"Virtually every Trans client we've served has been the victim of violence," said immigration lawyer Robert Foss. "Some of them multiple times." Violence from "family members, teachers, classmates, police, and strangers. In their home. In school. And in the larger society." And lately, Foss said, his office has been "flooded with calls and visits from people who are terrified that the change in administration will force them to return to conditions where they have to fear for their lives."

Director of legal services at Entre Hermanos in Seattle since 2019 and an immigration lawyer for more than three decades, Foss, 66, has seen it all. But in the first six weeks of the Trump administration, the pace of arrests, detentions, and deportations has been ticking up, he said — and the workload was already overwhelming.

Entre Hermanos, a small nonprofit on South Jackson Street that serves LGBTQ Latinos, has two immigration attorneys and will soon hire a third, but it's already handling about 150 cases in house. That doesn't count the 250—300 residents of refugee camps in Tukwila and elsewhere in King County they've helped fill out applications for asylum or work permits. And up to a dozen people a day are showing up at the office without an appointment.

"What's going on reminds me of the Salvadoran refugee crisis," Foss said. "It's all hands on deck."

Many clients are Trans women who were raped, beaten, threatened, arrested, or persecuted back home, then fled to the United States in search of safety. The law allows them to ask for asylum, but the process is complex and fraught with danger. So Foss and his colleagues do their best to guide them through it — if they have capacity.

Hurdles

An immigrant seeking asylum is supposed to be granted a "credible fear" interview with a federal agent, in which they explain why they fear persecution — violence or imprisonment — if returned to their home country. Credible fear can be based on political activism; membership in a marginalized ethnic, religious or social group; a history of being subjected to violence; or being Queer.

But gaining asylum is an uphill battle. First, many don't get an interview — they are just summarily deported. Second, Foss said, Trans women, Gay people, and women who've been sexually assaulted find it very difficult to "fully reveal the contours of their asylum claim. They're supposed to sit there and explain to a man they've never seen before how they were raped." Finally, the government sometimes accuses the immigrant of something heinous, like gang affiliation, with no evidence. "It's difficult to overcome that kind of accusation," said Foss.

If the immigrant passes the credible fear interview, they still need to go through a hearing. It's not easy, but Foss says Entre Hermanos has won asylum for dozens of Trans women and other LGBTQ people in recent years. "Nothing is better than winning a case," Foss said. "Sometimes you've just saved someone's life."

Times are changing quickly

But Foss worries about the clients his office is forced to turn away. And it's uncertain how those they take in will fare, because things are changing so quickly. Federal funding for services to victims of gender-based violence is in jeopardy. Foss hopes private foundations will help, but he acknowledges the demands on them will be steep.

He also worries about federal funding for the health care side of Entre Hermanos, which provides HIV testing, treatment and prevention services. He hopes direct financial support from the LGBTQ community in the Northwest can sustain Entre Hermanos through the present emergency.

Recently, one of the Latin American refugees he helped apply for asylum — who had already passed a credible fear interview and was entitled to a hearing — turned up on a list of immigrants who'd been sent to the US military base at Guantanamo, a place that until quite recently was reserved for alleged terrorists. While the refugee's family was absorbing that news, Foss learned that the person was no longer at Guantanamo. The administration announced that the immigrants detained there had been flown to Honduras before being returned to their home countries. But Foss's client still hasn't turned up in Honduras.

"It's never good when someone disappears while they're in detention," Foss said. "The family is distraught."

To help Entre Hermanos continue to support LGBTQ asylum seekers in desperate need of safety and legal aid, donate at: https://entrehermanos.org/donate/