Deported to eswatini: a refugee's unexpected prison sentence
Pheap Rom, a Cambodian man deported from the United States after serving a fifteen-year sentence, didn't end up in the homeland he’d resigned himself to. Instead, he found himself incarcerated in Eswatini, a small African nation he’d barely heard of – initially mistaking its name for an American detention facility. His story illuminates a disturbing trend: the U.S. government’s outsourcing of deportations to third countries, often with dire consequences for those caught in the crossfire.
A plea deal and a deportation order
Rom, who arrived in the U.S. as a three-year-old refugee from a Thai camp in 1985, pleaded guilty to four counts of attempted murder. Having served his time, he anticipated deportation to Cambodia, a country he’d never known. “Even if you were a convicted felon, at the end of the day we still deserve due process,” Rom stated, highlighting a fundamental concern about due process rights being eroded in the deportation process. His acceptance of the deportation order hinged on one condition: being sent to Cambodia.
The eswatini shuffle: a systemic problem
Rom's experience is not isolated. He was part of a group of ten deportees sent to Eswatini in October 2025, joining five earlier deportees from Cambodia, Cuba, Jamaica, Vietnam, and Yemen. All were subsequently placed in a maximum-security prison. The U.S. government characterizes these individuals as 'dangerous criminals,' a label disputed by their lawyers who maintain they had already fulfilled their sentences within the American justice system. The practice of deporting individuals to third countries, particularly under the Trump administration, has expanded to include nations like the Democratic Republic of Congo, Equatorial Guinea, Ghana, Rwanda, South Sudan, and Uganda, often accompanied by financial incentives to these countries.
Conditions within the walls: a descent into despair
Following his release, Rom spent nearly eleven months in ICE facilities before the unexpected transfer to Eswatini. Upon arrival, the deportees were met not with freedom, but with armed military personnel and immediate confinement to the Matsapha correctional complex. The conditions within the prison were stark: a single roll of toilet paper and a bar of soap per week. Initially, detainees shared clothing, as many arrived with only the garments they wore. Restrictions on outside time were severe, limiting movement to fifteen minutes daily and a single phone call weekly, with local lawyers denied access. The psychological toll was immense; one detainee initiated a thirty-day hunger strike. “It was making them go crazy,” Rom recounted, painting a grim picture of the deteriorating mental health within the prison walls.
A nation's response: promises and reality
Eswatini’s government, receiving $5.1 million from the U.S. to accept up to 160 deportees, asserts it has ensured the detainees’ fundamental rights and human dignity. However, Rom's account – and the stories of others – suggest a harsh reality far removed from official pronouncements. The Cambodian and Jamaican governments had both indicated their willingness to accept their nationals directly from the U.S., further complicating the rationale behind the Eswatini route.
Rom’s eventual deportation to Cambodia on March 26th offers a flicker of hope, but his experience serves as a stark reminder of the human cost of a system that increasingly prioritizes expediency over due process and humane treatment. The question remains: how many more will find themselves adrift in a legal limbo, prisoners of a policy that prioritizes borders over human dignity?