I will be locked up, I will be in jail.
In a rare public rebuke, United Nations human rights experts this week called on Equatorial Guinea to halt the imminent expulsion of US deportees who hold legal protections against return to countries where they face torture and death. The Trump administration, pursuing what it describes as the largest deportation operation in history, paid Equatorial Guinea $7.5 million to receive third-country nationals — circumventing protections granted by American immigration courts and international law. At stake is a question as old as the idea of refuge itself: whether a nation may discharge its legal obligations by simply moving the endangered to another shore.
- Dozens of people who won legal protection from US immigration judges — guarantees they would not be sent to their persecutors — have been shackled, flown without explanation to Equatorial Guinea, and are now facing imminent expulsion to the very countries they fled.
- Conditions in Malabo amount to detention: armed guards, no hygiene supplies, no legal access, no medical care, and a silence from officials about where deportees will be sent next.
- The UN and the African Commission on Human and People's Rights have issued an urgent joint appeal, warning that refoulement — returning anyone to a place where their life or freedom is at risk — is a violation of international law regardless of which government carries it out.
- At least one person has already been expelled onward to his home country and is now in hiding; El Salvador is holding over 250 Venezuelan deportees in a notorious mega-prison under a similar US-funded arrangement.
- Human rights lawyers warn this is not improvisation but architecture — a deliberate system of outsourced enforcement designed to make legal protections functionally unreachable.
The United Nations took the unusual step this week of publicly rebuking Equatorial Guinea, urging the central African nation to stop expelling a group of people the United States had deported there — people who, human rights experts warned, face torture, political violence, and death if returned to their home countries.
The arrangement is part of the Trump administration's sweeping deportation campaign. To move people it cannot easily send home directly, the administration has paid more than two dozen countries — including Panama, Costa Rica, Eswatini, and Equatorial Guinea — to serve as intermediary destinations. Equatorial Guinea received $7.5 million for its participation. The deeper problem is that many of those sent there had already been granted formal legal protections by US immigration courts, including withholding of removal and protections under the Convention Against Torture. By routing deportees through third countries, the administration is effectively circumventing those guarantees.
Among those now confined in Malabo is a woman the Guardian is calling Esther. She fled her home country in 2024 after being arrested and tortured by government officials, made her way through South America and Mexico, spent fourteen months in US immigration detention, and ultimately won her case before an immigration judge. She moved to New York, complied with every check-in required by ICE — and then, at a routine appointment, was arrested without explanation, denied a lawyer, transferred to Louisiana, shackled, and placed on a plane. Only when she boarded did an airline employee tell her she was going to Equatorial Guinea.
Since arriving, Esther has been confined to a guarded hotel room with no soap, no clean clothes, no medication when she fell ill. Lawyers who tried to bring her basic supplies were turned away. On Saturday, officials told her and at least eight others that deportation was imminent. She knows what awaits her. Her father was arrested and disappeared by authorities in her home country. She herself was beaten and starved nearly to death before her mother arranged her escape. "I will be locked up," she said by phone from her room. "I will be in jail."
Lawyers representing at least twenty-eight people in Equatorial Guinea say all of their clients held formal US legal protections. Several have already been expelled onward to their home countries — a practice known as refoulement, prohibited under international law. One man, persecuted for his sexual orientation, is now in hiding. The UN statement was unambiguous: no one may be returned, directly or indirectly, to a place where their life or freedom is in danger. Human rights advocates describe the broader system as outsourced cruelty, deliberately engineered to place suffering beyond legal reach.
Esther's mother, who once risked everything to help her daughter escape, is now terrified of what a reunion might look like. "She'll see me as a corpse," Esther said, "to bury."
The United Nations made an unusual move this week, issuing a public statement that amounted to a direct rebuke of Equatorial Guinea's government. Human rights experts, working alongside representatives from the African Commission on Human and People's Rights, urged the central African nation to stop sending back a group of people the United States had deported there—people who, the experts warned, face torture, political violence, and death if returned to their home countries.
The backdrop is the Trump administration's aggressive deportation campaign. To execute what officials call the largest deportation operation in history, the administration has struck deals with more than two dozen countries, including Panama, Costa Rica, Eswatini, and Cameroon, to accept deportees who are not citizens of those nations. Equatorial Guinea received $7.5 million to participate in this arrangement. What makes this particularly troubling is that many of these deportees had already been granted legal protections in the United States—either through a formal withholding of removal or under the international Convention Against Torture. They had proven, before immigration judges, that sending them home would expose them to severe persecution. The US government is now circumventing those protections by sending them elsewhere first.
Esther, a woman from an African country whose name and homeland the Guardian is protecting for her safety, arrived in Equatorial Guinea weeks ago. She had fled her home country in 2024 after being arrested and tortured at the direction of government officials. She made her way through South America and Mexico to the US southern border, spent fourteen months in immigration detention, and eventually won her case. A judge granted her withholding of removal—a guarantee she would not be sent back. She moved in with her uncle in New York and complied with all required check-ins with Immigration and Customs Enforcement. Then, during a routine appointment, she was arrested, denied access to a lawyer, moved to Louisiana, shackled, and placed on a plane. Officials would not tell her where she was going. Only when she boarded did an airline employee reveal her destination: Equatorial Guinea.
Since arriving in Malabo, the capital, Esther has been confined to a hotel room guarded by armed officials. She has been denied basic hygiene supplies—soap, toothbrushes, clean clothes. Lawyers attempting to deliver phone chargers, pads, and fresh clothing were repeatedly blocked. She caught the flu and received no medication. Her hands and ankles ache from hours spent shackled during transport. On Saturday, officials told her and at least eight others they would be deported imminently. She knows what awaits her. Two years ago, authorities in her home country arrested and disappeared her father. They arrested her, beat her, starved her nearly to death. Her mother had begged officials to let her take Esther to a hospital. Instead, her mother arranged for her daughter to escape. "I know what awaits me if they send me where they want to send me," Esther said in a phone call from her hotel room. "I will be locked up, I will be in jail."
Lawyers representing at least twenty-eight people sent to Equatorial Guinea say their clients were granted formal protections under US immigration law or the Convention Against Torture. Yet Equatorial Guinea has already sent several of them onward to their home countries—a practice called refoulement, which violates international human rights standards. One man, persecuted in his home country for his sexual orientation, is now in hiding. These secondary and tertiary expulsions are becoming routine. El Salvador, another recipient of US deportees, has incarcerated more than two hundred and fifty Venezuelan nationals in a notorious mega-prison for months at a time.
The UN statement called the practice unambiguous: "States must ensure that no one is returned, directly or indirectly, to a situation where their life, freedom or physical or mental integrity would be in danger." Human rights advocates describe what is happening as a deliberate system of outsourced cruelty. Bella Mosselmans, director of the Global Strategic Litigation Council, which is representing Esther and others, said these agreements are "causing immense human suffering and flagrantly violating international law." The Trump administration's Department of Homeland Security responded that it is "utilizing all lawful options" to carry out the deportation operation, but declined to answer detailed questions about why deportees were not informed of their destinations or why the administration is sending people to countries with troubling human rights records.
For now, Esther survives by trying not to think about what comes next. She has managed to call her uncle and mother, who are panicked. Her mother told her she is still young, that she has so much life to live—that is why she helped her escape in the first place. When they last saw each other, her mother feared she might never see her daughter again. Now, Esther said, her mother worries they will reunite, "but she'll see me as a corpse, to bury."
Citações Notáveis
States must ensure that no one is returned, directly or indirectly, to a situation where their life, freedom or physical or mental integrity would be in danger.— UN human rights experts, in statement to Equatorial Guinea
What we are seeing in Equatorial Guinea is not an isolated issue. It is the expansion of a deliberate system designed to outsource cruelty and erode protections for people seeking safety in the US.— Bella Mosselmans, director of the Global Strategic Litigation Council
A Conversa do Hearth Outra perspectiva sobre a história
Why is the UN making a public statement now, when they usually work behind closed doors?
Because what's happening is so stark that silence becomes complicity. These aren't people without legal status—they won the right to stay. The US is essentially saying those protections don't matter if we send you somewhere else first.
How does Equatorial Guinea benefit from this arrangement?
Seven and a half million dollars, for one thing. But also, it's a way for a repressive government to appear cooperative with the US while actually deepening its control over vulnerable people with no legal standing in the country.
Is there any chance these deportations will be stopped?
The UN and African Commission are applying pressure, and human rights groups are litigating. But people are already being sent onward. The legal system moves slowly. The deportations move fast.
What makes Esther's case representative?
She did everything right. She fled persecution, proved her case, got protection, followed the rules. And none of it mattered. If it can happen to her, it can happen to anyone in that hotel.
Why would the US government take this approach instead of just deporting people directly?
Because US courts have already decided these people can't be sent home. This way, the administration can claim it's following the law while achieving the same result—getting them out of the country.