The Judge Spoke – But ICE Arrested Him Anyway

Madness has found structure. And it wears a uniform.

In San Diego, a man was arrested in the hallway of a courthouse – directly in front of the office of a judge who had explicitly prohibited his arrest. ICE, the U.S. immigration authority, was unfazed. There is video footage. It shows the man’s attorney stepping in, calmly pointing to the judge’s order. But it makes no difference. The officers move in. The man is taken away.

“This is kidnapping! Why are you ignoring the judge?!” shouts a group of people who attempt to stop the arrest, blocking the elevator, placing their bodies in between. For a few seconds, what we once called democracy is still tangible – in the rage, in the protest, in the helplessness.

But ICE was prepared. They stood ready, methodically. In the halls of the courthouse. In a building that was once a symbol of justice. The strategy is clear: arrests directly after hearings. No time for protection. No time to escape. No respect for the separation of powers.

A spokesperson defended the action. They had what are called I-200 warrants – documents issued by ICE itself, without a judge’s signature. That, according to their reasoning, is sufficient to carry out arrests in “public spaces.” In this new logic, apparently, a courthouse hallway qualifies.

What is happening here is more than an isolated incident. It is a symptom. The United States, once a place of refuge and promise, is sinking under Trump for the second time into authoritarian fog. It has become a country where police abduct people from courtrooms – and the president either remains silent or cheers. Where lawyers must confront armed agents like in a dictatorship. And where every new video no longer shocks but confirms what many have long known: the law no longer applies to everyone. And fear has returned.

Human rights organizations in the U.S., in Central America, in South America – they are working around the clock. We too, as journalists, do what we can – document, support, hold the line, save what can still be saved. But the cases are overtaking us. The numbers are growing faster than we can write. And more and more, we catch ourselves thinking a thought we never thought we would: it feels like 1933. What remains is the anger. The dignity. And the resistance.