Every day it's more barriers. It's sad to know people won't be able to apply.
In the summer of 2026, a Guardian analysis revealed that the United States had quietly constructed a wall not merely of policy but of consequence: of the 39 nations facing American entry restrictions, 22 were among the world's most climate-vulnerable, the very places where rising seas, failing harvests, and intensifying storms were already forcing millions from their homes. The administration that closed these doors simultaneously dismantled the aid programs meant to address the crises driving people to them, and denied the science explaining why. It is a pattern as old as power — the most exposed bearing the heaviest cost of decisions made by those least exposed to their effects.
- Twenty-two of the 39 countries banned from U.S. entry rank among the world's most climate-vulnerable, meaning the people most desperate to flee environmental catastrophe are precisely those locked out.
- The Trump administration is simultaneously terminating Temporary Protected Status for climate-displaced nationals, gutting USAID, and dismissing climate change as a hoax — a convergence of policies that strips away every existing layer of protection at once.
- With 250 million people displaced by climate disasters over the past decade and no legal framework recognizing environmental catastrophe as grounds for refuge, hundreds of thousands of people in the U.S. now face deportation to countries being unmade by heat, drought, and flood.
- The Climate Displaced Persons Act, introduced twice by Senator Ed Markey, would create a legal pathway for climate refugees — but under the current political environment, its passage is considered a distant prospect.
- Advocates warn that climate has been 'put on the back burner' as the broader fight to preserve any form of legal migration consumes all available political oxygen.
A Guardian analysis published in June 2026 mapped a troubling convergence: of the 39 countries facing full or partial U.S. entry restrictions under the Trump administration, 22 ranked in the most climate-vulnerable quarter of the world. Chad and Niger — the two nations most exposed to climate catastrophe according to the Notre Dame Global Adaptation Initiative — had their citizens completely barred from American entry. Sudan, Somalia, Sierra Leone, and Honduras faced the same closure, each among the most climate-imperiled places on earth.
The policy's human weight was visible in lives like Evelyn's. A Honduran woman now living in New York, she remembers surviving Hurricane Mitch in 1998 as a teenager — the bodies in the floodwater, the house stripped bare, the relatives who brought her north because staying meant suffering. Decades later, watching new barriers rise, she said simply: 'It's sad to know that people will not be able to apply for a status or something to help their situation.'
The scale of displacement globally was immense. The United Nations estimated that climate disasters had uprooted 250 million people over the past decade — roughly 70,000 every day. Yet neither U.S. law nor the 1951 UN Refugee Convention recognized environmental catastrophe as grounds for protection. The one partial remedy, Temporary Protected Status, was itself under assault: the Trump administration was moving to terminate TPS for multiple nations, with the Supreme Court set to rule on cases involving Syria and Haiti imminently.
A Sudanese doctor who fled drought-accelerated civil war captured the uncertainty. Waiting on a work permit, uncertain whether Sudan's TPS designation would survive past October, he reflected on what had drawn him to America: 'One of the reasons people come to the U.S. is because they think there is a law, everybody is treated equally. But I think this is no longer the case.'
The administration had also effectively shuttered the U.S. refugee program — except for white South Africans — and dismantled overseas aid. USAID cuts were forecast to cause approximately 4.5 million child deaths in sub-Saharan Africa over five years. Democratic lawmakers had twice introduced the Climate Displaced Persons Act, which would legally recognize environmental displacement and provide resettlement pathways. Senator Ed Markey framed the stakes plainly: Trump's attacks on foreign aid, climate science, and immigration, he said, 'all come from the same playbook.' But the bill's prospects were considered remote, and advocates acknowledged that climate had been pushed aside as the broader fight to preserve any form of legal migration consumed what little political space remained.
On a June morning in 2026, a Guardian analysis landed on a pattern that had been quietly taking shape: of the 39 countries from which the Trump administration had imposed full or partial entry restrictions to the United States, 22 ranked within the world's most climate-vulnerable quarter. Chad and Niger—the two nations most exposed to climate catastrophe according to the Notre Dame Global Adaptation Initiative—now saw their citizens completely barred from American entry. Sudan, Somalia, and Sierra Leone, also among the ten most climate-imperiled places on earth, faced the same wall.
The timing was not coincidental. As the Trump administration doubled down on policies to expand fossil fuel extraction, millions of people across the developing world were being forced from their homes by storms, floods, and droughts intensified by planetary heating. The administration was, in effect, closing the door precisely on those populations most desperate to leave.
Honduras illustrated the human weight of this collision. The country, ranked among the most climate-vulnerable nations, had endured stronger rainstorms, coastal erosion, and devastating droughts in recent years. When Hurricane Mitch struck in 1998, it killed 7,000 people and left entire families staring at the wreckage of their lives. Evelyn was a teenager then. She remembers the bodies and dead animals in the floodwaters, the house stripped of its doors and windows, the furniture gone. Mosquitoes brought illness. Her relatives in New York City saw no choice: bring the children north or watch them suffer. "Every day it's more barriers," Evelyn said decades later, now living in New York with two daughters in university. "It's sad to know that people will not be able to apply for a status or something to help their situation."
Yet the administration's logic was framed differently. Trump officials argued the restrictions would "keep the radical Islamic terrorists out of our country" and tighten vetting procedures. The state department declined to address the climate dimension of the policy.
The scale of displacement globally was staggering. The United Nations estimated that severe heatwaves, droughts, storms, and floods had displaced 250 million people over the past decade—roughly 70,000 people every single day. In 2025 alone, nearly 30 million people were forced to move within their own countries due to climate disasters, with wildfires like those that ravaged Los Angeles the previous year accounting for the largest share. A growing cohort of people were becoming what researchers called climate refugees, yet neither U.S. law nor the 1951 UN Refugee Convention recognized environmental catastrophe as grounds for international protection.
The one mechanism that had begun to account for climate displacement was Temporary Protected Status, or TPS—a renewable stay granted to foreign nationals already in the U.S. if war or natural disaster struck their homeland. Syrians had been granted TPS in 2024 partly on the basis of drought and falling wheat production. Ethiopia's TPS status cited severe drought and flooding that had displaced more than 4 million people. About 350,000 Haitians in the U.S. held TPS protection because Haiti ranked among the countries most affected by extreme weather. But the Trump administration was moving to terminate TPS for multiple nations, with the Supreme Court set to rule on cases involving Syria and Haiti by late June or early July.
A doctor from Sudan, who requested anonymity, embodied the precarity. He had fled after drought accelerated conflict in his country, now locked in civil war for three years. "It's too dry, there's not enough water, the lands were just left without anyone to cultivate them and millions have fled," he said. Sudan remained on the TPS list only until October. "It would be very, very tough, very difficult to go back," he said, still waiting to hear if his work permit application would be approved. "One of the reasons people come to the U.S. is because they think there is a law, everybody is treated equally. But I think this is no longer the case."
Meanwhile, the administration had effectively shut down the U.S. refugee program except for white South Africans and had dismantled overseas aid designed to mitigate warming's symptoms. Cuts to USAID orchestrated by Elon Musk were forecast to result in approximately 4.5 million child deaths in sub-Saharan Africa over the next five years. Democratic lawmakers had twice introduced the Climate Displaced Persons Act, which would amend immigration law to recognize environmental displacement and provide legal status and resettlement support. Senator Ed Markey, who sponsored the bill both times, framed it starkly: "Trump's attacks on foreign aid programs, his disregard of climate science and his attacks on immigrants all come from the same playbook." But under the current political climate, the prospect of such legislation passing appeared remote. The conversation had shifted. Climate, advocates said, had been "put on the back burner to safeguard the very concept of regular migration as a whole."
Notable Quotes
Nearly all of the most vulnerable countries are on a ban or visa pause.— Danielle Wood, associate professor at Notre Dame Global Adaptation Initiative
Climate change is not necessarily the first issue that displaced people raise. But if a family's crops fail for three years and they have to move to an urban area and can't find work or it's dangerous there, climate change has played a key role in their movement.— Jocelyn Perry, program manager of the climate displacement program at Refugees International
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
Why does it matter that these specific countries are climate-vulnerable? Couldn't the restrictions be about something else entirely?
Because the administration is simultaneously denying climate science exists and cutting the aid that helps vulnerable countries adapt. You can't separate the policy from the context. These aren't random countries—they're the ones where people are already being forced to move because of environmental collapse.
But the administration says this is about security and vetting. How do we know climate isn't just a coincidence?
The data doesn't support coincidence. Twenty-two of thirty-nine banned countries are in the most climate-vulnerable quarter globally. And the administration is also terminating Temporary Protected Status for people already here—people who were granted that status specifically because their countries experienced droughts, hurricanes, and floods.
So what happens to someone like Evelyn's relatives who might still be in Honduras?
They face a closed door. Evelyn got out in 1998 after a hurricane killed thousands. Today, with storms getting worse because the atmosphere is hotter, people in the same situation have fewer legal options. The pathways are narrowing even as the disasters intensify.
Is there any recognition in U.S. law that climate displacement is real?
Not yet. The 1951 refugee convention and U.S. immigration law only recognize persecution based on race, religion, nationality, or political belief. Environmental catastrophe doesn't count. There's been an attempt to change that—the Climate Displaced Persons Act—but it's gone nowhere twice, and prospects look worse now.
What would actually help these countries and their people?
Experts suggest two paths: either create legal pathways for climate migrants, or invest in adaptation funding so people can stay where they are. But right now, the political will for either is essentially gone. The conversation has shifted entirely to restriction and deportation.