A covert network of agreements with scores of foreign governments is sending tens of thousands of asylum seekers and migrants to countries they have never heard of, according to a joint investigation by the Guardian and 22 other media outlets. The programme, dubbed “third‑country national arrangements”, is being used as a deterrent, with deportees being flown to places such as the Central African Republic, Ghana, Liberia and the Democratic Republic of the Congo. The practice has sparked legal challenges, drawn criticism from human‑rights groups and raised questions about the role of United Nations agencies in facilitating the removals.
The operation is led by senior White House adviser Stephen Miller, who has pushed a series of agreements that reward host nations with hundreds of millions of dollars in aid. The policy has accelerated under the second Trump administration, with a surge of flights in August and more than 100 removals tracked to 28 different countries so far. While the administration insists it is targeting criminals, documents obtained by the Washington Post reveal that most partner nations have stipulated they will not accept people with violent criminal records.
Human‑rights lawyers describe the strategy as a calculated display of power intended to dissuade future arrivals. A federal appeals court recently ruled that such removals breach due‑process rights because individuals are not given sufficient time to contest their transfer. The government has announced it will appeal the decision, and the programme shows no signs of slowing.
Faces of Forced Removal
Among those caught in the net is Nika, a 32‑year‑old Iranian woman who fled Tehran after participating in anti‑government protests. After spending more than a year in US immigration detention, a judge ordered her release on humanitarian grounds. Within days, she was rearrested and placed on a plane bound for Bangui, the capital of the Central African Republic, a nation she had never heard of. “They never told me they were going to deport me to this country,” she told the Guardian. “I don’t know anything about Africa.”
Nika’s ordeal began when officers, who had previously shackled her, took her from her Los Angeles accommodation under the guise of a routine check‑in. “They said put your hands above your head,” she recalled. She was handcuffed, led to a basement and flown 7,000 miles east. The flight’s in‑flight entertainment system briefly displayed a map, revealing the unexpected destination to the 18 other passengers on board.
Another deportee, Rabbiatu Kuyateh, a 58‑year‑old nurse from Sierra Leone, had built a life in the United States. She cared for coronavirus patients, raised a son and bought a home. In November, after being sent to Ghana, she was forced onto a bus and dragged by her hair toward a waiting plane. “I’m not going,” she screamed as she was taken. The incident was captured on video and circulated widely, prompting a backlash from Ghanaian authorities.
Kuyateh’s son, Mohamed, remembered the last time he saw his mother. He had accompanied her to a routine ICE check‑in, only to be told to wait outside. “That’s the last time I saw her,” he said. Weeks later, Kuyateh called, crying, from Ghana, where she was about to be returned to Sierra Leone.
A third case involves Annan, a gay man who fled Ghana after his family threatened him. After being deported from the US to Accra, he refused to leave the plane and was removed by force. He now lives in a neighbouring country, hiding in an abandoned building with no electricity or running water. “I can run, they say, but I can’t hide forever,” he said.
Legal Battles and Political Maneuvering
Human‑rights lawyers argue that the third‑country removals violate constitutional protections. In a landmark ruling, a US federal appeals court declared the practice unlawful, citing insufficient notice and the denial of a meaningful opportunity to contest the transfer. The court’s decision, however, is being appealed by the Department of Justice, which maintains that the policy is essential for border security.
The legal challenge has highlighted the role of Stephen Miller, who, according to current and former officials, orchestrated the policy by placing allies in key positions within the State Department. Christian Ehrhardt, a career diplomat now heading the newly created Office of Remigration, has secured at least 13 agreements across Africa. Internal records show the administration has pledged at least $410 million to secure cooperation from 38 nations, with $85 million earmarked for the Central African Republic alone.
Although the Trump administration portrays the deportees as dangerous criminals, the Washington Post’s investigation uncovered that most partner countries have explicitly stipulated they will not accept individuals with violent criminal histories. The State Department has not responded to detailed queries about the agreements.
Humanitarian Fallout and International Involvement
The International Organisation for Migration (IOM), a UN agency, is providing food, shelter and psychological support to deportees in several host nations, including the Central African Republic. The agency’s involvement has sparked debate. An internal risk assessment warned that the programme could lead to the IOM being “perceived as complicit” in the removals.
Nika described her stay in Bangui as a form of “self‑imprisonment”. While the IOM‑provided accommodation was secure, she felt trapped. “I’m breathing here, I’m not dying. But I can’t leave the house without a driver they provide. I don’t speak their language.” She also battled malaria, a disease she had never heard of, after being bitten by countless mosquitoes.
Other deportees have faced even graver hardships. One woman sent to a camp in Ghana attempted suicide by drinking bleach, fearing repatriation to Senegal. “I drank the bleach because I wanted to die,” she said. “Because they wanted to force me to go back to my country.”
Why it Matters
The covert deportation network represents a dramatic shift in US immigration enforcement, turning sovereign nations into transit points for people who have already been deemed too vulnerable to return home. By leveraging financial aid and diplomatic pressure, the administration is effectively outsourcing its deterrence strategy, bypassing traditional legal safeguards and international norms. The involvement of a UN agency adds another layer of complexity, raising questions about the ethical boundaries of humanitarian assistance when it indirectly supports forced removals. As the policy continues to expand, it not only endangers the lives of thousands of vulnerable individuals but also sets a precedent that could reshape global approaches to asylum and migration for years to come.
