As the sun rose over San Diego on Tuesday, September 2, 2025, the county’s Board of Supervisors faced a decision that could shape the lives of hundreds of unaccompanied immigrant children. Board Chair Terra Lawson-Remer put forward a proposal to expand San Diego’s Immigrant Legal Defense Program (ILDP), aiming to fill a gap left by recent federal actions that have left young migrants without legal counsel. The move comes in the wake of the Trump administration’s decision in March to end funding for attorneys representing unaccompanied minors in immigration proceedings—a policy shift that will soon impact 300 children in San Diego County and an estimated 26,000 nationwide, according to The San Diego Union-Tribune.
“Three hundred kids who are not going to have attorneys. It’s pretty heartbreaking. And more than heartbreaking, it’s immoral,” Lawson-Remer said, her frustration palpable as she addressed the board. The Department of Justice’s termination of legal representation for unaccompanied children was initially slated for immediate effect, but a federal judge delayed implementation until September 30. With the deadline now looming, local officials are racing against the clock.
San Diego’s ILDP, established in 2021 as the first program of its kind in a southern border county, has been a lifeline for migrants facing deportation. The program provides free legal representation—an essential service, as immigration proceedings are notoriously complex and the stakes couldn’t be higher. “We just can’t imagine how anyone could think that’s not the most unethical thing in the world, which is to abandon kids and not have anyone to fight for them,” Lawson-Remer added, according to The San Diego Union-Tribune.
Michael Garcia, director of the ILDP and chief deputy at the Public Defender’s Office, emphasized the magnitude of the challenge ahead. “It’s people that lost their lawyer, and more importantly, it’s when we see these cases, there’s no one there to pick up a brand new case for an unaccompanied minor,” he explained. The program’s expansion, as proposed, would not require new funding but would instead reallocate part of the $5 million already approved in this year’s budget.
For those on the front lines, the impact is deeply personal. Immigration attorney Nadia Galash recounted representing a young Guatemalan girl who spoke only an indigenous language. “She sat in court clutching her hands together, terrified, shaken, unable to understand a word that the judge was saying,” Galash recalled. “Without a lawyer, she would have no way to explain the abuse she had survived, no way to ask for the protection our laws already provide.” Her words serve as a stark reminder of what’s at stake for these children—many of whom have fled violence or persecution in their home countries, only to face a bewildering legal system alone.
The board’s upcoming vote, scheduled for Tuesday, September 9, is drawing scrutiny from across the political spectrum. Supervisor Jim Desmond voiced his reservations, echoing concerns about local versus federal responsibility. “I feel sorry for the kids. I’m not sure how I’m going to vote on this, but I don’t think we should put that money aside in the first place. That should come from the federal government, not from the county’s local coffers,” Desmond said. The debate highlights a familiar tension in American politics: who should bear the cost of immigration policy, and how should limited resources be allocated when the federal government shifts its stance?
Meanwhile, the federal government is scrambling to address its own mounting challenges. On the same day as the San Diego proposal, the Justice Department announced that roughly 600 military lawyers had been authorized to work as temporary immigration judges, with 150 expected to start as soon as the week of September 3, according to NPR. This unprecedented move was triggered by a growing crisis: a shortage of immigration judges, exacerbated by over 100 departures from the Department of Justice’s Executive Office for Immigration Review (EOIR) in the past nine months. The number of judges has dropped from about 700 at the start of the year, just as the backlog of immigration cases has ballooned to nearly 4 million.
In a bid to speed up proceedings, the Justice Department recently lowered the requirements for temporary immigration judges, no longer requiring prior immigration experience. The military lawyers, many from the Judge Advocate General’s Corps, will receive just two weeks of training before presiding over cases. Immigration judges have the unique authority to revoke green cards or issue final orders of removal for individuals who have been in the U.S. for more than two years and are facing deportation. The pressure is on: hiring and training permanent judges can take more than a year, and the backlog shows no signs of easing.
This rapid expansion of military involvement in immigration courts is part of the Trump administration’s broader push to accelerate arrests of undocumented immigrants, scale up detention space, and increase deportations. According to NPR, Congress earlier this year approved a mega-spending bill allocating over $3 billion to the Justice Department for immigration-related activities, including hiring more judges. The Department of Homeland Security has also launched a nationwide recruitment drive for deportation officers, investigators, and attorneys, buoyed by the influx of congressional funds.
President Trump has been a vocal supporter of these efforts. Earlier this year, he backed a Florida plan to deputize military lawyers from the state’s National Guard as immigration judges, a move that foreshadowed the current nationwide deployment. Supporters argue that these steps are necessary to restore order to an overwhelmed system and uphold the rule of law. Critics, however, warn that lowering standards for judges and relying on military personnel with limited training could undermine due process and lead to miscarriages of justice.
Back in San Diego, the local debate mirrors the national one. Some see the county’s ILDP expansion as a compassionate response to a federal failure, while others worry about setting a precedent for local governments shouldering the burden of immigration enforcement. For the children at the heart of the controversy, the outcome could mean the difference between safety and uncertainty, between a fair hearing and a bewildering ordeal.
As the board prepares to vote, the stakes are clear: with legal representation for unaccompanied minors set to disappear after September 30, and the federal system under strain, San Diego’s decision could offer a model—or a warning—for communities nationwide grappling with the human consequences of shifting immigration policy.
