Let’s talk about something that often goes unnoticed but plays a key role in the complex topic of immigration—deportation. You might think that once a person is flagged for deportation, it’s as simple as booking a one-way ticket, but reality paints a far more nuanced picture. Deportation is more like a diplomatic negotiation, requiring two willing partners: the country removing the person and the country accepting them. And as the Trump administration’s immigration policies have vividly shown, this process can be fraught with tension, resistance, and creative maneuvering.
The Trump Administration’s Deportation Dilemma: Negotiations Across Borders
From the moment Donald Trump launched his presidential campaign in 2016, mass deportation of undocumented immigrants was one of his signature promises. After taking office, his administration acted swiftly, ramping up Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) raids and organizing high-profile deportation flights. But here’s the catch: deporting someone isn’t just about removing them from U.S. soil. It also involves convincing the person’s home country to let them back in—and that’s not always straightforward.
Take, for instance, a recent diplomatic dust-up with Colombia. When U.S. military planes attempted to deport Colombian citizens, President Gustavo Petro blocked the flights from landing. This standoff escalated so quickly that the Trump administration threatened to impose tariffs on Colombia, which in turn forced the Colombian government to relent. Similarly, diplomatic friction erupted when shackled deportees were flown to Brazil, prompting outcry from its government.
These incidents underscore that while the U.S. has the authority to detain undocumented immigrants, deporting them often requires an intricate dance of diplomacy—and occasionally, strong-arm tactics. It’s a struggle that highlights just how interconnected deportation is with negotiations, politics, and policy.
Why Is Deportation So Difficult?
Under international law, nations are generally obligated to accept their own citizens when they’ve been deported from another country. But here’s where things get complicated: not every country plays by the rules. Many have ways of resisting. For example, they might refuse to provide travel documents, deny that the deportees are their citizens, or simply cap the number of flights they’re willing to accept.
Here’s a practical example: Dara Lind, a senior fellow at the American Immigration Council, observes that countries like China, India, and Cuba—labeled by the U.S. as “recalcitrant”—can make deportation a logistical nightmare. China, for example, accepts deportation flights but not in numbers significant enough to address the population of Chinese nationals living in the U.S. without authorization. And while Cuba has allowed some deportees to return since 2017 (thanks to years of Obama-era negotiations), its cooperation is still limited.
In short, the U.S. can’t act unilaterally when it comes to deportation—it needs its counterparties to agree. Sometimes, this involves incentivizing them with economic perks; other times, it requires coercing them with trade threats. And these negotiations often play out in fraught, highly political arenas.
Negotiation Tactics: Carrots and Sticks
The Trump administration has leaned on different strategies to manage these bilateral negotiations. Broadly speaking, they fall into four categories:
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Diplomatic Incentives (Carrots): Offering financial aid, trade agreements, or other goodies to encourage cooperation. For instance, the European Union once struck a high-profile deal with Turkey, offering cash and trade concessions in exchange for Turkey accepting Syrian asylum seekers and other undocumented migrants. Similarly, Venezuela’s President Nicolás Maduro has resisted deportations since U.S. sanctions were imposed but has hinted he could reconsider in exchange for economic relief.
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Economic Threats (Sticks): Using penalties and tariffs to twist arms. U.S.-friendly countries like Colombia and Mexico are more vulnerable to this kind of pressure due to their deep economic ties to the United States. Colombia’s reversal of its deportation stance, after the threat of tariffs, is a prime example.
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Third-Party Agreements: In rare cases, the U.S. might try to negotiate with a third country to accept deportees who aren’t even its citizens. Australia has previously employed this tactic, paying Papua New Guinea and Nauru to host asylum seekers in offshore detention centers.
- Allowing Migrants to Stay: In cases where deportation negotiations fail altogether, migrants sometimes remain in legal limbo in the U.S., unable to be deported or fully integrated into society.
The big challenge now is whether Mexico—a key player in Trump’s immigration crackdown—will accept deportees from countries other than its own. President Claudia Sheinbaum has previously vowed not to accommodate such requests. Still, she recently acknowledged that Mexico has accepted thousands of deportees, mostly Mexican nationals but not exclusively.
This sets the stage for tense future negotiations, especially when deportation becomes intertwined with larger issues, like the Trump administration’s threats to impose 25% tariffs on Mexico if it doesn’t curb drug smuggling or stop migrants at the U.S.-Mexico border.
The Controversial Guantánamo Option: A "Black Hole" for Migrants?
In a dramatic pivot, President Trump floated an idea with historical echoes: sending deportees and undocumented migrants to a detention site at Guantánamo Bay, Cuba. Guantánamo’s military base, long a symbol of contentious U.S. foreign policy, could potentially host up to 30,000 people, essentially creating a third-country solution without brokering a deal with another government.
Trump’s argument? Some migrants, deemed too dangerous, supposedly cannot be returned home because their countries won’t reliably hold them or might let them re-enter the U.S. By housing them indefinitely in Guantánamo, these issues could theoretically be circumvented.
This isn’t a new idea. As early as the 1990s, Guantánamo was used to detain thousands of Cuban and Haitian migrants in sprawling tent cities surrounded by barbed wire. However, experts note several problems with reviving the policy today. First, there are serious legal and ethical concerns surrounding such detention. “Guantánamo is a black hole designed to escape scrutiny and with a dark history of inhumane conditions,” observes Lucas Guttentag, a Justice Department official under President Biden. He predicts that attempts to bypass legal oversight using this facility will face immense legal challenges.
Second, even a massive 30,000-bed detention center would address only a fraction of the millions of individuals President Trump has promised to deport. Not to mention the staggering costs of operating Guantánamo indefinitely and the potential backlash from the Cuban government, which insists that the base itself is illegal.
A Balancing Act of Power, Policy, and Diplomacy
The issue of deportation under the Trump administration reveals a much broader narrative about how immigration policy intersects with geopolitics. It’s not as simple as rounding people up and putting them on a plane. Every deportation is a negotiation, playing out against the backdrop of international diplomacy and domestic political goals.
Countries like China and Cuba can resist deportations, exploiting their leverage as “recalcitrant” states. Neighboring nations, like Mexico and Colombia, are caught between their economic dependence on the U.S. and their political unwillingness to be complicit in large-scale deportations. Meanwhile, Trump’s Guantánamo proposal illustrates the limits of unilateral U.S. policymaking, raising questions about legality, feasibility, and morality.
Ultimately, whether by carrots, sticks, or creative solutions like third-country agreements, deportation remains a game of high-stakes diplomacy in which every player calculates what they stand to gain—or lose—in cooperation. And in today’s globalized world, even policies designed to be insular have ripple effects far beyond U.S. borders.
