Immigration Judge John Carle’s face suddenly materialized on the flat-screen television hanging at the center of the mid-sized Philadelphia courtroom – he was presiding virtually.
The tubular cream-colored camera perched atop the television then craned its neck to focus on a man from Venezuela who sat in the immigration courtroom on a recent afternoon.
Carle asked the man why he was just now beginning his court proceedings to seek asylum, if he had already been in the country for nearly three years. The man replied that he was living under Temporary Protected Status, which provides work authorization and protection from deportation for immigrants fleeing war, natural disaster and other “extraordinary and temporary” conditions.
But those protections are now gone.
A year ago, U.S. Department of Homeland Security Secretary Kristi Noem decided to terminate TPS for Venezuelans, kicking off a year of legal battles and appeals that threw the program into uncertainty.
In October, the U.S. Supreme Court allowed the termination to take effect, pending appeals — effectively leaving hundreds of thousands of Venezuelan immigrants without a legal status in the country.
Still, the Venezuelan man appeared in court and looked into the camera. His previous legal status was stripped and now he must find a different path.
“Now I have to get an asylum application or get a lawyer,” the man told Carle.
“You read my mind,” the judge replied.
In Philadelphia’s Immigration Court, people must navigate a year’s worth of ever-changing policies and dense legal decisions under the Trump administration’s immigration agenda — oftentimes without lawyers. The Trump administration has systematically cut legal pathways available to immigrants while gutting the immigration judge workforce.
In California, the state lost more than a quarter of its immigration judges in 2025, with the San Francisco Immigration Court permanently shutting down as a result — further straining other judges’ workload.
Courthouse arrests of immigrants who have their asylum cases quickly dismissed have become a mainstay of the Trump administration’s enforcement tactics. And, under a new directive, millions of immigrants are now subject to mandatory detention without the opportunity to ask an immigration judge to be released on bond.
The detention policy has “frustrated” Philadelphia federal judges as the city’s federal courthouse has seen a deluge of lawsuits filed by undocumented immigrants who are opposing their mandatory detention, according to the Philadelphia Inquirer.
These release petitions now comprise more than one sixth of the civil lawsuits filed in the district, according to recent legal opinion written by U.S. District Judge Paul Diamond.
Still, despite the evolving policies, the day-to-day reality of the Philadelphia immigration court, which also oversees Delaware cases, remains mundane and routine. Sometimes, moments of humanity and levity even slip through the bureaucracy.
‘Food and friends’
One morning in December, a man from Richmond, Va., appeared for his hearing before Immigration Judge Joseph Scott in Philadelphia’s immigration courthouse.
Scott offered to move the man’s case to a courthouse closer to his home, but the man refused. When Scott asked why the man would want to keep driving more than five hours for his immigration appointments, the man had a simple response.
“When I come to (Philadelphia), I visit my friends and eat food from my country,” the man told Scott. “So, I have a good time.”
The judge chuckled and turned to the U.S. Department of Homeland Security attorney to ask if they had a motion to move the case closer to Virginia.
“Why does he want to keep his case in Philadelphia?” the DHS lawyer asked.
“Food, and friends,” Scott replied with a smile.
DHS offered no opposition, and Scott gave the man a list of low-cost immigration lawyers in the Richmond area.
Food, and friends and onto the next case.
A woman called in virtually to the court from Harrisburg, Pa. The person whom she hired to drive her to Philadelphia for her court hearing did not show up that morning, she said.
If she appears virtually again, it would probably be considered a non-appearance, Scott said. That morning, 10 people did not appear for their court hearings.
Scott then turned his attention to the group of people sitting in the courtroom’s wooden pews. Eleven wait to have their cases called. Six need an interpreter in Spanish, four in Haitian-Creole and one in Arabic.
“You are all here in immigration court because the government of the United States believes you are here unlawfully,” Scott said to the group.
The judge, who was appointed to the court in 2020 under the first Trump presidency, encouraged the group to talk to a lawyer to help them with their asylum proceedings.
“Who would like more time to try and find a lawyer?” Scott asked.
The interpreters echoed. Everyone raised their hands. More time was needed.
It has become commonplace for people to appear for their hearings without a lawyer and decide to represent themselves. Unlike other courts, non-citizens are not provided an attorney if they cannot afford one.
No lawyers and an increase in people representing themselves could lead to less fair outcomes and less efficiency in the court system, according to the Migration Policy Institute, a nonpartisan immigration think tank based in Washington, D.C.
Court continues
Back in Immigration Judge John Carle’s courtroom, the proceedings continued as he remained on the television on a recent afternoon.
An uncle and nephew from Cuba had filed a motion to terminate their case. They had no lawyer and were representing themselves.
The pair had applied for their permanent residency, also known as a green card, with U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services and were just waiting to receive their final paperwork. They wanted to terminate their bid through the court as they found success through another pathway, the nephew told Carle.
Carle suggested they instead file to adjust their status and set a future hearing date.
“Hopefully, you’ll have good news by then,” Carle said in regard to their green card applications.
Next, a man from Colombia sat in front of the television. He traveled from his home in New Jersey for his preliminary hearing for his asylum application.
At the end of the hearing, Carle said he’d move the man’s case to a court closer to his home.
“Do you have any other questions?” Carle asked.
“I would have liked to stay here with you, but you moved me,” the man joked in response.
Carle laughed. A baby’s cries began to spill out of the courtroom down the hall. The day continued.