WASHINGTON —
The Trump administration’s use of “third‑country” deportations—flying people to nations where they have no citizenship or prior ties—has drawn fresh scrutiny after Senate Democrats on the Foreign Relations Committee published a minority report estimating the program has cost U.S. taxpayers more than $40 million through January 2026. First reported by Semafor, the findings detail a web of opaque arrangements in which Washington pays or pressures partner governments to accept deportees that other countries of origin will not receive.
In unusually stark language, the committee calls the practice a major shift in U.S. diplomacy. It describes a system in which Washington “urges or coerces countries to accept migrants who are not their citizens,” and says what had been a rare tool “has become a routine instrument of diplomacy.” The report frames the initiative not only as an immigration‑enforcement strategy but as a new form of leverage in bilateral relationships, raising questions about how far the executive branch can go in structuring such deals without fuller congressional oversight.
The administration argues the transfers are necessary in recalcitrant cases to expand enforcement options when home countries refuse to accept their nationals. But the emerging costs, legal challenges, and diplomatic compromises are now rippling across multiple regions—from Central America to Africa and the Pacific—where small cohorts of deportees have been sent at very high per‑person expense, testing long‑standing norms on non‑refoulement and state responsibility.
What the Senate report found
The committee estimates that, as of January 31, 2026, the administration paid more than $32 million directly to five governments willing to accept third‑country nationals: Equatorial Guinea ($7.5 million), Rwanda ($7.5 million), Eswatini ($5.1 million), El Salvador ($4.76 million), and Palau ($7.5 million). The report adds that the government often used military aircraft for removals at operating costs exceeding $32,000 per flight hour; seven months of flights carrying 51 people to Rwanda, Eswatini, and Equatorial Guinea were pegged at roughly $2.5 million.
As of January 2026, the five paid partners had together received about 300 people—approximately 250 Venezuelans sent to El Salvador in March 2025 and just 51 across the other four countries: Rwanda (7), Eswatini (15), Equatorial Guinea (29), and Palau (0). The committee says “more than eighty percent” of deportees sent to paid third countries have since moved on to their home countries, in some cases on additional U.S.-funded flights, undercutting arguments that the arrangements provide durable resettlement or long‑term migration management.
“[T]axpayers are funding a global deportation network that is little more than an expensive deterrent with no measurable benefit.”
Beyond spending, the report alleges weak oversight: the State Department “is not tracking foreign government compliance with diplomatic assurances or enforcing agreement terms, even where evidence suggests foreign governments are violating their commitments.” It contends U.S. officials in at least one country were told not to follow up on deportees’ treatment—an allegation that, if borne out, would put the program at odds with standard human‑rights monitoring practices typically attached to U.S. security and migration assistance.
Africa’s role—and the numbers behind it
Africa has become a focal point for third‑country transfers. Rwanda agreed in August 2025 to consider up to 250 cases and confirmed it received seven deportees that month, with some later opting to return to their own countries. Eswatini has acknowledged two tranches—an initial five deportees in July 2025 and 10 more in October—held in secure custody pending onward repatriation. Equatorial Guinea, which received $7.5 million according to the Senate report, had taken in 29 people by January 2026, many of whom were promptly sent onward.
Other African governments have been drawn in. Ghana received West Africans under similar arrangements but then pushed many to their countries of origin—actions that spotlighted the legal and human‑rights complexities of onward transfers, particularly where documentation is weak or contested. Uganda has signaled conditional participation that excludes those with criminal records and unaccompanied minors. South Sudan took in a group that included non‑nationals; one Mexican man who said he “felt kidnapped” when sent there was later repatriated to Mexico.
The financial optics have fueled criticism. Because recipient numbers remain small, effective per‑person costs—combining lump‑sum payments and flight operations—have exceeded $1 million in some cases, according to Semafor’s analysis of the committee’s figures. That math has already surfaced in budget hearings, where lawmakers from both parties are weighing whether such outlays are defensible when most removals under U.S. immigration law proceed through far cheaper, direct returns to countries of nationality.
How the transfers work in U.S. law
U.S. immigration law allows removal to “another country whose government will accept the alien” if return to the home country is “impracticable, inadvisable, or impossible,” under section 241(b)(2) of the Immigration and Nationality Act. Those removals remain constrained by statutory non‑refoulement rules and U.S. obligations under the Convention Against Torture, which bar sending someone to a country where their life or freedom would be threatened or where they are more likely than not to face torture.
Successive administrations have also used visa sanctions to pressure “recalcitrant” countries to accept deportees, most prominently under section 243(d) of the same statute—a tool deployed against nations including Ghana in 2019. The current program layers cash inducements and diplomatic pressure atop those longstanding levers, effectively transforming what had been an enforcement backstop for unusual cases into a standing architecture of paid transfer arrangements.
Legal headwinds intensify
On February 25, 2026, a federal judge in Boston ruled portions of the administration’s third‑country deportation policy unconstitutional, faulting the government for attempting removals on as little as six hours’ notice without a real chance for migrants to raise country‑specific objections. The ruling—stayed for 15 days to allow an appeal—follows earlier litigation that saw the Supreme Court temporarily permit the practice to continue pending review, underscoring how central the courts have become in defining the outer limits of presidential power over deportation policy.
The court’s decision lands amid broader controversies over related deals. In March 2025, roughly 250 Venezuelans were flown to El Salvador despite a court order; a July 2025 three‑way arrangement later returned many to Venezuela in exchange for the release of detained Americans—illustrating the degree to which removals have become entangled with foreign‑policy bargaining over detainees, sanctions relief, and recognition disputes.
Why governments sign on
For small or cash‑strapped partners, the arrangements offer money, leverage, or goodwill with Washington. Palau, for example, signed a memorandum to take up to 75 non‑criminal deportees in return for $7.5 million and related assistance, framing the move as a contribution to its labor force and a way to deepen its security ties with the United States. Rwanda has cast its role in humanitarian terms, while ties with Washington carry strategic upside as the U.S. navigates tensions in the Great Lakes region. Yet these decisions also trigger domestic pushback: in Eswatini, civil society groups and the opposition decried the transfers as “human trafficking disguised as deportation,” and legal challenges are under way in local courts.
Oversight gaps and diplomatic costs
The Senate minority report alleges weak monitoring of recipient governments’ promises on treatment, access to counsel, and non‑refoulement, warning that the State Department “is not tracking foreign government compliance with diplomatic assurances or enforcing agreement terms.” In Equatorial Guinea—where the U.S. has repeatedly flagged corruption and human‑trafficking concerns—the report says most transferees were quickly sent on to their home countries, raising questions about how U.S. funds were used and whether the United States is indirectly outsourcing prohibited removals to partner states with thinner accountability mechanisms.
Diplomats and congressional aides say that pattern could complicate broader U.S. messaging on human rights and rule of law, particularly in countries where Washington has simultaneously pressed for stronger protections for political prisoners, journalists, and opposition parties. It also exposes U.S. embassies to local criticism when transfers coincide with domestic crackdowns or election‑season tensions.
Key figures to date
- Total program outlays (through Jan. 31, 2026): upward of $40 million, including more than $32 million in direct payments to five governments and at least $7.2 million in flight costs.
- Recipients paid to accept third‑country nationals and amounts: Equatorial Guinea ($7.5m), Rwanda ($7.5m), Eswatini ($5.1m), El Salvador ($4.76m), Palau ($7.5m).
- Counts received as of Jan. 2026: Rwanda (7), Eswatini (15), Equatorial Guinea (29), Palau (0), El Salvador (≈250).
- Representative Africa transfers publicly acknowledged: Rwanda (first 7 in Aug. 2025); Eswatini (5 in July 2025, 10 in Oct. 2025).
The international backdrop
Third‑country transfers are not unique to the United States. Australia has long sent some asylum seekers to Pacific processing centers, and the United Kingdom’s plan to outsource asylum processing to Rwanda became a political and legal flashpoint before being shelved. Rwanda’s subsequent agreement with Washington underscores how such deals can pivot with changing partners—and how domestic court rulings in sending states can reshape the legal environment even when destination countries remain the same.
The United States insists it will not remove individuals to countries where they face persecution or torture, citing statutory and treaty obligations. But as the committee notes, large payments, rushed timelines, and limited transparency have made it difficult to verify compliance—particularly when deportees are swiftly “onwarded” to their home countries after landing in a third country, blurring the line between lawful removal to a safe state and indirect return to persecution. A separate body of federal regulations governing protection under the Convention Against Torture, including standards codified in Department of Homeland Security rules, will now sit alongside the Boston ruling and any eventual Supreme Court decision in determining how durable the program proves.
The Department of Homeland Security has said it will appeal the February 25 ruling; the judge’s stay remains in effect for 15 days. As of February 27, 2026, transfer arrangements with El Salvador, Equatorial Guinea, Eswatini, and Rwanda remain in place, with Rwanda confirming seven arrivals and Eswatini acknowledging at least 15; Palau has signed but not yet received deportees. What happens next will hinge on a compressed calendar of court deadlines, appropriations fights on Capitol Hill, and a broader election‑year debate over how far the United States should go in exporting its toughest migration policies abroad.
