Kilmar Abrego Garcia’s journey through the U.S. immigration system has become a symbol of the contentious and often chaotic debate over deportation policy under President Trump. Now, after a series of legal twists and administrative errors, the 30-year-old Salvadoran man faces removal not to his native El Salvador, nor to Uganda, but to the southern African kingdom of Eswatini—a nation he has no connection to and which, until recently, was better known by its old name, Swaziland.
According to The Hill and BBC, the Trump administration notified Abrego Garcia’s legal team on September 5, 2025, that Eswatini would be his new country of removal. This decision came after the Department of Homeland Security (DHS) abandoned a previous plan to deport him to Uganda, following his lawyers’ warnings that he could face violent retaliation there. In a letter to Abrego Garcia’s attorneys, U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) officials dismissed his fears, stating, “That claim of fear is hard to take seriously, especially given that you have claimed (through your attorneys) that you fear persecution or torture in at least 22 different countries.”
The saga began in March 2025, when Abrego Garcia was mistakenly deported to El Salvador—despite a 2019 immigration court order barring his removal there due to credible threats from gangs. He was held at CECOT, El Salvador’s notorious mega-prison, before a U.S. court ordered his return in June. As reported by Los Angeles Times, the government admitted the deportation was an “administrative error.”
But the ordeal didn’t end there. Upon his return to the U.S., Abrego Garcia was charged with human smuggling, stemming from a 2022 traffic stop in Tennessee. He pleaded not guilty and is currently seeking asylum, arguing that his American wife and child would be at risk if he is deported. His attorney, Simon Sandoval-Mosenberg, told the Los Angeles Times, “If Mr. Abrego Garcia is allowed a fair trial in immigration court, there’s no way he’s not going to prevail on his claim.”
Despite these legal battles, ICE has pressed forward. On August 22, Abrego Garcia was released from custody, only to turn himself back in to ICE agents in Baltimore three days later. His legal team has since filed a gag order against the Trump administration, aiming to prevent officials from making inflammatory public statements that could jeopardize his right to a fair trial. After Abrego Garcia’s initial release, DHS Secretary Kristi Noem called him an “illegal alien, gang member, human trafficker, domestic abuser and child predator” on X, formerly Twitter. President Trump has referred to him as an “animal,” and Attorney General Pam Bondi linked him to a “foreign terrorist organization.”
Abrego Garcia and his supporters vehemently deny these accusations. His attorney, Chris Newman, told Fox News Digital, “None of those things are true, full stop.” The public attacks, his lawyers argue, are designed to vilify their client before he ever sees a jury, risking “prejudicing the proceedings.”
Meanwhile, the Trump administration’s decision to deport Abrego Garcia to Eswatini is raising new questions. Eswatini, a small country of about 1.2 million people and 6,704 square miles—similar in size to Hawaii—is one of the world’s last absolute monarchies, ruled by King Mswati III since 1986. As BBC notes, the nation is surrounded by South Africa and Mozambique and became independent from Britain in 1968. The country changed its name from Swaziland to Eswatini in 2018 and is a member of the Commonwealth of Nations.
Eswatini’s government, according to the Associated Press, said on September 6, 2025, that it had “received no communication regarding Abrego Garcia’s transfer.” Human rights groups have documented violations and abuses in both Uganda and Eswatini, adding to concerns about the safety and legality of such deportations.
The United States has already deported five men with criminal convictions to Eswatini in July 2025, as confirmed by CNN and BBC. This move has sparked anxiety within Eswatini, with some fearing the country is becoming a dumping ground for criminals. There is no public confirmation from Eswatini’s government about whether it receives payments for accepting U.S. deportees, but analysts speculate that the nation’s desire to maintain favorable trade relations—particularly regarding sugar exports to the U.S.—may play a role.
Abrego Garcia’s case has become a focal point in the Trump administration’s broader crackdown on immigration. He entered the U.S. illegally as a teenager around 2011 and was arrested in Maryland in 2019 along with three other men. While U.S. officials have linked him to the MS-13 gang and accused him of human trafficking and domestic abuse, Abrego Garcia has no criminal convictions inside or outside the U.S., according to The Hill and Los Angeles Times. His supporters say the charges are unsubstantiated and politically motivated.
As the legal saga continues, the public debate has grown increasingly polarized. Supporters of stricter immigration enforcement argue that the government is simply following the law and protecting national security. They point to Abrego Garcia’s illegal entry and the charges against him as justification for removal, regardless of the destination. Critics, meanwhile, see his case as emblematic of the Trump administration’s “hard-line” approach, which they say is marked by administrative errors, disregard for due process, and efforts to circumvent court orders.
The controversy has also drawn international attention. On September 6, Secretary of State Marco Rubio released a statement commemorating Eswatini’s 57th Independence Day, emphasizing the “longstanding friendship” between the two countries and a “shared commitment to security, public health, and economic opportunity.” The State Department currently advises Americans to “exercise increased caution” when traveling to Eswatini, a travel advisory level shared by many countries worldwide.
For Abrego Garcia, the stakes couldn’t be higher. After being mistakenly deported to El Salvador—where he was held in a prison notorious for harsh conditions and violence—he now faces the prospect of being sent to a country where he has no ties, no family, and no support network. His attorneys, as reported by Los Angeles Times, maintain that he is now eligible for asylum because he reentered the U.S. after his wrongful deportation. They argue that if granted a fair hearing, he would likely succeed in his asylum claim.
Yet with ICE’s determination to remove him and a political climate charged with rhetoric, the outcome remains uncertain. As his case winds its way through the courts, it continues to serve as a lightning rod—illuminating the complexities, contradictions, and human costs of America’s ongoing struggle over immigration policy.
With each new twist, the story of Kilmar Abrego Garcia underscores just how tangled the web of immigration law and politics can become—and how, in the end, it’s real people who find themselves caught in the middle.
