Opinion: No child should face a judge alone

Last month, the unthinkable was reported: a 4-year-old girl – an asylum seeker – sat in a New York courtroom with no lawyer, no parent and no one to speak on her behalf. She was one of many children facing immigration court alone in our city. The cruelty is not abstract. It’s here, now, in New York.

We often hear politicians speak about how “New York values” set us apart. But if we are allowing toddlers to be put on trial without legal representation, then what are those values really worth?

I came to this country alone, seeking safety after surviving violence in Nigeria. I was detained, I was homeless and I know the fear of facing a system that treats you like a problem instead of a person. But at least I was an adult. I cannot imagine what it would have meant to go through that as a child.

Let me be clear: children – some too young to read or understand what a judge is – are being hauled into courtrooms and asked to defend themselves against deportation. In New York City. In 2025. This isn’t just a moral failure. It’s a deliberate policy choice.

Mayor Eric Adams has spent the last two years scapegoating immigrants, slashing shelter access and embracing language ripped straight from Trump’s playbook. Meanwhile, our city’s response to the asylum seeker crisis has been disjointed, hostile and soaked in performative politics. We are not rising to the moment. We are shrinking from it.

Where is the outrage from City Hall? Where are the emergency funds to ensure universal legal representation for children in immigration court? Where is the push to expand permanent housing, provide trauma-informed care and honor our sanctuary city commitments?

Instead, we get 30- and 60-day shelter limits. We get bureaucratic cruelty wrapped in sanitized press releases. And we get silence – deafening silence – from the very people we’ve elected to speak for us.

This isn’t about politics. It’s about children. It’s about whether the most vulnerable among us are treated with dignity – or discarded.

No one should mistake silence for neutrality. In moments like this, when our city is failing its most vulnerable, silence is complicity. I’ve marched in the streets for immigrant justice. I’ve led shelters for people seeking safety. I’ve sat with asylum seekers who were retraumatized not just by the systems they fled – but by the systems they found here.

That’s why I speak out. Because we need leaders who don’t flinch in the face of injustice. Who don’t disappear when it matters most. Who understand this isn’t theoretical – it’s personal.

As a refugee, I can’t help but see this moment through the lens of my own journey. I know what it’s like to seek protection and be met with indifference. I know what it means to hope that someone – anyone – will care enough to act.

So I ask: What kind of city do we want to be? Who are we when we turn our backs on children in need?

This isn’t just a crisis – it’s a test. Of our values. Of our integrity. Of our humanity.

And the question isn’t who to vote for. It’s whether we will keep looking away – or finally stand up and say: not in our name.