I’ve practiced immigration law across five administrations now, spending long hours in immigration courts, detention visitation rooms, and small conference spaces trying to explain to clients why the rules seem to change depending on who’s in the White House. The policies themselves—detention, prosecutions, raids, parole—don’t shift as dramatically as the public reaction does. What is called a humanitarian crisis under one president is billed as necessary enforcement under another. The machinery stays largely the same; the outrage level depends on the party in charge of the enforcement apparatus.

The foundation was laid in the 1990s under Clinton. IIRIRA expanded deportability grounds, sped up removal proceedings, raised penalties for entry and reentry offenses, and widened mandatory detention so that even people who had lived here quietly for decades could suddenly face removal over old misdemeanors. At the border, “prevention through deterrence” meant more agents, more fencing, more lighting in populated sectors—pushing people into deserts and rivers where crossings became far more dangerous. Back then the political temperature stayed low. Most of the country didn’t notice and there was bipartisan support for immigration enforcement. The criticism that did exist came mostly from immigrant-rights groups rather than sustained partisan attacks.

After 9/11 the Bush administration layered national-security measures on top. NSEERS required men from certain countries to register in person, answer extra questions, and report departures. Thousands ended up in removal proceedings; almost none were linked to terrorism. My office saw students, laborers, and family men placed in deportation. Civil-rights organizations objected, but the issue never became a major partisan flashpoint the way similar enforcement later would.

Obama’s administration kept the framework and sharpened certain edges. The public line was “felons, not families,” but the actual priority list focused on recent border crossers with almost no U.S. ties —even if they had clean records. Operation Streamline expanded dramatically: mass court hearings, defendants in groups and often in restraints, quick pleas, rapid sentencing. The due-process problems were obvious, yet the loudest political voices were conveniently quiet.

The 2014 Central American child arrivals brought “rocket dockets.” Kids, including some under fourteen, appeared before judges with almost no preparation time and frequently no lawyer. Many were ordered removed after one hearing. Family detention also grew—Karnes, Dilley, other facilities. During this time, I and others like me represented as many young children as resources allowed. The conditions were harsh; the psychological impact was clear. At the national level the response from many Democrats was that these steps were regrettable but unavoidable given the numbers, and that a message had to be sent to send a message of deterrence, and interior enforcement removing children continued unabated. Hillary Clinton infamously stated that "we have to send a clear message, just because your child gets across the border, that doesn't mean the child gets to stay."

In 2016 ICE ran early-morning raids on Central American families with final orders. Agents kicked in doors to enter homes before sunrise; children watched parents taken. A lot of those families didn’t fully understand their in-absentia orders for failing to appear in court or the limited options they had. The operations spread fear—people stopped sending kids to school, avoided church, hesitated to go to work. The national political reaction remained fairly restrained.

Trump’s zero-tolerance policy changed the conversation overnight. Prosecuting parents for entry offenses and separating them from children wasn’t conceptually new, but the scale and visibility were. Chain-link holding areas—some built years earlier—became the defining image. Enforcement actions that had run for a decade unnoticed were now called cruel and unacceptable. The same legal tools and operational patterns drew far stronger condemnation for political gain.

Biden, in a historically unprecedented move, opened the floodgates. His administration turned toward large-scale categorical parole programs for people from Ukraine, Cuba, Haiti, Nicaragua, Venezuela, and others. Tens of thousands entered each month through a streamlined process. Biden's policy in a nutshell: if you get to the border, you get to stay. For desperate immigrants it was the first real opportunity they had seen. Critics said the administration was stretching parole authority well beyond its traditional case-by-case roots, but Democrats lauded Biden's efforts and legacy media provided cover.

When Trump returned and directed agencies to pause new applications, freeze pending cases, and in some instances end existing grants, the stated reasons were statutory compliance, fraud prevention, and tighter security screening. Supporters called it a return to legal boundaries; opponents called it fascism and constitutionally impermissible executive overreach.

Looking back, the through-line isn’t a stable rule about how recent arrivals with few or no ties to the United States, or immigration law violators should be treated. Under different presidents the same group has been labeled the highest enforcement priority, the most appropriate recipients of humanitarian parole, or a convenient symbol for political messaging.

What I’ve learned over these years is straightforward: immigration enforcement and admissions policy hold together better when judged against fixed standards—does the action stay within what the statute actually allows, is due process real and not illusory, is the response proportionate, and are people treated with basic dignity? When those questions get answered differently depending on who occupies the Oval Office, the system adopts an appearance of impropriety.

The clients—the families, the workers, the children—end up absorbing most of the instability. The goal should be to apply the same legal and ethical yardstick no matter which party is in charge. Push for clear priorities, transparent enforcement of the law, faster court processing, and reforms that close due-process gaps. Anything less leaves the people I represent navigating a landscape that lacks consistency fomenting uncertainty and fear.