Separated by a Courtroom Bar: Positionality in Immigration Court Research
About the Author: Jasmine Salgado Simental is a third-year undergraduate at the University of Denver with majors in Socio-Legal Studies and Criminology and minors in Spanish and Religious Studies. She was a research assistant on the DU Courtwatch Project’s prior project on the Dedicated Docket and is currently a research student lead on the Court Transparency Project.
Abstract: This reflection showcases how positionality shapes ethnographic research in immigration court, where similar cultural backgrounds, and personal experiences influence observation.
Keywords:Positionality, detention, DACA
Citation
Salgado Simental, Jasmine. 2026. “Separated by a Courtroom Bar: Positionality in Immigration Court Research.” Semi-Structured (Washington, D.C.), On Ethnographic Witnessing: Student Encounters with Immigration Court, vol. 1 (3). https://doi.org/10.57912/34113357
A man detained at the Aurora facility was requesting bond. He was in his late 40s/early 50s and had lived most of his life in the U.S. He spoke fluent English. He has younger children who are American citizens. He is an active member of his church community, a business owner, and no criminal record. He had many traits of what individuals or the media might call the “perfect migrant.”
Despite this, he was still detained. He asked the judge for additional time to obtain an attorney since he was the breadwinner for his family, and income had not been consistent for a while. The judge was hesitant at first, stating that the respondent had been detained for several weeks now and had enough time to look for an attorney. However, in the end, the respondent was granted another bond hearing in a few weeks.
I looked to the right side of the courtroom and saw one of his family members walk up as soon as the guard directed him to pass through the doorway. It was unclear if it was his daughter or another close relative. Either way, throughout the hearing, I could see the younger woman was anxious and confused by all the legal jargon.
There are many stories like these, with others not getting so lucky in obtaining a continuance and even being pushed towards voluntary departure instead. This individual was an almost perfect replication of my father (speaks English well and is a well-known member of the church community), yet he was not so fortunate and was ordered deported instead.
When considering my positionality in this research, I share many similarities with the individuals that I am observing. I am the daughter of Mexican immigrants; my father was detained and sent to the same GEO center where I conduct much of my ethnographic research. Many of the respondents that I observe are from Spanish-speaking countries, many from Mexico.
While it is not a requirement for observers to be the same race/nationality as the individuals we research, my related background and personal experience with my own father shape my work. My position influences how I interpret responses in immigration court from both the judge and respondents, and impacts what I think is relevant to include in my notes. It affords me an intimate understanding and perspective on respondents’ experiences. Because we share cultural cues, I am able to more seamlessly establish trust with the families of respondents.
This closeness also impacts how I feel and experience the courtroom. I often find myself judging the Latinos who work in the GEO facility. There are three Latino workers that I see almost every time I go into court. They're not unique; most, if not all of the guards are people from different non-white backgrounds, some not even native-born American citizens. I often find myself questioning their line of work and what persuaded them to go into their job, though I try to combat this judgment – reminding myself that GEO is positioned in a low-income community and these circumstances may leave them little choice of work.
There have been several occasions at the Denver Immigration courthouse (where individuals are not detained) in which the judge or law clerks confused me with one of the individuals there for their court hearing. In my most recent interaction with a judge’s clerk, I walked into the courtroom and was standing by the door on the left side of the room. The clerk came up to me and asked for my A-number. At that moment, I felt rather confused, as she had seen me several times in court. This was not the clerk's first time confusing me, despite already having interacted with her several times in the past. By default, when faced with these awkward interactions, I respond in English, stating that I am an observer. Their interaction is almost the same: their eyes widen, and they apologize, followed by an awkward laugh, almost as if they then recognize who I am. It makes me question how often they passively process hearings, labeling each case “the same” as the last. While I try not to take interactions like these so personally, it does speak to how immigration courts can be dehumanizing, as they attempt to process many individuals at the same time, and court personnel may not put in the effort to know non-legal actors, despite being regulars at the courthouse. This is an especially uncomfortable situation given that I have been observing court in Colorado for a little more than a year now.
This intimacy felt most visceral the day I observed a hearing for a 21-year-old DACA recipient in detention. This individual had been in the United States since the age of five. English was his primary language and how he spoke to the judge. He was detained after a minor traffic stop. During the hearing it had come up that he had missed the window for renewing his DACA status before he was stopped for the traffic offense. Desperate to get out of detention, he was deeply contemplating voluntary departure (VD) to a country he likely could barely remember.
All I could feel were our similarities. We were both of Mexican ancestry, both 21 years old, fluent in English, and both had dreams of higher education. The only things separating us were the courtroom bar, the labels of being documented and undocumented, and his detainee orange uniform. This very noticeable attire that respondents are required to wear and range in different colors depending on case details, I believe, is what stops officers from confusing me from the respondents like in Denver.
Working within the detention space that once held my father in the same Aurora GEO facility blurs the boundary between observer and participant, forcing me to confront how identity and personal history shape the stories I notice and choose to tell. Having a personal connection to the same Aurora facility fosters mixed feelings: on one hand it almost feels like a full circle moment and a way in which I can give back to others within my community that look like my father. Yet it can sometimes feel limiting given my role as an observer. Ultimately, working as an observer has allowed me to see the different ways in which some legal actors, activists, attorneys, and other community members are attempting to show up for detained and non-detained respondents. Continuing to bear witness to cases like the DACA recipient and others is essential to starting to deconstruct negative portrayals of migrants often shown in the media, a skill that many would benefit from. I hope to continue my work in immigration advocacy by becoming an immigration attorney.
About this 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.