You can tell your grandkid you were there to see America die and you did nothing.

 Kilmar Armando Abrego Garcia, a Salvadoran immigrant, lived in Maryland with his wife, Jennifer Vasquez Sura, and their three children with special needs for nearly 15 years. Having fled gang violence in El Salvador around 2011, he entered the U.S. without legal status. In 2019, an immigration judge granted him "withholding of removal," prohibiting deportation to El Salvador due to credible threats from a gang targeting him over his family’s pupusa business. Despite allegations from a police informant that he was an MS-13 gang member—claims his attorneys called fabricated—Kilmar had no criminal record and checked in annually with immigration officials, living quietly as a husband and father.

On March 15, 2025, Kilmar’s life unraveled. U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) arrested him without a warrant, held him in multiple detention centers, and deported him to El Salvador’s notorious Terrorism Confinement Center (CECOT), a mega-prison known for human rights abuses. The Trump administration later admitted this was an “administrative error,” as Kilmar’s 2019 protection barred his removal to El Salvador. He was mistakenly placed on a flight with alleged gang members, part of President Donald Trump’s aggressive deportation push, which included invoking the 1798 Alien Enemies Act to send suspected gang members to CECOT.

Kilmar’s family, recognizing him in a photo from El Salvador by his tattoos and scars, sued. U.S. District Judge Paula Xinis ruled his arrest “unconstitutional” and deportation “unlawful,” ordering the Trump administration to return him by April 7, 2025. The administration appealed, and Chief Justice John Roberts temporarily paused the deadline. On April 10, the Supreme Court unanimously upheld Xinis’s order, directing the administration to “facilitate” Kilmar’s return, though it asked Xinis to clarify her use of “effectuate” to respect executive authority in foreign affairs. Xinis amended her order, demanding daily updates on efforts to retrieve Kilmar.

The Trump administration’s response was defiance. Justice Department lawyers argued they only needed to remove “domestic obstacles” to Kilmar’s return, not negotiate with El Salvador, claiming courts couldn’t dictate foreign policy. They provided minimal updates, stating Kilmar was “alive and secure” in CECOT but offering no concrete steps to secure his release. By April 13, ICE official Evan Katz claimed Kilmar’s MS-13 ties—based on the disputed 2019 informant—voided his protection, suggesting he’d be deported again if returned.

The situation escalated on April 14, when Trump hosted El Salvador’s President Nayib Bukele in the Oval Office. Bukele, whose government received $6 million from the U.S. to detain deportees at CECOT, dismissed the idea of returning Kilmar as “preposterous,” calling him a “terrorist” and claiming he lacked the power to act. Trump, smirking, egged on reporters, saying they wanted “a criminal released into our country.” Attorney General Pam Bondi falsely claimed 2019 courts ruled Kilmar an MS-13 member, misrepresenting bond denials as gang convictions. Senior advisor Stephen Miller, contradicting earlier admissions of error, insisted Kilmar was “the right person sent to the right place,” suggesting the Supreme Court only required providing a plane if El Salvador released him.

This Oval Office spectacle was a deliberate middle finger to the Supreme Court. Posts on X captured public outrage, with users like

@jaysbookman

calling it a “cold, premeditated” defiance of a 9-0 ruling. Legal scholars, like Kim Wehle on NPR, warned that Trump’s stance could erode due process, potentially allowing arbitrary deportations of citizens. Judge Xinis, furious at the administration’s “gamesmanship,” ordered depositions from officials by April 23, declaring each day Kilmar remained in CECOT caused “irreparable harm.” Senator Chris Van Hollen, denied access to Kilmar in El Salvador, vowed to press Bukele for his release.

Trump and Bukele’s coordinated refusal to act, despite U.S. funding of CECOT and the Supreme Court’s clear directive, suggests a conspiracy to flout judicial authority. The administration’s shifting narrative—from admitting error to branding Kilmar a terrorist—reveals a strategy to justify inaction. Bukele’s alignment with Trump, bolstered by their mutual tough-on-crime rhetoric, ensures Kilmar remains imprisoned, a pawn in their political theater. As of April 17, 2025, Kilmar languishes in CECOT, his fate hinging on a federal judge’s resolve against an administration openly mocking the rule of law.

One last thing: you can tell your grandchildren you were there and did nothing.