From El Salvador to South Sudan: Washington’s Third-Country US Immigrant Deportation Policy Hits Africa
America’s immigration crackdown is now exporting migrants to Africa. What does this mean for African countries?
In this handout provided by the U.S. Department of Defense, U.S. Customs and Border Protection security agents guide illegal immigrants onboard a C-17 Globemaster III assigned to the 60th Air Mobility Wing for a removal flight at Fort Bliss, Texas, on Jan. 23, 2025.
On Friday, July 4, eight men landed at Juba International Airport in South Sudan. The group included two Cubans, two Burmese nationals, and one each from Laos, Mexico, and Vietnam. Only one of them was South Sudanese. According to the U.S. government, each had served a prison sentence in America for serious crimes and faced formal removal orders upon completing their terms. A prolonged court battle over the legality of their deportation kept them detained for more than six weeks at Camp Lemonnier in Djibouti.
Since they arrived in Juba, their fate has been a mystery. No reliable reports have emerged regarding their whereabouts or current condition. When pressed for details, former U.S. border czar Tom Homan said, “They’re free as far as we’re concerned. They’re no longer in our custody. Will they stay in Sudan? I don’t know,” he said in an interview.
Their removal illustrates the Trump administration’s immigrant deportation under the “third-country” removal policy, in which the U.S. sends detained illegal immigrants to nations other than their own when home governments refuse to accept them. In February and March this year, detainees were sent to Costa Rica and El Salvador’s CECOT prison.
CECOT was billed as a state-of-the-art solution to gang violence. Instead, it became a symbol of systemic abuse. Human-rights groups have documented detainees sleeping on concrete floors, being denied medical care, and subsisting on spoiled food. Venezuela’s Attorney General opened an investigation into allegations of torture and sexual violence against more than 250 of their citizens sent there. The resulting outrage damaged El Salvador’s standing and raised questions about accountability at facilities run by private contractors.
By sending eight unrelated migrants to South Sudan, Washington made Juba its latest African partner in U.S. immigration policy. South Sudan is a young nation still wrestling with civil conflict, famine, and mass displacement while its institutions struggle to deliver basic services. Ironically, Juba agreed to accept these men just months after Washington revoked all South Sudanese visas in April 2025 over a dispute about repatriating a Congolese national.
Last week, five more detainees landed in Eswatini under the same U.S. immigrant deportation policy. They are citizens of Vietnam, Jamaica, Cuba, Yemen, and Laos, and U.S. officials say their convictions include murder and child rape. Eswatini’s government has placed them in solitary confinement at undisclosed prisons while it arranges repatriation through a U.N. agency.
Other African states have faced similar discussions. Rwanda held exploratory talks with Washington about hosting deportees, though no deal was signed. And most recently, Nigeria’s foreign minister rebuffed Washington, saying his country “has enough problems of its own” and would not accept third-country removals.
These developments reveal a troubling pattern. Washington is using its economic and diplomatic weight to enlist developing nations in enforcing U.S. immigration policy. For fragile states across Africa, agreeing to host detainees can mean aid boosts, security support, or eased visa rules. Yet these same governments often lack the legal frameworks and oversight to ensure fair treatment. If they follow El Salvador’s model, they risk swift global criticism and continued reputational risk should reports of abuse emerge.
As more countries sign on — and it seems likely — the continent risks becoming a dumping ground for America’s crackdown on migration. African leaders and regional bodies must demand transparency and push back against coercive deals. Otherwise, smaller, less powerful states will succumb to U.S. pressure while their own citizens are deprived of essential services and protection.
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