A Federal Judge Just Struck Down the Alien Enemies Act: So Why Are Over 238 Innocent Men Still Rotting in El Salvador’s Torture Prison?

On May 1st, 2025, justice finally spoke clearly, fully, and with no room left to misinterpret. Judge Fernando Rodriguez Jr., a federal judge appointed by Trump himself, ruled that the administration's use of the Alien Enemies Act to deport Venezuelan men in March was not just misguided. No, it was unlawful.

“The Court concludes that the President’s invocation of the AEA through the Proclamation exceeds the scope of the statute and, as a result, is unlawful,” Rodriguez wrote.

It was a sharp rebuke of the legal contortionism used to justify one of the most secretive and extreme “deportation” campaigns in modern history. But that ruling (while necessary) does not change what has already happened; too late for the men who have already disappeared.

The planes were already in the air before the ink had dried on the judge’s emergency injunction weeks earlier.

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Removed in Secrecy at Night: 238 Lives Still in Limbo

On March 14, 2025, after months of escalating deportations following his inauguration, Donald Trump illegally invoked the Alien Enemies Act of 1798, claiming that migrants were affiliated with violent gangs like Tren de Aragua and posed an imminent threat to American life. This law, intended only for wartime use, was abused by the administration and even entertained by SCOTUS who continued to allow deportations under it “temporarily” until another judge ruled on it.

They took them that night. Not with sirens. Just with buses and silence. Men were pulled from metal cots inside the of Bluebonnet Detention Center and others like it across Texas. They were shackled at the wrists and ankles, loaded onto unmarked vehicles, and driven across the state under the cover of darkness. No one told them where they were going. Few knew what was happening. Fewer still understood what was coming.

The planes were already in the air before the ink had dried on Judge Boasburg’s emergency injunction. Somewhere over Central America, hundreds of innocent Venezuelan men sat shackled and silent in their seats as the United States government defied a direct court order in real time.

The flights took off under a veil of secrecy. Operated by Global Crossing Airlines (GlobalX) the charters were expensive, rapid, and deliberate. Each hour of flight time cost taxpayers nearly $27,000. This company has ongoing contracts with ICE to deport migrants.

Each man aboard was worth $1,700 in transport fees. Their destination wasn’t their home country. It was El Salvador. And not just El Salvador… CECOT, the Terrorism Confinement Center, a fortress of iron and concrete where more than 300 inmates had died, many without ever seeing a judge and for every man delivered, Salvadoran President Nayib Bukele’s government collected a payout, $6 million in total, through a quiet agreement with the United States.

All told, between transportation contracts, per-head detention payments, and logistical expenses, this single operation is estimated to have cost American taxpayers over $12 million. These weren’t deportations. They were transactions.

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The Lie That Became a Prison Sentence

One of them was Kilmar Abrego Garcia. Another Richard Duarte Rodriguez. Hundreds of innocent men.

Kilmar crossed the U.S. border when he was just sixteen. He built a life in Maryland: quiet, stable, legal. He married. He fathered three beautiful children. He stayed out of trouble. But his name showed up on a list, and someone in power decided he needed to be made into a lesson.

In a recent interview, Trump held up a printed photograph of Kilmar’s hand, claiming the letters “MS-13” were tattooed on his knuckles. The photo had been edited. Confronted by ABC journalist Terry Moran with the truth, Trump didn’t correct himself. He snarled: “Why don’t you just say, ‘Yes, he does,’ and go on to something else?”

Kilmar was loaded onto a plane that same night. The emergency injunction came down mid-flight. It didn’t matter. By the time the courts found their footing, Kilmar had landed in a country he hadn’t seen in fourteen years and was being marched into a prison designed for terrorists. He was beaten. Starved. Caged. Just like the thousands of other men in CECOT.

Only after national outrage did the Salvadoran government move him to Santa Ana, a lower-security facility where he now paints murals on prison walls and cares for livestock. He was quietly voted out of CECOT by Salvadoran officials who admitted they had no evidence he was part of any gang.

A softer prison but still a prison. Still exile. Still punishment without trial. And while Kilmar’s case made headlines and inspired public pressure, hundreds of others remain inside CECOT, with no charges, no trials, and no international attention. Why won’t El Salvador release them too? Let them go home to Venezuela or back into due process? If Kilmar was wrongly imprisoned, what about the rest?

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The Call That Never Comes

Then came the Supreme Court. The highest court in the land issued a direct and unambiguous order: the U.S. government must facilitate Kilmar’s return. It was a rare moment of institutional clarity in a sea of political chaos.

El Salvador didn’t hesitate. “If the U.S. requests [his return], it is under the possibilities,” said Minister of Justice Gustavo Villatoro.

The path home had been cleared.

All that was left was for someone to pick up the phone.

That someone, of course, is Donald Trump. When asked directly if he could bring Kilmar back, his response was chilling in its simplicity: “I could.”

He didn’t say he couldn’t. He didn’t claim his hands were tied like before. He just chose not to. Because to bring Kilmar home would be to admit the Photoshopped lie. To admit the mistake. And Trump never admits a mistake.

So Kilmar waits. But he does not wait alone.

Hundreds of other men remain at CECOT, sentenced not by a court of law but by silence and inertia. They do not have injunctions bearing their names. They do not have cameras pointed at their stories. They have only time and the slow erasure of who they were before all this began. They were loaded onto those same flights, accused without evidence, and vanished across borders like cargo. Their families don’t know if they’re still alive. Their lawyers, if they had them, have no access. They are the forgotten proof that when one lie is allowed to stand, it builds a prison for everyone.

The courts have ruled. The law has spoken. But the administration continues to operate as if it didn’t. It ignored Judge Boasberg. It shrugged off the Supreme Court. Now, even a Trump-appointed federal judge declaring the entire framework illegal has failed to spark action.

Meanwhile, the Salvadoran government collects money. According to Kilmar’s attorney, they are paid per person, creating a grotesque incentive to keep cells full. These men are not enemies. They are invoices. Every day they remain behind bars is a day someone else gets paid.

Kilmar could be home tomorrow. His children are waiting. These other men? Their families just want answers. The legal runway is clear. The logistics are known. The world is watching.

But the phone on Trump’s desk does not ring.

And until it does, the lie stands. The Constitution is theater. And the ghosts inside CECOT are left to rot in silence.

All it takes is one call.

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My articles will always be free to read. No paywalls. Just the truth. Feel free to subscribe to continue to follow these stories.

But truth needs a memory. We can’t stop at Kilmar.
238 men were sent away that night. Most are still imprisoned. Forgotten.
We must keep talking about them. Don’t let them disappear in silence.