On a spring afternoon in March 2026, Oregon’s blue skies wet with the smell of recent rain, I accompanied Hector (not his real name) to his master calendar hearing (MCH) at Portland’s Executive Office of Immigration Review (EOIR) Court. I have been accompanying community members like Hector to MCH hearings for over ten years, as part of a volunteer-based statewide accompaniment program, which I help coordinate, part of my broader accompaniment work in Oregon. For me, acompañamiento has been a committed practice over many years of showing up and standing in solidarity with migrant and precariously-statused communities as they confront the violence of the state immigration system. Thus, the mirrored glass exterior of the Green-Wyatt Federal building is familiar. Newer to me is the deep uncertainty about what will transpire in court. Over the past eighteen months, the Department of Homeland Security (DHS) and its attorneys have employed constantly-changing tactics from blatant cooperation with Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) officers arresting community members to more recent moves to “pretermit” cases and send asylum seekers to countries where the federal government has established treaties (“Safe Third Country Agreements”) to outsource asylum proceedings, likely in violation of international law.

Hector’s hearing was before Portland’s newest immigration judge (IJ), who had been transferred from San Francisco’s court. Prior to the hearing, I did some online research and found that her asylum approval rates were historically higher than national averages. I wondered . . . would this judge approach the advisal phase of MCHs differently from other IJs? As Hector’s acompañante, I worried: would the DHS attorney move to pretermit?

As we entered the elevator to the fifth floor, Hector seemed nervous, his gaze shifting and taking in his surroundings. I asked if he wanted me to join him in the courtroom if the Court permitted; he said, “claro que si” (of course). In the hallway, I greeted the legal observer (LO) on duty. As a trained LO myself, I appreciate the witnessing work LOs do: sharing Know Your Rights handouts, giving toys and treats to children, waiting in case ICE reappears. The LO asked me to share what was happening inside, since LOs have not been allowed into Portland Court since early 2026. Was the government moving to pretermit? Was the IJ encouraging people to seek other relief? When were final merits hearings scheduled?

Hector and I proceeded to the waiting room, where several dozen community members were lined up, the court clerk calling their names as they entered the hearing room. The clerk told another accompanier and me that we couldn’t enter, as the courtroom was too crowded. So, we sat in the waiting room. After two families appearing with attorneys had their hearings and exited, we entered, squeezing onto the wooden bench next to Hector. Over twenty-five people were still present. The IJ proceeded with a group advisal . . . you have a right to present evidence . . . you have a right to find an attorney . . . you have a responsibility to inform the court of any change of address . . . These rights were deeply familiar to me, even as I wondered how fully understood by those required to hear them.

In a prior court watching project with University of Oregon students, it felt important to attune our observations to qualitative features of the court—the tone and temperament of the IJ (Yarris 2021). I am no longer confident that these things are significant in the face of the overwhelming violence of the federal immigration system. Hector thought the IJ was “tranquila” (easy going). Her voice was calm and patient; her advisal offered possible forms of relief for respondents. I wondered how her demeanor would be reflected in her denial rates. If perceived as too lenient, by the government, would she be fired or transferred out like the previous Portland IJs?

As the afternoon wore on, I could tell Hector was becoming impatient. Shortly after 5:00pm (we had arrived at 1:00pm), the IJ dismissed the DHS attorney. She asked the translator if he was tired, but he stayed on Webex. The judge told the three of us remaining in the courtroom that she would call a Q’anjobal interpreter. I whispered to Hector, in Spanish, “She thinks you need Q’anjobal; that you are with the other young man here; you need to tell her who you are.”  Hector raised his hand and, when the IJ acknowledged him, stated his full name. The judge looked at her docket list, turned to the video screen, and told the translator there was one more Spanish-speaking respondent. Hector’s hearing was finally conducted and took about five minutes. Hector was dismissed, with the IJ stating that the court would mail him a notice to appear for his final individual merits hearing. We exited the court at 5:40pm. The LO was gone. The building felt empty, and we felt exhausted as we walked to my car a few blocks away.

I spent the day engaged accompanying Hector: driving him to court (instrumental support), offering information about pretermission (informational support), paying for parking and a snack (material support); and making good-natured jokes about the IJ (emotional support). This was acompañamiento, but was it also research?  I had carefully observed the IJ and taken notes, not intending to write for an academic audience, but later came to see this series as an apt outlet. I shared my observations with the LO on duty and, via Signal, with the lead LO organizer. I have also drawn on my observations of MCH hearings to develop a presentation on pretermission for community legal service organizations and LO volunteers. In times of heightened state violence and weaponization of the immigration legal system, these outputs—community education, advocacy, partnership with the statewide migrant justice community—feel more pressing and prescient to me than speaking solely to academic audiences.

I continue to reflect on which dimensions of my accompaniment constitute anthropological research, and which are better understood as advocacy and/or solidarity. Nonetheless, I know I will continue accompanying community members to court for as long as they find value in it. When I dropped Hector off at 7:45pm that evening, he expressed his gratitude, saying he would request accompaniment before his next ICE check-in or court hearing. I told him I would make sure he had it.