By Zayd Ibn Isah
For migrants in the United States, life has taken a drastic downturn since Donald Trump returned to the White House. Riding to power for the second time on the mantra of “America First,” the 45th, as well as 47th president of the United States vowed to shut the country’s borders to illegal migrants. This has come as no surprise to many observers, as even since the time of his first presidential campaign in 2016, Trump has strongly and repeatedly emphasized a need to safeguard the interests of the US by adopting policies that would firmly place “America First”. Wasting no time after his swearing-in, Trump has begun his term by issuing a sudden flurry of executive orders from the Oval Office which have thrown millions of undocumented immigrants into states of panic, confusion, fear and uncertainty.
The consequences are absolutely remarkable. These days, it’s almost impossible to scroll through social media without coming across videos of law enforcement officials chasing suspected undocumented immigrants, arresting them, or escorting them to the airport for deportation. It’s like a scene straight out of a Hollywood thriller—people abandoning their cars at the sight of law enforcement officers and sprinting for their lives, while American police give chase with relentless determination. Those who get caught are swiftly detained, while the ones who escape are left for another day.
Seeing grown men and women who left their countries in search of greener pastures being bundled into waiting police vans and driven straight to the airport for deportation feels like watching a dream shatter in real time. It’s a harsh reminder that for many, the American dream has become a nightmare—one where years of struggle, sacrifice, and hope are erased in an instant, replaced by the cold reality of forced return to the very circumstances they sought to escape. This is precisely why Trump’s detractors are condemning his deportation strategies, pointing out that they could usher in an era of human rights violations as well as large-scale trauma which could affect families and communities more likely to be targeted by mass deportations. I personally struggle to imagine the kind of horrors that many potential deportees, especially those who have have lived in the U.S. for years, will now be forced to contend with.
I have read expert opinions on the possible implications of Trump’s frenzied policy changes, and one thing I took away from both sides of the argument is that these changes will have impacts that surpass immigration alone, with the potential to positively or negatively redefine Americaʼs socio-political and economic landscape. While some experts argue that mass deportations could benefit American workers by raising wages and improving job conditions, other experts have warned that plans to remove millions of working immigrants have the potential to hasten economic instability, especially as cheap immigrant labour helps key sectors like agriculture and hospitality.
I also find it funny that many do not realize deportation strategies have been a bedrock of administrative policy for past iterations of United States leadership: Do people not remember that Biden carried out deportations as well, with about 271,000 immigrants being flown out to approximately 192 countries in just 2024? As a matter of fact, Biden deported a total of 1.5 million illegal immigrants during his four years as the 46th President. Anyone doubting these figures should confirm them in the Migration Policy Instituteʼs database. The Biden-led administrationʼs deportation numbers are surprisingly at par with the numbers Trump pulled in his own initial term, but shockingly, both of them pale in comparison to the sheer scale of deportations carried out under Barack Obama’s first term—a staggering estimate of 2.9 million people.
The only thing is that Trump’s deportation strategy and immigration policies often push frightening narratives that contribute to the sort of rhetoric undocumented immigrants fear and loathe. In a televised moment during one of his debates with then Democratic presidential candidate and former Vice President Kamala Harris, Trump blamed a wave of Haitian immigrants for the deaths of domesticated animals in Springfield, Ohio. Although this claim was refuted as baseless and false, Trump has not backed down from constantly pointing out that illegal immigration poses a huge threat not just to the economy of the US, but to the security of its cities and citizens. This is also why Trump is relying on military personnel to assist Border Patrol by manning borders and coordinating surveillance at known entry points for daring illegal immigrants. His administration is subtly framing the immigration crisis as an invasion of sorts, particularly one requiring the full deployment of manpower and resources to keep in check.
And now, in a huge move that seeks to redefine an understanding of who exactly can be an American, Trump also issued an executive order stipulating that babies born to undocumented immigrants, or to parents who are in the US legally on temporary visas, can no longer be classified as bonafide US citizens. When I learnt of this, I told a friend that this would surely dampen the plans of the rich and capable amongst us, as they are the ones who could afford flying their pregnant spouses abroad to deliver babies and automatically become parents to a US citizen. Unsurprisingly, this order has drawn significant legal challenges from several quarters, all of whom are arguing that it is in violation of constitutional dictates and entrenched legal precedents. Ultimately—and as a potential lawyer, I also told my aforementioned friend that this would be an interesting case to watch out for, as it might lead to the Supreme Court having to either uphold or redefine an amendment dating back to a historical point nearly 160 years ago.
Nigerians have a term for the burst of aggressiveness that Trump is infusing into the first few weeks of his fresh presidency—initial gra-gra. This term usually refers to instances where someone or something performs at high capacity at the beginning, only to falter, recede or even quit in due time. The Trump administration is unlikely to successfully enforce the scale of mass deportations it impressed upon Republican voters during its election campaigns. There have been legitimate concerns that the United States might not be able to fully fund that level of determination. The problem now is that this initial gra-gra has served to envelop immigrants in fear and uncertainty, and might even make them susceptible to discrimination and racism. This would prevent most immigrants from showing up at work, sending their kids to school, and even seeking health care.
According to a recent report by Punch Newspaper, US-based Nigerians have gone into hiding amid Trump’s deportation crackdown. Many have stopped going to churches, mosques, and even their workplaces, fearing they could be the next targets. But the question remains: how long can they continue hiding? It’s like running from your own shadow—no matter how far or fast they go, the fear of being caught lingers, and reality eventually catches up.
This crisis our compatriots currently face in America further reinforces my belief that Nigeria is all we have. I expressed this same sentiment in an article I wrote last year after some Nigerians were deported from Turkey, and my perspective has not changed.
In fact, I was very pleased when, during a recent law dinner with the Body of Benchers at the Nigerian Law School, Bwari, one of the Life Benchers echoed this sentiment: that this country is all we have. I know not everyone seated in the dining hall of the Nigerian Law School agreed with her, as many had already made up their minds to japa after being called to the largest bar in Africa, the Nigerian Bar Association.
For the average Nigerian facing the daily struggles of living in this country, it may be hard to believe that Nigeria is all they have—until they find themselves caught in the web of a Donald Trump deportation order, thousands of miles away in America. Another aspect of the “America First” drive surfaced last week when it was announced that an executive order freezing almost all U.S. foreign aid had been issued. As a Nigerian, I was already aware that our dear continent would not be at the top of Trump’s priorities as far as US international relations were concerned. But I had not really expected the sharp decision to totally cut off foreign aid for a broad range of projects, especially in the area of funding for lifesaving medication.
Like many people, I came online to meet hot takes about how this decision would majorly affect those living with HIV. This is because for years, humanitarian aid from the US President’s Emergency Plan for AIDS Relief (PEPFAR) has directly supported more than 20 million people living with HIV. Most of those people are within Africa, and as a matter of fact, the U.S. provided this continent with more than $6.5 billion in humanitarian assistance last year alone. After a brief period where it seemed like there was a sudden resurgence of fear-mongering posts on HIV contraction, symptoms, myths and safe sex, the executive order was re-evaluated to enable people to continue receiving lifesaving treatment.
But underneath the collective sigh of relief that welcomed this reversal, I realized—and I hope others do too—that if I were to be an American, I would probably have come to resent the rest of the world for seemingly benefiting from the USʼ Big Brother global status, often at the cost of taxpayers within the world’s greatest country. I would no doubt have bristled at why the United States has to continually insert itself into pointless conflicts, or give billions of dollars to countries like Ukraine, or have to provide solutions to problems affecting countries plagued by homegrown corruption, instability and ineffective leadership.
Since the end of World War 2, and following the Cold War, the United States of America has been tasked with maintaining world order through military might while also setting the pace for global trade and commerce. This role seemed like it would be a longstanding tradition. The United States would lead, and others would follow. But now, in the aftermath of costly adventurism and economic decline, it appears that Trump’s America is looking to upend this order by favouring a more self-centered, insular and transactional approach towards how it relates with the rest of the world. On one hand, this monumental shift has come as a huge shock to both its allies and competitors, and on the other, it has presented new opportunities and possibilities.
Could we be witnessing the start of a new era where US influence and dominance would recede, enabling the rise of a rival economy such as China? Would America really begin to put itself first? Or would the world be treated to an endless tussle where policies established by a conservative and Republican administration inevitably get upturned by a liberal and Democratic government? How long does this back-and-forth need to go on before the rest of the world either weans itself off American support, or steps up to renounce this epileptic world order?
One thing is for certain: only time will tell. I just hope that during the course of the next few years or so, Nigeria in particular will not only reconsider its precarious position in the world order, but move progressively towards a more dignified and exalted state. We cannot allow ourselves to be comfortable with the idea of being yet another immigrant nation. The Nigerian Dream has become a nightmare of migration plans, perilous journeys to greener pastures, and the sense that redemption and renewed glory are unattainable pursuits. But this does not have to be the only way. In the wake of Trump’s American vision, Nigeria is one African nation that can step up to not only restore its deserved image as a leading centre of great potential, talent, resources and innovation. And in stepping out, we can find the requisite strength to lead this blessed continent and finally place “Africa First!”
Zayd Ibn Isah can be reached at lawcadet1@gmail.com