After months of legal back-and-forth, a federal district court judge in Massachusetts lifted the administrative stay blocking the termination of Somalia’s temporary protected status (TPS) designation on August 14. The move puts thousands of Somalis in the U.S. at risk of immediate detention, deportation, loss of work authorization, and family separation.
The initial termination was announced on January 13, 2026, by then-Secretary of Homeland Security Kristi Noem, who gave just 60 days’ notice before the designation would expire. Noem argued that: “Country conditions in Somalia have improved to the point that it no longer meets the law’s requirement for Temporary Protected Status … allowing Somali nationals to remain temporarily in the United States is contrary to our national interest. We are putting Americans first.”
The mid-winter announcement came after months of racist rhetoric from the Trump administration aimed at the Somali community, and at the height of “Operation Metro Surge,” a sweeping immigration crackdown in Minnesota that sparked weeks of sustained protests and confrontations between residents and federal agents, resulting in the agent-perpetrated killings of Renée Good and Alex Pretti.
In March 2026, a class-action lawsuit challenged the termination of Somalia’s TPS designation, arguing that it was unlawful and seeking to keep the protections in place while the case proceeded through the courts.
On March 13, a federal district court in Boston issued an administrative stay blocking the termination from going into effect — a victory that would prove short-lived. In June, the Supreme Court’s ruling in Mullin v. Doe, a case challenging the Trump administration’s termination of TPS for Haitian and Syrian nationals, changed the legal landscape for TPS holders nationwide.
In a 6-3 ruling, Muslim Advocates explains, the court decided that federal courts “no longer have the power to review non-constitutional arguments challenging a proper decision to end TPS for a specific country.” The decision sharply limited the lower courts’ ability to block TPS terminations, putting existing administrative stays (including Somalia’s) at risk, and paving the way for over 350,000 Haitians and 6,000 Syrians to lose their legal status and right to work in the United States.
The Trump Administration’s Assault on TPS
Congress first established TPS through the Immigration Act of 1990 with overwhelming bipartisan support. The humanitarian program protects nationals of designated countries from deportation and grants them authorization to work in the United States for periods of six to 18 months, but does not offer a pathway to permanent residency or citizenship. To qualify for TPS designation, a country must be experiencing ongoing armed conflict, environmental disaster, or other extraordinary and temporary conditions. At the end of each designation period, the Department of Homeland Security must review the country’s conditions and decide whether to extend or terminate the designation.
Somalia has maintained its TPS designation since 1991, following the Somali civil war and ensuing strife. As of the end of 2025, there were an estimated 1,082 Somali TPS holders and another 1,383 with pending applications who now find themselves without legal protections and with little clarity about what happens next.
Sadaf Hasan, an attorney at Muslim Advocates, one of the organizations representing the plaintiffs in the class-action lawsuit, told Truthout that the termination of Somalia’s designation is part of the Trump administration’s “mass deportation and detention agenda.” The administration has terminated TPS designations for 13 countries, effectively dismantling the program and impacting more than a million people.
Hasan pointed out that the case of Somalia’s TPS has seen racist rhetoric targeting the community from the highest levels of government: “The intersection of anti-Muslim, anti-Black statements, in addition to the attacks on the Somali community in Minnesota” is evidence of intentional discrimination — a violation of the Fifth Amendment’s Due Process Clause, which protects against discrimination by the federal government.
“Painting people from predominantly Muslim-majority countries as a national security threat is a pretext for the true underlying reason — racial animus,” Hasan said. The plaintiffs cited the administration’s “hateful, racist, xenophobic rhetoric” about Somalis, its stated preference for white European immigrants, and numerous policy decisions that disproportionately affected African and Muslim-majority countries, including limitations on asylum applications, restrictions on visa issuance, and the fast-tracking of deportation proceedings as evidence of discrimination based on race and national origin.
In her August 14 ruling lifting the administrative stay, Judge Allison D. Burroughs acknowledged the administration’s “undisguised racial animus,” noting that while there was clear evidence that “Somalia and its people are being targeted,” she was bound by the Supreme Court’s decision in Mullin v. Doe, which rejected a similar racial discrimination claim in the Haiti TPS case.
The Supreme Court’s reasoning — that “the administration’s larger agenda of terminating the TPS program offers an alternative, race-neutral explanation that undercuts claims of racial discrimination” — has set a high bar for the plaintiffs’ equal protection claim, Nargis Aslami, another attorney at Muslim Advocates, told Truthout. Because the administration has made its opposition to TPS clear and moved to terminate designations for multiple countries, the Supreme Court reasoned that individual terminations could be attributed to its broader efforts to dismantle the program rather than to bias.
Hasan said the injustice is frustrating: “[The Somali] community has been smeared by this administration. It has been criminalized … called ‘gang members,’ and ‘animals,’ and ‘pirates’ and every racial stereotype you can think of … Even Trump saying, ‘I don’t want them [Somali people] in our country’ is being called race-neutral when it is clearly and blatantly discriminatory.”
The Stories Behind the Statistics
Nils Kinuani, federal policy manager for African Communities Together (ACT), one of the organizational plaintiffs in the lawsuit, said his office has been fielding calls from people who are confused and unsure of what to do now. “When you’re stripped of TPS status, you’re immediately vulnerable to deportation and lose your work authorization. The impact is significant.”
“There are people who are considering self-deporting,” he told Truthout. “The big question is: How can people support their families? Rent, food, child care — those are the big concerns.”
For now, his organization is encouraging TPS holders to consult an immigration attorney to determine if other pathways to legal status are available to them.
Kinuani said many TPS holders are reluctant to speak out and share their experiences because there is already a target on their backs. “We all need to understand the impact of these terminations. Just because you’re not hearing much about it doesn’t mean no one’s being impacted.”
“We all need to understand the impact of these terminations. Just because you’re not hearing much about it doesn’t mean no one’s being impacted.”
The consequences of losing TPS status ripple far beyond the individual TPS holder. The four Somali plaintiffs in the lawsuit have lived and worked in the United States for many years: Alexander Doe’s education in Somalia was disrupted by armed conflict, and he is now enrolled in two associate degree programs; Mohamed Doe and his wife are eagerly awaiting the birth of their first child; Tyson Doe is a beloved elementary school teacher; and Nina Doe first came to the United States as a foreign exchange student before returning to pursue her passion for early childhood education, inspired by the doors her education opened for her.
Because of chronic instability, Somalia has had one of the longest-running TPS programs. The word “temporary” obscures the permanence of the lives that have been built under its banner, and just how deep those roots run.
Layla, who has chosen to go by a pseudonym to protect her anonymity, has lived in the United States for over two decades. “Somalia may be where my origins are, but this is my home,” she told Truthout. “This is the country where I got married. This is where I had my kids. This is my community.” She describes the park where her young children play, the elementary school that they attend and where she is a parent volunteer, the grocery store where she is a regular, where many of the clerks know her by name and ask after her family.
She hasn’t left her house since news about the termination broke. “I’m too scared to even walk to the mailbox,” Layla admitted. She worries about who would take care of her children if she’s deported. She wonders how she would make a life for herself in a country where she has few memories and even fewer remaining family members.
While the Trump administration argues that conditions in Somalia have improved enough for TPS holders to safely return, the State Department maintains a Level 4 travel advisory, the highest possible warning, advising Americans to avoid the country because of crime, unrest, kidnapping, terrorism, and other security risks.
It’s an alarming double standard that “shows the dehumanization of the Somali community,” Hasan said.
Kinuani told Truthout that ACT is doing its best to help impacted people “navigate their new day-to-day reality” by keeping them informed and connecting them with resources. The organization will also continue advocating in the courts and in Congress. “We are talking to members of Congress and reminding them that the community members who are affected by this decision are their constituents,” Kinuani said.
The word “temporary” obscures the permanence of the lives that have been built under its banner, and just how deep those roots run.
Aslami said they filed a notice of appeal the same day the termination decision was issued. And while the legal fight continues in the district and appellate courts, “the law is not the only way to seek justice.” Since the first Trump administration, community activists and grassroots organizations have been building awareness, solidarity, and power. Ordinary people continue to share guidance on navigating encounters with federal immigration agents, help families develop safety plans, pressure their elected officials for a permanent solution for TPS holders, pledge to defend their friends and neighbors, and ensure that the stories and voices of immigrants and refugees carry further than the din of dehumanizing rhetoric that has fueled this administration’s anti-immigrant agenda.
For now, TPS holders like Layla weigh their options and wait for the case to make its way through the courts.
The experience of Haitian TPS holders offers a chilling preview of what may lie ahead for the Somali community. Since the termination of Haiti’s TPS designation in June, more than 300,000 Haitian immigrants have lost protected status. In Springfield, Ohio, some Haitian immigrants have been summoned to in-person appointments with the Department of Homeland Security, where they were then fitted for ankle monitors. And recently, the first deportation flight since the program’s termination arrived in Cap-Haïtien, carrying 160 Haitian nationals.
“The Trump administration is sowing chaos and fear to effectuate its mass deportation agenda,” Hasan told Truthout. “This is cruel.”
As Layla’s life hangs in limbo, like those of thousands of other TPS holders from countries around the world, it is hard not to wonder if cruelty is the point.
ZNetwork is funded solely through the generosity of its readers.
Donate
1 Comment
Jamila Osman is right to sound the alarm about Somali immigrants. But the problem is larger than Somalia, and treating it as a Somali problem risks understating what is happening.
Somalis are especially visible because Trump has repeatedly singled them out and because the American media has amplified that fixation. But the broader pattern reaches Black immigrants from Ethiopia, Eritrea, Haiti, Sudan, and elsewhere. In some categories, Ethiopians and Haitians are affected in greater numbers.
Then comes the most revealing contrast: white Afrikaners.
At the same time Black Africans and Haitians are losing protections, facing deportation, and encountering increasingly hostile barriers to entry, white South Africans are being welcomed with remarkable political sympathy and exceptional refugee treatment.
That contradiction should end any pretense that this is simply about immigration control. It reveals a racial hierarchy in which some migrants are treated as threats and others as victims worthy of rescue.
But there is another uncomfortable part of this story.
African governments are increasingly being asked to receive third country deportees, including people who are not their own citizens. Some authoritarian governments appear willing to cooperate because there is money, diplomatic favor, or political advantage to be gained. Dictators who have done little to protect their own populations are benefiting from the targeting and displacement of other Africans.
And Africans themselves are not innocent of this politics. In South Africa, African migrants have repeatedly been targeted by xenophobic movements, sometimes violently. Africans fleeing poverty, persecution, and instability can find themselves attacked not only in Europe or the United States, but by other Africans.
So this is not simply a story about Trump or the United States. It is also about a broader failure of solidarity.
Black Africans are being pushed out of wealthy countries, transferred to poorer African states, exploited by authoritarian governments, and sometimes rejected by fellow Africans once they arrive.
That is why I think we need to speak plainly about anti-Black Afrophobia, but also about the political economy that sustains it. Racism, xenophobia, authoritarian opportunism, and economic desperation are reinforcing one another.
The Somali case is urgent. But it is one highly visible expression of a much larger system in which vulnerable Africans are moved, excluded, traded, and abandoned while governments on both sides of the transaction benefit.
The most painful part may be that Africans are sometimes being recruited into the machinery that targets other Africans.