Don't Obey in Advance

From Kansas to Caracas

Not so long ago, the government of the United States recognized that—however important the enforcement of immigration law might be—other things are more important. Immigration officers once kept their distance from courthouses, hospitals, schools, and churches because they understood that their presence would threaten those institutions’ ability to fulfill their proper roles. After all, it is hard to protect the integrity of the justice system, to support public health, to promote the education of children, or to ensure freedom of worship when the people you serve are afraid they might be seized at any moment.

Last year, the federal policy that protected sensitive areas like courtrooms and churches from most immigration enforcement changed. Judges, doctors, teachers, and clergy across the country now face the prospect that immigration agents may appear at any time.

Last month, that nationwide struggle surfaced in Manhattan, Kansas. On December 18, 2025, the United States Attorney for the District of Kansas sent an extraordinary letter to the city manager and members of the city commission complaining of remarks made by a municipal court judge during a routine court proceeding. According to the U.S. Attorney, the judge drew attention to plainclothes ICE agents waiting in her courtroom to arrest a defendant and said that she thought they shouldn’t be there.

The U.S. Attorney argued that the agents were “lawfully present” and that the judge’s comments calling attention to their presence were inappropriate and potentially dangerous. He characterized her conduct as political and disruptive.

But then he went further. He warned that interference with federal immigration enforcement could have “serious consequences,” including the loss of federal funding, and announced that his office had begun examining whether the City of Manhattan qualified as a “sanctuary jurisdiction.” The letter set a deadline for the city to provide information demonstrating that it “does not obstruct federal immigration efforts.”

Although framed as a clarification of federal authority, the letter functions as a pressure campaign aimed not only at a judge, but at the city itself.

For decades, courts and local governments have deferred to the federal government’s executive branch in areas like immigration enforcement and foreign policy for good and understandable reasons. The executive branch has expertise, access to information, and responsibility for carrying out the law.

But deference was never simply obedience. Deference stemmed from trust. And that trust rested on assumptions: that power would be exercised in good faith, that legal limits would be treated as real constraints, and that enforcement of the law would be accompanied by judgment. If those assumptions no longer hold, blind deference becomes an abdication of responsibility.

I know this from experience. I once served as a trial attorney at the Department of Justice, at a time when courts deferred to federal lawyers because that deference was earned—by restraint, by judgment, and by a shared understanding that our role wasn’t simply to prevail, but to do justice. Letters like the one sent to Manhattan wouldn’t have been written then, because we understood how quickly power loses legitimacy when it substitutes pressure for persuasion.

I don’t envy the judges and city officials who now bear the heavy responsibility of responding to federal demands. But the responsibility is theirs to bear.

What makes the letter from the U.S. Attorney so troubling isn’t just its legal argument, but its posture. It doesn’t simply explain federal authority. It threatens consequences for any failure to submit to that authority.

This is precisely how power speaks when it expects compliance rather than debate—when it assumes that the mere suggestion of investigation, funding loss, or bad publicity will be enough to bring people into line. No explicit threat is required. The implication does the work.

The letter puts a legalistic gloss on a sentiment that, at its heart, feels more like this: “Nice town you have here. It would be a shame if anything happened to it.”

This sort of tactic is especially toxic when directed at a court. Judges are meant to decide cases free from pressure—not with an eye toward retaliation. A judge’s decision is properly challenged by appealing it to a higher court—not by threatening the entire city in which the judge serves.

This isn’t how a government confident in its legitimacy behaves. It is the tactic of a bully—an organization that no longer trusts its own case to stand on its merits.

An institution that surrenders to such tactics will fail without a fight. History has a name for it: obeying in advance. Pressure is implied, but not yet imposed. Officials adjust their behavior “just to be safe.” No one believes they are capitulating. Everyone believes they’re simply being prudent.

But once institutions begin anticipating retaliation rather than testing authority, their capacity for independent judgment disappears. Power no longer needs to be exercised. It only needs to be feared.

It is a phenomenon we have seen again and again over the past year, as cities, law firms, corporations, and universities have tamely surrendered to outrageous demands.

But surrender isn’t the only option. Bullies back down when they are opposed. And opposition is possible.

Opposition begins with judges maintaining their authority over their own courtrooms—deciding who may be present during proceedings and under what conditions. It continues with city officials refusing to preemptively capitulate to vague threats, insisting instead on clear legal authority before changing established practices. And it requires all of us to recognize that institutional independence isn’t maintained by those who wield power, but by those willing to withstand pressure to preserve it.

The U.S. Attorney’s letter rests on a premise that anyone who has spent time in a courtroom knows to be false: that the presence of immigration agents in or around a court of law doesn’t affect how justice is administered. Courtrooms are human institutions, governed as much by perception as by procedure.

Defendants decide whether to appear. Witnesses decide whether to testify. Lawyers decide what advice to give their clients. When people learn that arrests are taking place in a hallway outside a courtroom door, they talk about it. Word spreads. Even if agents aren’t recognized the first time they appear, they will be the second time. And the next case in that courtroom won’t be the same as the one that came before.

The result of capitulation is predictable. Disorder. Decreased participation in the institutions that ground our society. The courtroom shifts from a place where justice can be sought to a place of fear. And everyone loses.

It would be a mistake to treat what’s happening in Kansas as an isolated incident. The pressures bearing down on this one judge and this one city are part of a larger pattern, one that has become harder and harder to ignore. That pattern reveals itself not just in the details of individual cases, but in a broader approach to the exercise of federal power.

We saw that pattern on the national stage just days ago, when U.S. forces entered Venezuela and arrested its leader without congressional consultation or international mandate. Whatever one thinks of the Maduro government, those omissions matter. They signal a willingness to treat the law as optional when it becomes inconvenient.

Military action in Venezuela represents a completely different context than a courtroom in Kansas, but the pattern is the same. Power demands deference even while abandoning the norms that once made deference reasonable.

Courts exist to adjudicate cases fairly, to protect due process, and to ensure that the law is applied without fear or favor. The primary responsibility of a judge is to guard and oversee that system of justice. City officials have a similar responsibility: to protect the integrity of the institutions they oversee, even when doing so is uncomfortable, and even when it invites displeasure from those with greater power.

This moment will pass. The precedents set today will be remembered. Our guide should be not merely the letter of the rules, but their purpose—the principles they exist to protect.