The prosecutor speaks at a podium. The judge interrupts with a question. The interpreter grips the edge of her desk like she’s on a boat taking massive waves.

She’s speaking Spanish quickly and quietly into her microphone. Her eyes are locked on the man wearing leg shackles and earbuds across the courtroom. She doesn’t look away, even as he looks down at his lap, rubbing his left hand with his right thumb. He bounces his leg and the chain clinks.

Oscar Mauricio Bonilla will not be released. He will likely be deported. He has no criminal history, his defense attorney tells the judge. When state police identified him as an undocumented immigrant late last month, it was not in the course of investigating him as the suspect of a crime, but because they believed he was a witness to a crime. He cooperated with state police. He gave them his true name and true date of birth, his attorney says. He gave them an interview, answering questions about the fraud scheme his former employer was accused of. And, after he aided in their investigation, police referred him to Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE).

In the recent past, prosecutors may not have pursued Bonilla’s case, and state police may not have pointed ICE to Bonilla to begin with. But under new orders from the Trump administration, federal prosecutors must now pursue immigration cases like Bonilla’s. And state police who refuse to pursue immigration charges may be investigated by the justice department “for obstructing federal functions.”

This was outlined in one of U.S. Attorney General Pam Bondi’s 14 directives issued February 5, following an executive order on immigration from the president. One memo calls for the Justice Department to put its full weight behind immigration enforcement. In a heads-up to police, the memo states: “Federal law prohibits state and local actors from resisting, obstructing, and otherwise failing to comply with lawful immigration-related commands and requests. … The Department shall investigate incidents involving any such misconduct for potential prosecution.”

In court Thursday, Bonilla’s publicly appointed defense attorney, Jesús Salinas, wears a gray suit. He stands before the silver-haired Mark Lane, a U.S. magistrate judge for the Western District of Texas. Salinas requests that Bonilla be released. He says Bonilla poses no flight risk, no danger to the community. He lives with a cousin and takes care of goats on a piece of land in Central Texas. He works, goes to church, and sends most of the money he makes back to his mother and son in El Salvador. Bonilla is “unsophisticated in many ways. He has a ninth grade education. This is his first time in a criminal courthouse,” Salinas says. And, he says, Bonilla was doing the right thing when he cooperated with police, even though he could have easily given a false name or gone into hiding. The prosecutors who are arguing for Bonilla’s detention don’t disagree about his compliance.

“I want to make clear to the court that I talked to several different officers about this, Mr. Bonilla was never implicated in this fraud scheme in which they ran the search warrant,” prosecutor Michelle Fernald tells the judge. “All the detectives and the state troopers reported that Mr. Bonilla was extremely cooperative with them, forthcoming, even agreeing to go down to DPS and voluntarily give a statement–”

Bonilla’s attorney interrupts. Bonilla is struggling to hear the interpreter on his headphones, Salinas says. The interpreter adjusts her microphone, speaks, and Bonilla nods at her.

The judge does not disagree about Bonilla’s cooperativeness, either. The problem for Lane is that Bonilla has been deported twice before.

“I appreciate that. Mr. Bonilla is not the typical 1326 defendant that I’ve dealt with over the years in terms of criminal history,” Lane says, referring to the Reentry After Deportation law. “But nonetheless, I just don’t understand why,” Lane trails off and starts again. “He doesn’t have a right to be here, and this country has told him twice not to be here, yet he’s come again anyways.”

Neither the prosecution nor the defense shed much light on Bonilla’s reasons for being here. The first time he was deported, in September 2010, he had been seeking asylum. A month prior, he’d requested a “Credible Fear” interview, though they don’t specify which legally recognized fear he claimed – fear of persecution, fear of torture, fear of violence from organized criminal groups.

The second time the government put Bonilla on a plane to El Salvador was July 18, 2012, an ICE officer testifies. At that time, he was given a 20 year ban from the United States.

Bonilla is cleanly shaved and freshly barbered. He sits up straight. Now he’s bouncing his leg faster, sniffing, rubbing under his eye with a hand cuffed to a chain around his waist.

Salinas points out to the judge that, yes, Bonilla has been working without permission, but “I think we would be blind if we don’t see that there are many illegals who work here without that permission and still provide to this country.”

“I don’t disagree with you. I don’t disagree with you at all,” Lane says. “But every person who’s in this country that’s not here legally is not being criminally prosecuted. So I’m not worried about the vast numbers that you’re talking about. I’m just talking about Mr. Bonilla over here.”

Salinas points out that Bonilla does have a good reason to be here, as he’s living with a cousin.

“He has some cousins and some goats here. That’s not significant contacts with the United States,” Lane says. “I find that he’s a flight risk. I do not find that he is a danger to the community, however, and I’ll enter an order to that effect later. We’re adjourned.”

The judge is bothered and it’s not clear why. A half hour later, after a hearing for another undocumented immigrant with a chain between his feet, Lane stands abruptly. He uses one hand to swing his microphone from his face and the other to pull at the neck of his robe until there is a tiny snapping sound. The courtroom and the bailiff can’t keep up. People are standing and the bailiff is beginning to utter “all rise” as the judge is already disappearing into his chambers.