Hopeless in Custody, Detainees Voluntarily Depart from the U.S.

A growing share of people in immigration custody are giving up on their cases and choosing voluntary departure, saying they feel hopeless and worn down by detention. In the 12 months ending September 30, 2025, immigration judges granted an estimated 15,241 voluntary departures, up from 8,663 the prior fiscal year. Detainees and their families describe a system that pushes people toward a quick exit: longer time in jail-like settings, routine opposition to bond even for those with strong ties in the United States 🇺🇸, and warnings that if they do not leave on their own, they could be sent to a third country. Officials say these results show tougher enforcement is working. Advocates say the rise reflects despair, not true choice.

Immigration courts are under heavy strain, with more than 3.6 million pending cases as of March 2025. That backlog means many detainees face months—sometimes longer—before they can even have a full hearing. Since early July 2025, detainees and lawyers report that U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) has opposed bond almost across the board. When a person cannot win release, they must choose between fighting their case from detention or asking for voluntary departure to end the ordeal. For many, the second option feels like the only path that preserves mental health, even if it separates them from U.S.-born children, spouses, or jobs.

Under immigration law, voluntary departure lets a person leave the country without a formal removal order. That can matter for the future: leaving with voluntary departure avoids certain bars that follow a deportation order, and it may help if a person seeks a visa later. But for those who have real protection claims—such as asylum, withholding of removal, or relief under the Convention Against Torture—asking for voluntary departure means closing the door on legal protection they might have won. Several immigration judges and defense lawyers say they now see people with credible fear claims give up because detention conditions and the pressure of the process feel unbearable.

Official data shared by ICE show 319,980 deportations between October 1, 2024, and September 20, 2025. That figure, combined with the sharp rise in voluntary departure orders issued by immigration judges, signals a system leaning hard on removal as the outcome for most detainees. The Department of Homeland Security (DHS) argues that swift removals and a clear message of “return or be removed” deter unauthorized migration. At the same time, independent analysts, including researchers at the Migration Policy Institute, warn that some wider claims about total departures—voluntary and involuntary—may misread federal data sets and overstate the impact.

Why detainees report giving up

Detainees describe harsh conditions that erode the will to fight a case. People report poor medical care, constant anxiety, and the sense that the process itself aims to break them. Advocates say language access can be weak, making it hard for people to talk to lawyers or follow proceedings. Friends and relatives outside struggle with limited visitation and costly phone calls.

When time in detention stretches from weeks to months, parents tell attorneys they cannot bear missing more of a child’s life—school events, doctor visits, birthdays. They sign for voluntary departure believing it is the only way to stop the pain, even if they once felt confident about their chance to win.

Some who are not in custody are also withdrawing their claims, according to community groups. They fear being detained at their next court date and kept for a long spell with no bond. Policy signals matter: when people hear that ICE opposes bond for nearly everyone, and that those who do not accept voluntary departure may be sent to a third country, many ask lawyers if they should cut their losses.

This year, officials have also promoted $1,000 incentives for those who leave on their own using a government mobile app, and have raised the risk of removal to countries such as Eswatini, Rwanda, South Sudan, or Uganda for those who refuse. The money and the threat, detainees say, combine with tough jail conditions to push the choice.

Policy pressure and the mechanics of voluntary departure

Voluntary departure can be granted by immigration judges at different stages of a case:

1. Early voluntary departure — granted before a full decision on removability or relief.
2. Late voluntary departure — ordered after the judge denies protection but offers a set period (often up to 60 or 120 days) to depart.

To receive voluntary departure, a person must meet certain rules, such as:

• Showing good moral character
• Demonstrating the means to depart by the set deadline

If they do not depart on time, the order can convert into a removal order with penalties.

Judges say they weigh each request case by case, but several note that the steady denial of bond has changed the calculus: more respondents now ask for voluntary departure simply to exit detention.

People in detention say they now hear the same message from different angles: “You will not get out unless you agree to go.” Defense lawyers push back, noting that the law still allows release on bond or parole when a person is neither a flight risk nor a danger to the community. Yet since early July 2025, reports indicate ICE has moved to oppose release for nearly all detainees.

That practice leads to more custody hearings, which crowd already packed court dockets, and it raises the chance that detainees—especially those without lawyers—will struggle to show why they should be released. In this climate, voluntary departure becomes the “fast exit” door, even for people with families, jobs, and pending applications.

Government framing vs. critics

The government frames the spike in voluntary departures as proof that enforcement works. Officials say it “sends a clear message” that the United States will remove those who lack the right to stay. According to analysis by VisaVerge.com, the administration’s self-deportation strategy couples incentives—like the $1,000 offer—with enforcement measures that make continued presence difficult.

Critics respond:

• Real consent requires a fair process and humane conditions.
• If people choose departure because they fear indefinite detention, or because they cannot speak to counsel, it is not a free choice but coercion by circumstance.

Lawyers warn about long-term legal risks. A voluntary departure order requires strict compliance:

• Miss the deadline → potential 10-year bar on certain forms of relief, plus civil fines.
• For those who might qualify for asylum or family-based relief, a hurried decision to leave can carry lasting harm.

Still, in the face of daily stress, the long-term view is hard to keep. One father of two U.S.-born kids, who had a plausible fear-of-return claim, told his attorney that he “couldn’t breathe” in detention and felt like he was “losing his mind.” He took voluntary departure after six weeks, even though his attorney believed he had a strong case.

The human toll inside detention and beyond

Families bear the shock waves from detention:

• Spouses suddenly become single parents.
• Children develop sleep problems and struggle in school.
• Community groups report rising requests for rent help and food support.

Churches and mutual aid networks host weekly visits and deliver care packages. Volunteers describe lines at the facility entrance on weekends: parents with toddlers, siblings with grocery bags, co-workers carrying pay stubs to help with bond that never gets granted.

When a detainee chooses voluntary departure, loved ones often feel relief mixed with grief—the immediate pain of separation weighed against the hope of one day trying to return lawfully.

Public hospitals see patients whose health worsens behind bars. Lawyers describe clients who lose weight, skip medications, or face delays for specialist care. Mental health services inside detention vary: some facilities have therapists; others have little more than a hotline. Detainees report long waits for appointments and fear that speaking up could be used against them.

In that environment, voluntary departure becomes a safety valve. “I can leave and get help,” one asylum seeker told his lawyer, signing the paperwork even though a local nonprofit had just found a therapist willing to see him by video.

Community advocates also track a chilling effect beyond detention:

• People who once planned to pursue relief now stay quiet or skip check-ins.
• Some move to new addresses without filing changes in court.
• Some withdraw applications for fear of being locked up with no bond.
• Others weigh the $1,000 incentive to settle debts back home.

Lawyers worry hasty exits can lead to chain reactions: a parent’s departure throws a household into crisis, pushing a teenage child to drop out of school or take on extra work. The cost of a single removal or voluntary departure ripples through classrooms, clinics, and small businesses.

Inside courtrooms, immigration judges continue to face heavy dockets. When ICE opposes bond in nearly every case, judges must hold more custody hearings. Those hearings take time away from merits cases—trials where people present evidence for asylum or other relief. That traffic jam can lengthen the wait for everyone.

Judges emphasize they consider each case individually, and that voluntary departure remains a lawful form of relief when requirements are met. Still, many acknowledge the reality: when detention looms and release feels out of reach, more people ask for voluntary departure, even when their legal claims look strong on paper.

Policy design, alternatives, and legal resources

The rise in voluntary departure also reflects recent policy design. Officials have paired faster removal flights with steps that reduce options for release from custody. They have broadened the list of third countries to which people could be removed if they do not depart on their own. In practice, this means a person who resists voluntary departure may face a flight to a place they have never been, rather than to their country of birth. For some, that threat tips the balance. “I will leave if I can choose where I go,” one detainee told a legal aid worker, “but I will not be sent to a random place far from my family.”

Advocates call for alternatives to detention, like community-based case management. They point to long-standing programs that help people attend hearings and check-ins without locking them up. Such programs are:

• Cheaper
• More humane
• Effective at ensuring compliance with court processes

ICE maintains that detention remains necessary for enforcement and public safety, citing the removal numbers—nearly 320,000 in fiscal year 2025—as evidence that the system is carrying out the law. Critics counter that a numbers-first approach ignores the legal merits of many cases and the human cost in jail beds and broken families.

For people seeking information about their court cases—or about voluntary departure rules—attorneys often direct them to the Executive Office for Immigration Review (EOIR), which oversees the immigration courts and publishes official guidance and notices. Understanding when voluntary departure is available, what deadlines apply, and how to avoid penalties if plans change can help people make informed choices.

Legal aid groups encourage detainees to:

• Ask for a list of pro bono providers
• Contact family members to gather supporting documents
• Push for language support if they do not speak English well

Even a single phone call with a lawyer can shift the path of a case.

The pressure inside detention shows up in small details: the sound of steel doors, the limits on outdoor time, the rush to medical when someone faints, the silence after lights out. Detainees say days blur together.

Immigration lawyers describe a shift in advice. They still explain rights and relief options and gather evidence—police records, birth certificates, country condition reports. But they also spend more time talking about mental health and family hardship. Some clients decide to fight and win release or relief. Others choose voluntary departure knowing exactly what they are giving up.

Attorneys say informed consent is the goal, yet they worry that consent is often formed under pressure—sleep loss, poor food, fear of violence, and the anxiety of not knowing when the next court date will come. In that setting, the line between choice and coercion feels thinner than ever.

The debate and the numbers

Federal officials insist that strict policies protect public safety and uphold the law. They emphasize that voluntary departure is a legal option that avoids a formal removal order. They argue that removal to third countries is lawful and necessary when primary countries refuse returns or delay travel documents.

Critics reply that broader opposition to bond and the heavy use of detention are policy choices, not legal requirements. They point out that the law allows release in many cases, and that community-based programs can secure court appearances without jail. The debate has grown sharper as the numbers—both deportations and voluntary departures—have climbed through 2025.

The scale of this shift is striking:

• Voluntary departures rose from 8,663 to 15,241 in one year — a jump of more than 75%.
• Combine that with nearly 320,000 deportations over roughly the same period, and departure—by choice or by force—is the dominant end point.

The human stories behind those numbers bring the picture into focus: the teen who watches a parent disappear from the lunch table; the factory that loses a skilled worker overnight; the church that holds a fundraiser to cover a last-minute airline ticket for a voluntary return. Policy goals meet daily lives in the most concrete ways.

Outlook

As 2025 draws on, the central question is whether this pattern will keep growing. Possible trajectories:

• If detention remains widespread, bond remains out of reach, and incentives plus threats stay in place → many experts expect voluntary departure to continue rising.
• If policy shifts toward more releases and greater access to counsel → more people may choose to present their full claims before immigration judges.

For now, the immediate effects are clear: an overwhelmed court system, growing stress for detainees, and a steady stream of people leaving the United States not because they lost on the law, but because the process itself felt like too much to bear.