Dehumanization and Confusion: How the System Manipulates Language to Exclude Individuals From Their Own Hearings
About the Author: Jennifer Gutierrez Marquez is a Master of Public Policy candidate at the Josef Korbel School of Global and Public Affairs at the University of Denver. She is a student researcher on the Court Transparency Project with Professor Rebecca Galemba.
Abstract: This account uses the ethnographer's bilingual experiences to detail how language can be used as a tool of exclusion, confusion, and dehumanization in the immigration system. It details general patterns seen in translation that omit or misconstrued prevalent information in immigration cases that have large implications on individuals' futures. Additionally, it presents a specific example observed at the GEO Aurora Detention Facility of how language can be used to exclude and dehumanize individuals.
Keywords: interpretation, asylum, quiet hostility
Citation
Marquez Gutierrez, Jenni. 2026. “Dehumanization and Confusion: How the System Manipulates Language to Exclude Individuals From Their Own Hearings.” Semi-Structured (Washington, D.C.), On Ethnographic Witnessing: Student Encounters with Immigration Court, vol. 1 (3). https://doi.org/10.57912/34113306
Ethnographic Witnessing Reflection:
From a young age, I accompanied my parents to their meetings with immigration attorneys and attended their immigration court hearings. During these experiences, I often served as their translator; even if one was provided to them, I helped clarify any communication that lacked dialect accuracy or that I noticed was omitted in the translation. Growing up with this bilingual experience has made me attuned to listening to the nuances of English-to-Spanish translations in the courtroom, specifically noting what is and is not translated and how certain terms or phrases are interpreted. With my unique approach to listening to translations, I’ve been able to identify patterns of language being used as a means of exclusion, confusion, and dehumanization even when adequate interpretation is provided.
For one, translations are not guaranteed to be precise or accurate, leaving room for confusion. For instance, I’ve seen Spanish interpreters use “Notice to Appear” (NTA) and “Notice of Hearing” (NOH) interchangeably, even though they refer to two distinct documents. A NTA is the charging document that starts potential removal proceedings, while a NOH is a memo that provides information on the next court date (U.S. Department of Justice, n.d.). Therefore, using the two interchangeably confuses individuals facing removal proceedings because if the judge is asking something regarding the NTA, they are seeking an answer to fundamental legal charges and facts of the case, and if a translator instead asks about an NOH, then the individual may accidentally admit to or waive their legal right to challenge incorrect charges.
Another persistent issue arises from judges’ questions about whether respondents are victims of a crime, which are meant to evaluate their eligibility for asylum and other forms of relief. However, through translation, it often sounds as if the judge is asking whether the person committed a crime instead of being a victim of a crime. Additionally, the term “crime” is often ambiguous and unclear. Therefore, individuals tend either to miss an opportunity to establish eligibility for relief or inappropriately incriminate themselves under a misunderstanding of the question.
Moreover, there are times when interpretation is denied or disregarded, which excludes and dehumanizes people who are actively attempting to fight their case. I have frequently observed judges not only ask respondents’ attorneys if they waive interpretation; sometimes, judges even insist on this when arguments become complex or extended beyond a few phrases. Worsening this dehumanization, it is rare that I witnessed attorneys actively advocate for live or consecutive interpretation, despite the resource being at their fingertips. Without simultaneous interpretation, respondents are left with only a summary translation at the end of the hearing. A summary translation
gives the respondent an abbreviated recap of what was discussed rather than a word-for-word rendering; they usually recap only what the judge decided and/or the next steps for the respondent. It doesn’t explain how the judge or their counsel arrived at that decision, the evidence presented, or whether there is a way to appeal or continue their case, meaning that respondents are excluded from the actual conversations about their livelihoods. All of these practices ultimately strip individuals of their autonomy and voice in their cases, reducing them to a case number being moved through a docket system rather than recognizing them as human beings. These practices blur the lines of case accuracy. They not only minimize their voices but also invalidate their expertise and lived experiences, raising questions about which facts of a respondent's case are actually being entered into the court record. Waiving interpretation on the record treats a person’s life and liberty as a mere checkbox rather than upholding true due process. It creates an illusion of fair treatment, sustained by the hope that their counsel is on their side and will advocate for them.
One particular hearing I observed on April 16th, 2026, highlights how interpretation can generate confusion and intensify the dehumanization of detained immigrants. On this day, I was observing a morning docket at the GEO Detention Facility in Aurora, Colorado. The cases were proceeding as usual. The interpreter and the judge were both appearing via Webex, which created persistent audio difficulties. Whenever the judge spoke, any sound from their end would overpower the interpreter’s audio, causing the interpreter’s voice to cut out mid-translation. This resulted in the judge opting for a summary translation at times or, when needed, a consecutive interpretation, where the speaker pauses so the interpreter can translate. This continued throughout the day, as both parties continued to unintentionally speak over one another. This left gaps in the interpretation, making it difficult for everyone to follow the conversations and exacerbating the exclusion, confusion, and dehumanization of the respondent.
Tom (pseudonym) was the last respondent of the judge’s morning docket, and his hearing was called up at 10:00am. Tom said his attorney would join via Webex, but the attorney had not yet appeared. When the judge checked the schedule, he saw that the hearing was officially set for 10:30am, so we waited, and the attorney logged on at 10:30am. Upon joining, the attorney was adamant that he was unprepared for the case because he had received new updates and requests from Tom's wife that same morning. He asked for time to speak to Tom privately, and the judge allowed this. The judge exited the physical courtroom he was in via Webex, meaning he was no longer present on the call. The attorney remained connected on Webex, speaking to Tom, but the conversation wasn’t private. Everyone else in the courtroom, including me, the guard, and the interpreter, was listening to their conversation unfold.
Tom’s attorney spoke fluent Spanish; he began conversing with Tom with such ease that there even seemed to be a smooth understanding of Tom’s dialect– some words/phrases were translated in a more accessible manner than I had heard previously.
The initial communication between Tom's attorney and the judge was not translated, so Tom did not have a clear understanding of what had been discussed. Once in their “private” conversation, , Tom’s attorney gave him a very surface-level summary of what had just happened, giving Tom the impression that his attorney had merely requested additional time to discuss a request made earlier by Tom's wife regarding the next steps in his case.
The attorney clarified what Tom and his wife wanted to do: cancel the voluntary departure request and instead try to file a habeas corpus petition to see if Tom could get a bond hearing. Tom confirmed this is what he wanted and noted that so many others had been able to secure release because of a habeas corpus petition. Tom’s attorney looked frustrated and annoyed, explaining that he couldn’t simply change the voluntary departure (VD) request; he reiterated that the judge would be looking for an answer on how to proceed with the VD request. The attorney was very skeptical about the possibility of successfully obtaining a habeas corpus. He went on to explain that Tom's wife had brought to light a history of criminal activity that hadn't been fully disclosed, and Tom’s manner of entry into the U.S. contradicted what he had previously stated, meaning a habeas corpus petition could be out of reach and getting a bond granted was even more unlikely.
Tom and his attorney were at a standstill, with sighs and hands pressed against cheeks. Tom’s attorney explained that if he really wanted to do this instead of the initial VD plan, they could try, but that he would need to remove himself from Tom’s case on record in order to grant them about a two-week extension rather than asking for a continuance in the case, which would only grant them a few days. Tom resisted this idea, confused about why his attorney had to remove himself from his case and what that meant for him. Tom flooded his attorney with questions about why and whether he would need to seek out new counsel and pay more money. Tom’s attorney assured him it was merely a legal move to get more time to sort their case out. Hesitantly, Tom agreed, and the judge returned on camera via Webex.
The case was officially back on record, and immediately Tom’s attorney waived interpretation. I expected Tom’s attorney to go on the record to remove himself as Tom’s counsel. But what I didn’t expect was for his attorney to call Tom a liar and point out inconsistencies and deception in his history and personal accounts. Because the attorney had waived interpretation, Tom had no idea that his attorney was questioning his character directly to the judge. The judge asked the attorney if they could use interpretation to get Tom on record confirming his attorney’s removal. The judge then asked if Tom was aware and okay with the attorney withdrawing himself from his case, and this was all translated correctly. Tom answered that he really did not want this, but this is what he was advised, so he confirmed. The judge then had the translator ask if he wanted to represent himself in his hearing today or if he would like his hearing to be continued and have time to find new counsel. Tom simply said, “Continued.” The judge then turned to the attorney and asked if there was anything further, and the attorney said no. The attorney said he would ensure that whoever took over the case had all of his information, but again, this wasn’t translated. The attorney thus communicated to the judge and the record that he would no longer help Tom despite the promise he had made to Tom in Spanish. Tom looked confused when he stood up and pulled away from the table.
I seemed to witness two very different scenarios in Tom's case. On one hand, I saw him and his attorney interact and develop a plan of action. Then very quickly, I observed this entire plan disintegrate, leaving little optimism for his future. He was excluded from his own hearing, despite being present, which dehumanized him and created a false sense of liberty and autonomy. Tom had no idea what was happening. He was misled by the attorney he trusted to advocate for him, resulting in what I could only imagine as a deep sense of mistrust towards the immigration system and those who are meant to advocate for it. Tom could have easily been included in his own hearing as the interpreter sat there, readily available, but for the system’s sake of moving a number on a docket and the attorney’s release of a complex case, his voice was silenced.
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.