Supreme Court Pauses Deportation Under Alien Enemies Act—A Law from 1798 Now in the Spotlight

In a highly charged and politically fraught move, the United States Supreme Court has temporarily paused a deportation order that was issued under the long-dormant Alien Enemies Act, invoking a statute first passed in 1798 to justify the forced removal of certain non-citizens during times of war. The ruling is still reverberating through legal and civil rights communities not only because of the obscure nature of the act, but also because of the man at the center of the case and the claims now spiraling around him.

The Alien Enemies Act, one of four laws collectively known as the Alien and Sedition Acts, was enacted by the Federalist-controlled Congress during the presidency of John Adams. Originally designed to authorize the detention and deportation of male citizens of a hostile nation during times of war, the act has rarely been invoked in modern times. In fact, its last major application was during World War II when the U.S. government used it to justify the internment of Japanese, German, and Italian nationals. But fast forward to 2025, and it’s suddenly back—and not during a declared war, but in the middle of a growing anti-immigration crackdown.

The individual at the center of the case is a Salvadoran national named Kilmar Abrego Garcia, who had lived in the United States for more than a decade and was in the process of appealing his deportation when the federal government used the Alien Enemies Act to expedite his removal. President Trump, publicly defended the deportation by claiming that Quinteros was a member of the notorious MS-13 gang, citing “gang tattoos all over his arms” as evidence.

Trump’s assertion, made during a campaign-style rally, was met with immediate skepticism. Immigration advocates, legal scholars, and civil rights organizations pushed back hard, demanding proof beyond a visual assessment. Tattoo experts and immigrant rights attorneys have long warned that gang-related tattoos are often misidentified—sometimes as cultural or prison-related markings that are not linked to any gang affiliation. Even more troubling, experts argue that in countries like El Salvador, tattoos can be involuntarily marked or forcibly inked under duress, and are not always a reliable indicator of criminal intent.

If Trump’s claims are substantiated, a troubling question emerges: why would any American administration want such an individual to return to U.S. soil? That would seem counterintuitive to the very idea of public safety. Yet if the accusations are exaggerated or flat-out wrong—as many critics believe—then Trump and his administration have a serious credibility problem. In that case, this becomes less about keeping Americans safe and more about inflaming xenophobia with minimal regard for truth or legal precedent.

The timing of the Supreme Court’s decision is no accident either. With immigration enforcement being ramped up and public pressure mounting to “clean up the streets,” the government’s reliance on a centuries-old statute sets a dangerous precedent. Legal scholars warn that using the Alien Enemies Act in peacetime or during loosely defined “conflicts” could open the floodgates for targeted deportations without due process.

What complicates the debate further is the moral contradiction at the heart of Trump’s “keep America safe” narrative. The United States remains the world’s leading consumer of illegal narcotics and is unmatched in civilian gun ownership. With more mass shootings and gun-related deaths annually than any other industrialized nation, it’s hard to argue that the presence—or absence—of one alleged gang member will meaningfully alter public safety. If safety is really the goal, then the problem is not who’s coming into the country, but what’s already deeply embedded within it: a national addiction to violence, guns, and drugs.

This case is about more than one man. It’s about how the U.S. government chooses to use its authority, which laws it chooses to resurrect, and how far it’s willing to go in the name of “security.” If America’s leaders want to make the country safer, it might be time to start by confronting the uncomfortable truths at home—before scapegoating vulnerable individuals abroad.