Detainees with mental disabilities facing deportation will be offered fair hearings by law, but have been hampered by a national program to provide lawyers.
The message came via video calls from a prison where a lawyer and her client were locked up in immigration detention. In the room without the windows of Echo, she said: “Sorry, I can’t become your lawyer anymore.”
Sophie Woodruff had to tell him twice. Her clients could hear what she was saying, but he didn’t understand them.
Grevil Paz Cartagena is mentally ill and legally incompetent. He has been in custody for nearly 600 days. Woodruff was the only person a 31-year-old Honduras immigrant could speak to. That was apart from the voice in his head.
She had promised not to abandon him, but the Trump administration quietly cancelled its $12 million annual contract on April 25th. Since 2013, he has paid private lawyers to represent detainees who are mentally or cognitively incompetent and unable to represent themselves.
These attorneys filed a federal lawsuit in May, challenging the sudden change. In an April memo reviewed by USA Today, DOJ contractors revoked a reference to “national” protections for non-citizens who are detained with serious mental disorders.
The law assumes that detainees with severe disabilities will still be given a fair hearing where they can present evidence and cross-examine witnesses. But now they are caught up in the administration’s enthusiasm to strengthen the withdrawal under the auspices of saving taxpayers.
That means 289 immigrants, like Pascartagena, faced with removal across the country, suddenly drift away. Newly detained immigrants deemed incompetent are not given to lawyers.
In a legal twist, hundreds of other mentally incompetent detainees in three states – Arizona, California and Washington – are still being offered lawyers by previous court rulings. The rest is left to dodge for themselves.
“So you’re still going to be there in court?” The still-configured Paz Cartagena asked Woodruff before hanging the video call.
Now, Woodruff, who has officially withdrawn from the lawsuit, says she is struggling to leave her entirely.
“Personally, it’s devastating,” Woodruff said. “I can’t make this clearer. If they deport him, he will die, and it is in my spirit.”
The immigration lawyer said he faces an impossible choice for USA Today. He continued to cut down relationships with the most vulnerable clients who have either protected or vowed to protect them.
Six attorneys who enrolled in the program spoke about the sudden end of fundraising. They facilitated interviews behind the detention centre doors with detainees with a variety of mental health challenges.
With the help of intermediaries and supporters, everyone except one of the detainees decided to remain anonymous for fear of affecting their case. Only Paz Cartagena is identified by name.
The Justice Department, which administers the program, refused to answer questions about its past or future, citing pending lawsuits challenging cuts.
National and local staff at the immigration court in the Pascaltagena case said the immigration judge was prohibited from talking about it.
The US Supreme Court raises restrictions on deportation to “third countries”
The U.S. Supreme Court cleared the road on Monday to resume deporting immigrants to their country without providing the opportunity to show the harm they may face, giving him another victory in his aggressive, massive deportation.
Depression in detention
During detention, Pascartagena’s anxiety waxes and fades. Sleepless nights will torment him. If that’s bad, he slams his head against the wall of Cinderblock until the concussion begins. The pain numbs him.
“The voice tries to convince me to hurt myself,” he said in Spanish.
He is awake to the facility’s morning staff at 9am. He says he feels lost and relies solely on the voices that talk to him.
That was until Woodruff jumped into town on April 8th.
“He was really alone and struggling,” when his current lawyer arrived from New Orleans to meet Pascaltagena, Aurora, Colorado.
The pair tied to a mutual love for tattoos and reggaeton music. They listen to the same top artists, Wisin & Yandel, Daddy Yankee and of course the bad bunny.
An hour later, the two hugged each other and parted ways.
“Thank you for coming. I can trust you and say you can help,” Pas Cartagena told her.
Woodruff helped him edit the asylum claim. Paz Cartagena has identified her as bisexual. He said he returned home and was raped by police officers before he moved to the US.
Returning to Honduras as a member of the LGBTQ community would mean exile, violence, or death. The US State Department warns that Honduras police and government will “incite, carry out, tolerate, or tolerate” such violence against LGBTQ individuals.
His mother and brothers have returned to Honduras. He has several relatives in the US, but they are not in touch.
In a recent phone interview with USA Today, Paz Cartagena spoke in the circle and was confused about his life timeline and what will happen next.
“Someone is here with me, in my head,” Pas Cartagena said. “The voice helps you write and write music.”
A few days later, in another interview, Pascartagena was clear and understood his confusion.
He recalls his break-in with local police in Colorado. He was doing recreational medicine and self-medicine, and was confused when a regular staff member approached him. It sparked a cascade of events that led to his detention.
Records show that he has not been convicted of a crime in the United States. However, the immigration officer said he was illegally in the country and was subject to deportation.
Mental health and Djibouti
The mental health of detainees often goes unnoticed through immigration lawsuits. It is usually up to an immigration judge or attorney to raise concerns and order an assessment.
But given the swift burn regime, those timelines may be compressed or sometimes nonexistent.
This was the case of NYO Myint, one of eight men sent on a dispute flight to South Sudan recently upheld by the US Supreme Court.
Instead of being tried and held in prison for sexual assault charges, Myint lived at the Lincoln Regional Center, a mental hospital, in court records obtained by the USA Today Show. The psychologist there evaluated him and determined that he was mentally incompetent on four separate occasions until November 2019. He entered a plea for the No Contest in 2020 and was sentenced to 12 years in prison. He was paroled in 2023, lost custody of the ice, and served part of time before it was eventually removed.
“I didn’t learn about his previous abilities issues,” Jonathan Ryan, Texas immigration lawyer at Myint, recently told USA Today. “I wish I had it.”
DOJ defends action in court
Hundreds of detainees face uncertainty, but the organisations that represented them have sued in federal courts to restore funds.
However, DOJ’s attorneys argue that the case is not about terminating the program, but about reducing contracts that are within the scope of government rights. They have not informed them of revamping the funds with other lawyers.
Representatives from the Immigration Review Office refused to answer questions regarding changes to the arrangement, known as the nationally qualifying representative program, citing the pending case.
The DOJ notes that despite alarms against ethical binding, many attorneys in the program say they will continue to provide services after cutting other funds.
This is the case of Yarima Gonzalez Crespo, an attorney at the Pennsylvania Immigration Resource Center.
“I tried this on my own,” a client from a Mexican grandmother said in a video interview from detention. “It was very difficult and the judge told me I couldn’t do this myself.”
The woman said she was a green card holder and had lived in the country since 1979. Subsequently, misdemeanor assault charges in 2020 overturned her life. Until she landed on an ice moving flight in 2024, she noticed the gravity of the situation.
“I couldn’t breathe, I was paralyzed and petrified,” she said. “I told them: ‘No, I can’t stay here, I have my legal paper, I just got out of prison, I did my time.’ I knew I would get sick again. ”
After eight months of detention, the judge recognized the woman’s rapidly deteriorating mental state and assigned expressions. The woman currently taking stable medication says she’s busy cleaning and scrubbing detention centers for $10 a week. She uses it to call her family – $2.50 for a 3-minute phone, $4 for a video.
The 10 grandmothers have maintained her cooking skills sharply during detention, and due to limited ingredients for tamares and virria tacos. The eldest son’s detainee with her black wrapped glasses and grey hair, she said others would call her mother.
“You have to make them with love, it’s not a special seasoning, it’s love,” she said.
Immigration judges question change
News of changes to the lawyers program were fooled by the administration with a confused mix of messages.
As of January 24th, no changes were made, but the emails later indicated that it was cut on April 3rd. Then, rapid reversal: ignore the cut. And finally, an official notice from Acting Director Eoir Sirce Owen: as of April 25th, funds have been cut to be “convenient.”
No other justifications for the change are provided.
Paul Schmidt, a former immigration judge and chairman of the Immigration Appeals Committee, called it another fight in “a total war on legitimate processes.”
“It’s disappointing when we adopted a system that was written to implement best practices, but now we’re back to the worst way to do this,” Schmidt said.
Retired immigration judge Dana Lee Marks said cuts in funding could backfire despite the administration’s purpose of streamlining and accelerating immigrant decisions.
“It’s a tragedy,” Marks said. “I’m cutting my nose to stare in the face. These are when it’s difficult for an immigration judge to know that he’ll move faster with a qualified representative.”
Marks said the judges will be left to roam immigration stories due to relevant legal elements, and the lack of lawyers will create more opportunities for error. It can lead to more attractiveness and slower judgments.
Another day in court
In the case of the young Cartagena of Hongjuran, he returns to himself to write songs and sketches art while waiting for his court date.
Guns N’ Rose by his favorite song, “November Rain,” plays in his head while fighting his depression and suicidal thoughts.
His former lawyer, Woodruff, has been in touch over the phone despite official withdrawal from the case. She is worried that his mental health has deteriorated.
“I don’t know what to tell the judge,” he said. “I don’t know what I should do.”
On June 30th, he sues his case alone in front of immigration judge Elizabeth McGrill.
It could be a confused, quiet Pascartagena story, or a sharp version he feels on a good day.
Nick Penzenstadler is a reporter for the USA Today research team, working on national projects. Tips or questions? You can contact him by email npenz@usatoday.com or by signalling 720-507-5273.
