a fair process, not one that tries to hinder it every step of the way.
About the issue
This article is part of On Ethnographic Witnessing: Student Encounters with Immigration Court, a special issue of Semi-Structured. This collection features the work of 22 student ethnographers, who offer insights, analysis, and experiences based on hundreds of hours in immigration courtrooms across the country over the last few years. Through their work in observation projects under the direction of scholar-activists Lauren Heidbrink, Amelia Frank-Vitale, and Rebecca Galemba, students gained critical training in ethnographic practice and a crash course in immigration law, especially in the disjunctures between law on the books and law in practice. Understanding that wider audiences would benefit from hearing and learning directly from their students, Heidbrink, Frank-Vitale, and Galemba approached Semi-Structured to steward this thoughtful, ambitious collection. We are honored to run this issue and invite readers to consider what student observers witnessed, felt, and learned in court and why ethnographic observations are important to broader publics.
Semi-Structured is the open-access journal from the Public Ethnography Lab. The journal is dedicated to showcasing ethnography as it unfolds in the world. This journal exists because we believe ethnographic work matters beyond the academy—that the insights generated through sustained engagement with communities, organizations, and institutions can and should inform decisions, shape practices, and drive meaningful change.