U.S. and Honduras Sign Deportation Pact as Trump Expands Third-Country Network Across Latin America

On August 20, 2025, the United States and Honduras signed a controversial deportation agreement allowing the U.S. to send non-Honduran migrants—many fleeing violence in Central America, the Caribbean, and beyond—to be processed and held in Honduras. The deal, finalized just weeks after the Supreme Court of the United States lifted restrictions on third-country deportations in June 2025, marks the latest expansion of a strategy spearheaded by Donald Trump during his second term. It’s not just about border control anymore. It’s about outsourcing the burden—literally—to nations with limited resources, fragile institutions, and already-overloaded detention systems.

The Mechanics of Outsourcing Migration

The agreement allows U.S. immigration authorities to transfer migrants who lack strong asylum claims—including families with children—to Honduras, even if they never set foot on Honduran soil. The initial phase targets around 240 individuals over the next two years, but officials have left the door wide open for scaling up. This isn’t a one-off. It’s part of a deliberate, rapidly expanding network that now includes Costa Rica, Guatemala, El Salvador, Paraguay, Mexico, and even Ecuador. By November 2025, the list had grown to at least 11 countries, spanning Latin America and beyond.

U.S. Secretary of State Marco Rubio was the architect behind most of these deals. He personally negotiated the February 2025 agreements with El Salvador and Guatemala, offering financial incentives in exchange for cooperation. In Costa Rica’s case, the U.S. paid $7.85 million to cover the costs of housing and processing deportees—including 200 people, 80 of them children, flown in from U.S. detention centers on two flights in February. "We are helping the economically powerful brother to the north," said Costa Rican President Rodrigo Chaves, bluntly acknowledging the pressure behind the deal. "If they impose a tax in our free zones, it’ll screw us."

Pressure Tactics and Political Leverage

What’s striking isn’t just the scale of the deportations—it’s how they’re secured. The Trump administration doesn’t just ask. It leverages.

In January 2025, Colombia blocked two U.S. military planes carrying deportees. Within days, Trump threatened steep tariffs on Colombian coffee, bananas, and textiles. Colombia backed down. In March, the administration invoked the obscure 1798 Alien Enemies Act to deport over 200 alleged members of the Venezuelan gang Tren de Aragua to El Salvador, paying $5 million for the privilege. Meanwhile, Honduras’ own president, Xiomara Castro, had publicly warned that accepting deportees could strain relations—and even hinted at expelling U.S. troops from the Soto Cano Air Base, a key military outpost. But in May, after the U.S. promised $120 million in security aid and pledged to delay the termination of Temporary Protected Status (TPS) for Hondurans, her government reversed course.

The Human Cost of Diplomatic Deals

Human Rights Watch and Amnesty International have called the policy a "legal shell game." Migrants who fled gang violence in Honduras, persecution in Afghanistan, or state repression in Iran are now being sent to countries where they may face the same dangers—or worse.

In February, 80 children arrived in Costa Rica, held in a makeshift reception center near the Panamanian border. Conditions were overcrowded, with reports of insufficient food, no access to legal counsel, and children separated from parents during processing. Costa Rica’s ombudsman’s office demanded a legislative review, which took place on March 19, 2025. The government claimed it was "temporary humanitarian assistance," but the optics were damning: a small, peaceful democracy acting as America’s immigration detention hub.

And then there’s the TPS angle. In early 2025, the Trump administration terminated Temporary Protected Status for over 70,000 Hondurans—many of whom have lived in the U.S. since Hurricane Mitch in 1998. By September 2025, they face deportation. The irony? The same country now being used as a dumping ground for other migrants is about to lose tens of thousands of its own citizens who’ve built lives in America.

What’s Next? A Fractured Region

The ripple effects are already visible. Brazil, which signed a similar agreement in July, is now facing domestic backlash from indigenous groups and human rights activists. Paraguay’s legislature is debating whether to repeal its agreement after a leaked memo revealed U.S. officials pressured the country with threats to cut agricultural export quotas. Meanwhile, Mexico, which has long accepted returnees under pre-Trump agreements, is quietly expanding its own detention capacity—partly funded by U.S. grants.

The administration’s goal? One million deportations in 2025. That’s nearly double the number from 2024. And to get there, they’re turning Latin America into a chain of holding cells. The U.S. isn’t building walls anymore. It’s building partnerships—with governments that need money, fear tariffs, or are desperate to avoid isolation.

But as one former U.S. immigration official told me off the record: "You can outsource enforcement. You can’t outsource morality."