In the long human story of displacement and belonging, a new chapter is being written at the edges of legal and moral imagination: the United States is sending immigrants not home, but to third countries they have never known, nations marked by conflict and poverty, as a way of bypassing the protections that courts have granted them. Men like Yasmany Moreno de Armas and Zena Gebrgzabher — one Cuban, one Eritrean — now find themselves stranded in the Central African Republic, rendered effectively stateless, separated from families and futures they had built on American soil. The policy raises a
U.S. deports immigrants to conflict-ridden Central African Republic without notice
Multiple deportees separated from U.S. citizen family members, including a 5-year-old child; individuals rendered stateless and stranded in conflict zones without documents or language skills.
We cannot leave, we don't have documents and we're suffering
Mark
Why would the Central African Republic agree to accept deportees from the United States?
Mimi
That's the question nobody's answering. The DHS won't say what's in the agreement or what incentive was offered. It could be aid, trade benefits, diplomatic leverage—we don't know. But for a country that's already struggling with conflict and poverty, accepting foreign deportees is an unusual move.
Mark
These men had legal protections or family ties here. How does the government justify sending them to a third country?
Mimi
That's the legal gray area. Gebrgzabher won protection under the Convention Against Torture—the court said he couldn't go back to Eritrea. But that protection only shields him from *that* country. It doesn't prevent the government from sending him somewhere else. It's a loophole, and it seems intentional.
Mark
What happens to them now? Are they stuck there permanently?
Mimi
Nobody knows. They have no documents, no money, no language skills, no family. They can't leave. They can't work legally. They're in a conflict zone. There's no clear process for them to appeal or return. They're essentially abandoned.
Mark
Does this affect the families they left behind?
Mimi
Completely. Gebrgzabher's son is five years old and American. He asks his mother every day where his father is. She hasn't told him the truth. These are U.S. citizens being separated from a parent indefinitely, with no explanation and no recourse.
Mark
Is there any legal challenge to this happening?
Mimi
Not yet, as far as we know. But the question is whether these third-country deportations violate immigration law or international law. If they do, there could be lawsuits. The bigger question is whether Congress will act, or whether this becomes standard practice.
El Pulso
- The Trump administration is deporting immigrants to conflict-ridden third countries — including the Central African Republic — as a deliberate strategy to remove people whose home nations won't accept them or who have won legal protections in U.S. courts.
- Deportees are arriving in countries they have never heard of, without documents, without language, without any path to leave — effectively rendered stateless by the very government that once processed their paperwork.
- A 5-year-old American citizen in Maryland asks his mother every day where his father is, while his father, a truck driver who checked in regularly with immigration officials, sits stranded in Bangui.
- The legal scaffolding enabling these deportations is being scrutinized: at least one deportee held a court-ordered protection against removal, raising urgent questions about whether third-country agreements are being used to circumvent judicial rulings.
- The Department of Homeland Security has not disclosed what the U.S. is offering these 30-plus nations in exchange for accepting deportees, leaving the full scope of these agreements shrouded from public accountability.
In the long human story of displacement and belonging, a new chapter is being written at the edges of legal and moral imagination: the United States is sending immigrants not home, but to third countries they have never known, nations marked by conflict and poverty, as a way of bypassing the protections that courts have granted them. Men like Yasmany Moreno de Armas and Zena Gebrgzabher — one Cuban, one Eritrean — now find themselves stranded in the Central African Republic, rendered effectively stateless, separated from families and futures they had built on American soil. The policy raises ancient questions about what a nation owes those within its borders, and whether the machinery of law can be turned against the very protections it was designed to provide.
Yasmany Moreno de Armas was arrested by immigration officials in Florida in May 2025 and held in detention for nearly a year. In late July, he boarded a plane with no explanation of his destination. He landed in Bangui, capital of the Central African Republic — a country he had never heard of — alongside deportees from Ecuador, Honduras, Serbia, Russia, and Vietnam. Only then did the picture become clear.
The Central African Republic is one of the poorest and most dangerous nations on Earth, beset by armed conflict and Russian mercenary activity. The U.S. State Department advises Americans not to travel there. Yet it is one of more than 30 countries the Trump administration has persuaded to accept deportees as part of its immigration crackdown — many of them nations with documented records of armed conflict, authoritarian governance, and human rights abuses.
Moreno de Armas, 31, is now stranded without documents, unable to leave, unable to speak the local language. His story is not singular. Zena Gebrgzabher, 39, an Eritrean native, is also trapped in Bangui. His wife and 5-year-old son — both American citizens — live in Maryland. His son asks daily where his father has gone. Gebrgzabher worked as a truck driver and had been complying with regular immigration check-ins without incident until he was arrested at one such appointment and deported without notice or opportunity to contest the decision.
What makes Gebrgzabher's case especially striking is that an immigration judge had already ruled in 2017 that he was eligible for protection under the Convention Against Torture and could not be deported to Eritrea, where he faced persecution. The administration's solution was to send him somewhere else entirely — a third country where he has no family, no language, no legal standing, and no documents. Neither man has a criminal record beyond immigration violations and minor traffic offenses.
The administration has leaned on third-country deportation agreements precisely to remove people whose home countries refuse deportations or who have won court protections that would otherwise shield them. The Department of Homeland Security has not disclosed what the U.S. is offering these nations in exchange. Legal advocates and observers are now asking whether these arrangements constitute an end-run around immigration court protections — and whether they will survive judicial scrutiny.
Yasmany Moreno de Armas was living and working in Florida when U.S. immigration officials arrested him in May 2025. He spent roughly a year in detention. Then, in late July, he boarded a plane with no clear explanation of where he was going. He landed in Bangui, the capital of the Central African Republic, a nation he had never heard of, alongside deportees from Ecuador, Honduras, Serbia, Russia, and Vietnam. Only then did he understand: the Trump administration had sent him to Africa.
The Central African Republic is among the poorest countries on Earth. Armed conflict is endemic. Russian mercenaries operate there. The U.S. State Department warns Americans not to visit, citing widespread insecurity. Yet it is one of more than 30 nations the Trump administration has persuaded to accept deportees arrested in its immigration crackdown. Many of these countries are plagued by armed conflict, authoritarian rule, and documented human rights abuses.
Moreno de Armas, 31, is now stranded there without documents, unable to leave, unable to speak the language, separated from everything he knew. "We cannot leave, we don't have documents and we're suffering and missing our families, in a continent we don't know," he told CBS News over video from the building in Bangui where the deportees are housed. His case is not unique. Zena Gebrgzabher, 39, an Eritrean native, is also trapped there. His wife and 5-year-old son, both American citizens, live in Maryland. His son asks his mother every day where his father is. Gebrgzabher worked as a truck driver before his arrest and deportation. Like Moreno de Armas, he received no notice of his deportation and was given no opportunity to contest it.
The legal architecture that enabled these deportations is complex and, to many, troubling. Moreno de Armas arrived in Florida by boat in 2016 under a now-defunct policy that allowed Cuban arrivals to stay. He applied for a green card under the Cuban Adjustment Act but was denied because he filed after his parole expired. Lacking legal status, he became vulnerable to deportation. Gebrgzabher's case is more striking: an immigration judge found him eligible for protection under the Convention Against Torture in 2017 and barred his deportation to Eritrea, where he faced persecution. Yet that protection did not prevent the government from sending him to a third country. He had checked in with immigration officials regularly, without incident, until his arrest during a routine appointment.
Neither man has a criminal record beyond immigration violations and minor traffic offenses. Both were effectively rendered stateless—unable to return to their home countries, now stranded in a place where they have no family, no language, no documents, no path forward. Gebrgzabher's wife, Yrgalem Gehrehiwet, described the deportation as unfair and inhumane. She has not told their son the full truth about where his father is. "More than us because he loves his dad," she said of how the separation has affected the boy.
The Trump administration has used third-country deportation agreements primarily to remove immigrants whose home countries reject deportations—like Cuba—or who have won legal protections in U.S. immigration courts that would shield them from return. The Department of Homeland Security did not respond to questions about the agreements with the Central African Republic or what the U.S. is providing in exchange for accepting these deportees. Moreno de Armas articulated the fundamental injustice as he saw it: "If you're going to be deported, it should be to your home country, not to another country where you don't know the culture." The question now is whether these deportations, which appear to circumvent immigration court protections and render people stateless, will face legal challenge—and whether other nations will continue to accept them.
Citas Notables
If you're going to be deported, it should be to your home country, not to another country where you don't know the culture.— Yasmany Moreno de Armas
My son. He asked like every day to my wife, '(where) is my daddy?'— Zena Gebrgzabher
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Politics & Governance