The scene is as dramatic as it is disturbing: Venezuelan migrants with shaved heads, handcuffed and forced to walk hunched over by hooded agents. The images, released by Salvadoran President Nayib Bukele, show some of the 238 deported from the United States to the mega-prison of the Terrorism Confinement Center (Cecot) in El Salvador. On the grounds that they belong to the Tren de Aragua criminal group -- without public proof so far -- these migrants have been sent to one of the most feared prisons in Latin America. All under the signature of President Donald Trump, who has reactivated an obscure legal tool from more than two centuries ago to justify his immigration offensive.

It is the Alien Enemy Act of 1798, a wartime regulation last used during World War II. With it, Trump has expedited summary deportations without due process. In the words of federal judge Patricia Millett, appointed by former President Barack Obama, "the Nazis got a better deal," since they were entitled to hearings before being expelled.

In just the first few months of Trump's second term, Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) has detained more than 32,000 migrants, according to official figures. Raids occur at workplaces, airports, roadside checkpoints and immigration offices. No one seems to be safe.

Franco Caraballo, a 26-year-old Venezuelan barber and asylum seeker since 2023, was arrested when he went to a routine appointment at the ICE office in Dallas, Texas. "I haven't done anything," he managed to tell his wife Johanny Sanchez over the phone before losing contact. He was accused of being a member of the Aragua Train because of his tattoos: a rose and a clock with the time of his daughter's birth.

The same fate befell Mervin Yamarte and Jhon Chacín, arrested without criminal records, but with tattoos that the authorities considered suspicious. Mervin's family recognized him in a Salvadoran news broadcast, shaved, handcuffed and with a panicked expression. "That look is a cry for help," said his mother, Mercedes Yamarte, from Maracaibo, Venezuela.

The use of the Alien Enemies Act has generated intense debate in the judicial branch. Federal Judge James Boasberg temporarily suspended the mass deportations on March 15. He argued that those affected should be able to challenge their deportation and defend themselves at a hearing. The Trump administration immediately appealed.

"The government is using this law to circumvent established immigration procedures," said Lee Gelernt, an attorney with the ACLU (American Civil Liberties Union), during an appeals court hearing. Even judges appointed by Republican presidents were uncomfortable with the magnitude of the power Trump intends to wield.

Tension between the judiciary and the executive branch has escalated. Trump has publicly attacked Boasberg and hinted at ignoring court orders. Chief Justice John Roberts responded to him with a rare public rebuke, reminding that no president is above the law.

Juvenile prisons in El Salvador

One of the most disturbing aspects of the current anti-immigrant policy is the collaboration between the United States and El Salvador. Not only have adults been sent to Salvadoran prisons, but Salvadoran minors are also being transferred to adult prisons, in what organizations such as Human Rights Watch and the UN consider a flagrant violation of the Convention on the Rights of the Child.

Margarita Ramirez, mother of 16-year-old Dustin, does not understand how her son, accused of painting graffiti with alleged gang symbology, must now live with adults in an environment without rehabilitation programs. "They are taking away his dreams," she says with a photo in her hand.

The legal reform that allows this type of transfer was approved by the Salvadoran Congress, controlled by Bukele's ruling party. The government assures that the minors will be in separate wards, but the parents are suspicious. "We do not believe in the rehabilitation of terrorists, regardless of age," said the Minister of Justice and Security, Gustavo Villatoro.

Presumption of innocence?

The official narrative is sustained by the promise of national security. The central argument is that these migrants represent a threat because of their alleged relationship with criminal organizations. But the evidence, when it exists, is minimal. In most cases, personal tattoos have been used as a criterion of suspicion.

Alirio Belloso, a 30-year-old Venezuelan, was deported to El Salvador despite being on the list to be repatriated to his country. His tattoos - his daughter's name, an image in honor of a deceased niece - were considered evidence of belonging to the Aragua Train. His wife wonders, "Was it because of the tattoos?"

Even U.S. citizens have begun to feel the impact of this policy. Camila Muñoz, a 26-year-old Peruvian, was detained in Puerto Rico upon returning from her honeymoon, despite having residency papers in process. Her husband, Bradley Bartell, who voted for Trump, expressed his disappointment: "I complain about the system, I don't regret my vote, but this is not fair".

An international strategy

The deportation policy does not stay at the U.S. borders. The Secretary of Homeland Security, Kristi Noem, undertook a tour of El Salvador, Colombia and Mexico to consolidate alliances to facilitate deportations. In Colombia, tension increased when President Gustavo Petro refused to receive migrants in military planes. Trump responded with tariff threats, and Petro eventually relented.

Mexico has also been the target of pressure from Washington. Trump imposed a 25% tariff on all imported Mexican products as punishment for not curbing the flow of migrants and fentanyl trafficking. The economic impact forced President Claudia Sheinbaum to seek a diplomatic way out.

Where is this policy headed?

The new CBP Home app, launched by the Department of Homeland Security, includes a "verified departure" feature, which allows migrants to voluntarily register their self-deportation. According to Tricia McLaughlin, DHS undersecretary, even those who initiated asylum proceedings under Joe Biden are being considered illegal by the Trump administration.

"We're talking about people being sent to one of the worst prisons in the world, incommunicado," warned ACLU. The lack of transparency, speed of removals, and criminalization without trial worry advocates at home and abroad.

Meanwhile, families like that of Mercedes Yamarte hang banners in Maracaibo with the faces of their sons and messages of hope: "Freedom for Mervin, Andy, Ringo and Edwuin". For them, the question is not only how far Trump will go, but how many more lives will be broken before this machinery of deportation without guarantees is stopped.

With information from AFP