Agents of Affect: The Emotional Interactions Between Immigrants and Immigration Agents 

Guest post by Jozef Robles. Jozef is a Sociology PhD candidate at the University of California, Irvine. His research focuses on immigration, race/ethnicity, and law. His dissertation examines the effects of U.S. immigration law on immigrants' lives post-legal status regularization. He also studies the experiences of detainees in US immigration detention centers. This is the first blog post arising from the newly formed Border Criminologies' Border Policing and Emotions thematic group.  

After living as undocumented in the United States for thirty-two years, I was finally a lawful permanent resident. My status-adjustment journey, like that of many other undocumented immigrants who entered the US without lawful inspection, was fraught with emotional highs and lows, demanding considerable emotional labor in the face of fear and uncertainty.  

I realize now it wasn’t just my emotions that were shaped by the immigration system. Immigration agents also navigate a complex and emotionally-charged landscape to make sense of their roles within the immigration machine (see work by Irene Vega). By detailing my encounters with immigration agents throughout the adjustment process, I offer a glimpse both into my personal journey and my observations of the agents’ emotional experiences.  

The idea that people modify their affective states to fit social contexts is well-established. From a young age, we internalize the norms of how we should feel in different situations and quickly master the art of managing our emotions to conform to these feeling rules. 

As we grow older, emotional norms are reinforced by our professional environments. Occupations and institutions heavily dictate the emotional work and feeling rules we abide by in our professional lives, shaping how we express and experience emotions in the workplace (for examples, see here, here, and here).  

While immigration agents are often viewed as morally objectionable and emotionally detached individuals, the stoicism prescribed onto them by their professional role does not always represent their emotional experiences. Instead, these agents of affect can and, at times, do, deviate from stoic expectations, for better or worse. 

Contrary to what people might expect—that the final immigration interview is conducted in a private room—it is held in a small, bank-like room with immigrants lined up in the middle, surrounded by bank-teller-like windows. While in line, you hear all the other people’s interviews—the questions, the approvals, and the denials.  

To escape my thoughts, I honed my attention on an interview happening between an older Mexican gentleman, his English broken at best, and a female immigration agent. He spoke Spanish, and her Spanish was hardly proficient. As the interview proceeded, you could visibly see and hear the agent’s frustration with the gentleman due to the language barrier.  

I could feel each tremble in the gentleman’s voice as he attempted to answer questions in a way that the agent would understand. With each answer, the agent’s frustration grew more apparent. No other agent around seemed to be concerned by her evident frustration. In response to one of his answers, she snapped, “This is not what your application says.” The sharpness of her tone cut through the room. I wanted to step in, to help translate. But all I could do was remain in line, stoic, showing little to no expression, my actions bound by the feeling rules of the space. 

The agent denied his application. She delivered her decision in a stern tone with little to no regard for what her words meant for this man. I only saw the side of his face, but it was clear that he was holding back every emotion imaginable. His shoulders sagged, and his eyes glistened with unshed tears. She, on the other hand, still visibly had frustration painted across her face, unmoved by the devastation she had just imparted.  

“Next!” This was it—the interview that would decide the fate of my life. Only a thin veil of plexiglass stood between me and the agent—a young woman, about 165 cm in height, with dark-black hair and a light complexion made even lighter by the glow of her computer screen. Although the agent was asking me personal questions, she rarely looked at me. There was no warmth, no comforting grin.  

After what felt like an eternity of questions, the officer stamped my application packet and said, “congratulations,” in a monotone voice while avoiding eye contact. At that moment, all the emotional labor I had been desperately enacting to hide my anguish dissipated. Tears ran down my face, and for the first time, the agent looked at me. With red and watery eyes, I uttered the most sincere and shaken “thank you” that has ever left my mouth. 

At that moment, the officer broke away from her stoic demeanor and offered me a smile. Suddenly, there was a light in her eyes that was not coming from the computer screen. Although the smile lasted for maybe three seconds at most, it offered a glimpse of the agent’s humanity. In that moment, I saw the person behind the structure—a person capable of empathy and kindness, momentarily breaking free from the rigid constraints of her role. 

Yet, it was a short-lived experience. The agent quickly dropped her smile and said, “You’re good to go,” quickly returning to the stoicism I had grown accustomed to expecting from immigration officials. This swift transition back to a detached professional demeanor highlighted the intense emotional regulation required by her job. It was a reminder that, while agents may experience and display positive emotions, they must quickly suppress these feelings to adhere to the institutional norms of their employment. 

It became clear to me how deeply embedded emotional regulation and feeling rules are within the immigration process, impacting both immigrants and agents alike. My interaction, where the agent's stoic demeanor briefly gave way to a warm smile, juxtaposed with the older gentleman's experience of being denied despite his evident struggle, sheds light on the dual pressures faced in this environment.  

Immigrants face high stakes, with palpable tension as they await their turn, knowing their future hangs in the balance. The expectation to remain composed and meet the system's unspoken standards demands immense emotional resilience. On the other side, immigration agents are tasked with the burden of making life-altering decisions while adhering to professional norms that demand emotional detachment. 

The brief moments when these emotional barriers crack—whether through a smile or a display of frustration—highlight the emotional tightrope these agents of affect must navigate. Constantly having to balance between their personal emotional responses and the professional expectation of stoicism likely creates a significant internal emotional conflict. It's a delicate dance of maintaining humanity while performing the emotional labor dictated by their occupation that necessitates a suppression of empathy in favor of efficiency and enforcement. 

The moments when agents of affect deviate from emotional norms serve as reminders of the underlying humanity within an impersonal and rigid system. They underscore the emotional labor required to navigate such spaces, and the profound, albeit fleeting, moments when human nature breaks through the facade of bureaucratic rigidity, for better or worse.  

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