Paying for departure while undermining justice by Maddalena Conti

There is a particular kind of policy idea that sounds transactional on paper but corrosive in practice. The proposal emerging from Giorgia Meloni’s government offering financial incentives to immigration lawyers to encourage their clients to leave Italy falls squarely into that category. It is not merely controversial; it is a fundamental misreading of what the legal profession is supposed to do in a democratic society.

At its core, the idea reframes lawyers not as advocates bound to defend the rights and interests of their clients, but as intermediaries who can be nudged, financially, toward a politically desirable outcome. That shift should alarm anyone who values the integrity of the justice system. Lawyers are not supposed to guide clients toward outcomes that serve the state’s convenience. They are supposed to ensure that the state plays by its own rules.

The backlash from Italy’s legal establishment is not just predictable, it is necessary. When governments begin to blur the line between legal counsel and policy enforcement, they erode the adversarial system that keeps power in check. If a lawyer’s advice can be influenced by a financial incentive tied to a specific outcome, then the very notion of independent counsel begins to collapse.

Supporters of the plan might argue that it is pragmatic. Immigration systems are strained, cases are backlogged, and voluntary returns are less costly and contentious than forced deportations. But pragmatism cannot come at the expense of principle. A system that quietly rewards lawyers for steering clients toward departure introduces a conflict of interest that is impossible to reconcile ethically.

Consider the dynamic this creates. An immigrant facing a complex legal situation, perhaps with a valid claim to remain, must now wonder whether their lawyer’s advice is shaped by the merits of the case or by the promise of compensation. Even if most lawyers act with integrity, the perception of compromised advice is enough to damage trust. And in law, trust is everything.

There is also a deeper, more troubling implication. Policies like this subtly redefine the role of immigrants within the legal system. They are no longer participants with rights to be defended but problems to be managed efficiently. The goal shifts from justice to throughput. And once that shift occurs, it becomes easier to justify further shortcuts.

Today, it is financial incentives for “voluntary” return. Tomorrow, it could be procedural pressures that make contesting a case more difficult, or administrative hurdles that quietly discourage appeals. The slope is not just slippery, it is well worn.

What makes this proposal particularly striking is how it exposes a broader tension in contemporary politics: the desire to appear tough on immigration while maintaining the appearance of legality. Incentivizing lawyers is, in a sense, an attempt to square that circle. It avoids the spectacle of mass deportations while still achieving the same outcome. But in doing so, it risks hollowing out the very institutions that lend legitimacy to government action.

A functioning democracy does not ask its lawyers to become instruments of policy. It relies on them to challenge it. If that role is compromised, even subtly, the consequences extend far beyond immigration. They reach into the heart of how power is exercised and contested.

In the end, the question is not whether the policy will reduce the number of migrants in Italy. It is whether it will reduce something far more important: the credi