When Nika, a 32-year-old Iranian woman, finally saw a map appear on the seat-back screen of a US immigration aircraft, the small dot blinking on Central African Republic (CAR) was the first clue to her fate. She had spent 18 months behind bars after fleeing Iran, received a judge’s order of release, and within two weeks was seized again, handcuffed, and put on a flight that would carry her 7,000 miles east.
“They never told me they were going to deport me to this country,” Nika told reporters after the plane touched down in Bangui. The officers on board offered no explanation; the only hint came from the video screen. The handcuffs dug into her wrists, and she watched other passengers—some wrapped in black and yellow restraints—suffer similar treatment. The journey lasted 24 hours, and upon arrival she was confined to a tiny bedroom, unable to leave without a driver provided by a UN agency.
From US detention to a Bangui cell: Nika’s personal ordeal
Nika fled Iran 18 months before her capture, seeking sanctuary after taking part in protests against the regime. Once in the United States, she was detained for more than a year, granted withholding of removal—an exceptional protection for individuals facing severe harm in their home country—and released on a judge’s order on 28 May. Within ten days, the Department of Homeland Security rearrested her, and on 11 June she was forced onto a plane bound for CAR.
In Bangui, she received a yellow-fever vaccination, then was placed in a modest apartment block with a three-month stay limit. Without a passport or visa, she struggled to move beyond the provided transport, fearing police intimidation. A medical report later confirmed she had contracted malaria after being bitten by mosquitoes, a disease she had never heard of before arriving in Africa.
The hidden US third-country deportation network
According to a consortium of investigative outlets, the United States has orchestrated more than 100 flights that have taken over 5,000 migrants to 28 different nations across Africa, Latin America, the Caribbean, and Central Asia. The Trump administration alone is credited with deporting over 25,000 people to countries that were not their own, while another 20,000 were bused to Mexico.
These “third-country removals” are framed by officials as a “show of force” meant to deter future migration. On 20 August, four Cubans, a Brazilian and a Cameroonian were diverted from Liberia to Equatorial Guinea after refusing to disembark. In August, a record 16 flights carried migrants to 13 new destinations, according to Human Rights First.
Key architects of the scheme include White House deputy chief of staff Stephen Miller and State Department official Christian Ehrhardt who heads the newly created Office of Remigration. The administration pledged at least $410 million to secure agreements with 38 nations—$85 million of which was funneled to the International Organization for Migration (IOM) for operations in CAR alone.
Legal pushback and political rhetoric
A federal appeals court recently ruled that third-country removals violate due process because detainees are not given sufficient time to contest their transfer. Human-rights lawyers urged an immediate halt to the flights, but the government signaled it will appeal and continue the policy.
State Department spokespeople reiterated a “top priority” to end “illegal and mass immigration” and promised to use “all legal means” to remove those without a right to stay. Yet documents obtained by journalists reveal that many partner countries, including 35 of the 38 signatories, explicitly refused to accept migrants with violent criminal records, contradicting the administration’s claim that those deported are criminals.
For lawyers like Sahar Jalili, who represents Nika, the pace of rearrests is bewildering. Jalili recounts how ICE officials decided to send Nika to Bangui only eight days after a judge ordered her release. Despite pleading for a two-day reprieve, she was shackled again and taken to the plane, while other clients were rescued from similar flights just in time.
The human cost extends beyond Nika. Former detainees such as Rabbiatu Kuyateh, a nurse from Sierra Leone who was shuttled from Ghana to her homeland, describe living in constant fear, unable to work, and haunted by the prospect of being forced back to dangerous environments.
As the United States continues to fund and implement this controversial network, questions linger about accountability, the role of international agencies like IOM, and the long-term impact on migrants who find themselves stranded far from any place they ever called home.
